***

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of every day's

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints, - I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

 

                                    Elizabeth Barrett Browning

 

---

 

Leave me, O love...

 

Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust;

And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things;

Grow rich in that which never taketh rust;

Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings.

Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might

To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be,

Which breaks the clouds and opens forth the light,

That doth both shine and give us light to see.

O take fast hold; let that light be thy guide

In this small course which birth draws out to death,

And think how evil becometh him to slide

Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath.

Then farewell, world; thy uttermost I see:

Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me.

  

                                    Sir Philip Sidney

 

---

Sonnet CXXIX

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight,
Past reason hunted, and no sooner had
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait
On purpose laid to make the taker mad;
Mad in pursuit and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

                                     William Shakespeare

---

 

Woman’s constancy

NOW thou hast loved me one whole day,
To-morrow when thou leavest, what wilt thou say ?
Wilt thou then antedate some new-made vow ?
            Or say that now
We are not just those persons which we were ?
Or that oaths made in reverential fear
Of Love, and his wrath, any may forswear ?
Or, as true deaths true marriages untie,
So lovers' contracts, images of those,
Bind but till sleep, death's image, them unloose ?
            Or, your own end to justify,
For having purposed change and falsehood, you
Can have no way but falsehood to be true ?
Vain lunatic, against these 'scapes I could
            Dispute, and conquer, if I would ;
            Which I abstain to do,
For by to-morrow I may think so too.

 

                                          John Donne

 

---

 

If

 

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or beeng hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two imposters just The same;

If you can bear the hear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or Whach the thinks your gave your life to, broken,

And stop and build'em up with worn-out tools.

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-tass,

And lose, and start again at your begginings

And never breath a word about your loss;

If you can force your heard and nerves and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which seys to them: "Hold on"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue

Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you

If all man count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth an everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a MAN, my son!   

 

                                                    Rudyard Kipling

 

---

***

 

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The Winds that will be howling at all hours
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for every thing, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. - Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

 

                              William Wordsworth

 

---

Sonnet LXXV

 

ONE day I wrote her name upon the strand,
  but came the waves and washed it away:
  again I wrote it with a second hand,
  but came the tide, and made my pains his prey.
Vain man, said she, that dost in vain assay,
  a mortal thing so to immortalize,
  for I my self shall like to this decay,
  and eek my name be wiped out likewise.
Not so, (quoth I) let baser things devise,
  to die in dust, but you shall live by fame:
  my verse your virtues rare shall eternise,
  and in the heavens write your glorious name.
Where whenas death shall all the world subdue,
  our love shall live, and later life renew.

 

                                  Edmund Spencer

 

---

Good-Night

 

Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill

Which severs those it should unite;

Let us remain together still,

Then it will be good night.

How can I call the lone night good,

Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?

Be it not said, thought, understood --

Then it will be -- good night.

To hearts which near each other move

From evening close to morning light,

The night is good; because, my love,

They never say good-night.

 

                             Percy Bysshe Shelley

 

---

 

***

 

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you--Nobody--too?
Then there's a pair of us - don't tell!
They'd banish us,--you know.
How dreary--to be--Somebody!
How public,-- like a Frog--
To tell your name the-- livelong June--
To an admiring Bog!

 

                  Emily Dickinson

 

---

 

“Indeed will I,” quo’ Findlay

 

“WHA is that at my bower-door?”

  “O wha is it but Findlay!”

“Then gae your gate, ye’se nae be here:”

  “Indeed maun I,” quo’ Findlay;

“What mak’ ye, sae like a thief?”

  “O come and see,” quo’ Findlay;

“Before the morn ye’ll work mischief:”

  “Indeed will I,” quo’ Findlay.

 

“Gif I rise and let you in”—

  “Let me in,” quo’ Findlay;

“Ye’ll keep me waukin wi’ your din;”

  “Indeed will I,” quo’ Findlay;

“In my bower if ye should stay”—

  “Let me stay,” quo’ Findlay;

“I fear ye’ll bide till break o’ day;”

  “Indeed will I,” quo’ Findlay.

 

“Here this night if ye remain”—

  “I’ll remain,” quo’ Findlay;

“I dread ye’ll learn the gate again;”

  “Indeed will I,” quo’ Findlay.

“What may pass within this bower”—

  “Let it pass,” quo’ Findlay;

“Ye maun conceal till your last hour:”

  “Indeed will I,” quo’ Findlay.

 

                     Robert Burns

 

---

 

Thealiens

 

you may not believe it
but there are people
who go through life with
very little
friction of distress.
they dress well, sleep well.
they are contented with
their family
life.
they are undisturbed
and often feel
very good.
and when they die
it is an easy death, usually in their
sleep.

you may not believe
it
but such people do
exist.

but i am not one of
them.
oh no, I am not one of them,
I am not even near
to being
one of
them.
but they
are there

and I am
here.

 

    Charles Bukowski

 

---

 

***

 

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

 

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

 

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

            Dylan Thomas

 

---

 

*** 

 

Alas, have I not pain enough; my friend,

Upon whose breast a fiercer gripe doth tire

Than did on him who first stole down the fire,

While Love on me doth all his quiver spend,

But with your rhubarb words ye must contend,

To grieve me worse, in saying that desire

Doth plunge my well-formed soul even in the mire

Of sinful thoughts which do in ruin end?

If that be sin which doth the manners frame,

Well stayed with truth in word and faith of deed,

Ready of wit and fearing nought but shame;

If that be sin which in fixed hearts doth breed

A loathing of all loose unchastity,

Then love is sin, and let me sinful be.

 

              Sir Philip Sidney

 

---

                            Rainy Official Homepage

Copyright © 2004 - 2008 Rainy

All rights reserved.