Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•09:07

Pani vich Be Ke Hawa Labda Rea
Ik Be Wafa vichun Wafa Labda Rea
Hathin Talash Kita Si Jera Pathar Da Bhoot
Us Wichun Khuda Labda Rea
Te Tar Tar Kita Jine Aapni Ruh Da Lybas
Os Nange Baadan vichu Haya Labda Rea
Jinu Jaan Jigar Asi Kehnde C
O Hor Kise Nu Chaunde Rae
O Hasde Rahe Begaaneya Naal
Sanu Utle Mano Bulaunde Rae
Asi Kitia Duava Piyaar Dia
Te O Daag Ishq Nu Launde Rae
O Daag Mitaaya Nai Mitde
Asi Hanjua Naal Mitaaunde Rae
O Hi Raah Vich Saanu Dob Gae
Jinu Asi Kinaare Launde Rae..!!
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•09:05

Har Pair Vich Janjeer Nai Hondi
Parchaaven Vich Kade Tasvir Nai Hondi
Har Koi Kiven Ban Jave ‘Ranjha Jogi’ Yaro
Kyonki Har Mashooq ‘Saleti-Heer’ Nai Hondi




Ranjhe to jayada kise Majnu ton ghatt na

Ranjhe ton jayada kise Majnu ton ghatt na,
keeti honi kise ne vi Eho jihi hadd na,
Chann tare Tethon Asin var diyan ge,
Ehna sohniye Asin Tainu pyar diyan ge.


Aise lyi assi rona chad taa

Saadi zindagi vich khas teri thaan,

Sochi na tenu Dillon kad ta,

Loki hanjuan chon parh lainde naan

Aise lyi assi rona chad taa
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•09:00

Baba Bulleh Shah di Kafi

Parrh Parrh Aalim Faazil Hoya

Kaddi Apney Aap noo Parrheya hi nahin

Jaa Jaa Warda Mandir Maseetaan
Kaddi Mun Apney Vich tun Wardeya ee Nahin

Ainwayn Roz Shaitaan dey naal Larda
Kaddi Nafs Apney Naal Lardeya ee nahin

Bulleh Shah Aasmaanin Uddiyaan Phardaa
Jaidha Ghar Baitha Ohnun Phardeya ee Nahin
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•08:52

The soul of both of them is impatient and restless,

Both of them know not God, and deceive mankind.

One lives by production, the other by taxation,

And man is a glass caught between two stones.

The one puts to rout science, religion, art,

The other robs the body of soul, the hand of bread.

I have perceived both drowned in water and clay,

Both bodily burnished, but utterly dark of heart.

Life means a passionate burning, an urge to make,

To cast in the dead clay the seed of heart.

Note: Iqbal says that communism is the enemy of faith, while Capitalism is the enemy of Humanity. Materialism is the belief of both of them. Life in Communism is production and that of Capitalism is Taxation.
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•08:50

On the bough of a tree was seated
A nightingale that was saddened

Saying that-
Over me the night is past
And in pecking day is lost!

Towards their nest
How will they (birds) reach
When the shadow of dark
Has fastened its glitch

When heard this yell and wail
Of the nightingale
Said the glowworm
In a voice so calm

With my heart and soul
To you I am of avail
So what if I am
An insect so little?

The night is dark
Why worry then?
All through your route
I will enlighten!

A torch has Allah given me
A radiant lamp has He made me

Noble are those ones indeed
Whom others find while in need!
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•21:44

Dil se jo baat nikalti hai, asar rakhti hai,
Par nahin, taaqat-e-parwaaz magsr rakhti hai.

Qudsi-ul-asal hai, rif-atpe nazar rakhti hai,
Khaak se uthti hai, gardoon pe guzar rakhti hai.

Ishq tha fitna gar-o-sarkash-o-chalaak mira,
Aasman cheer gaya nala-e-bebaak mira.

_______________

Pir-e-gardoon ne kaha sun ke, kahin hai koi!
Bole sayyaare, sar-e-arsh-e-barin hai koi!

Chaand kahta tha, nahin, ahl-e-zamin hai koi!
Kahkashaan kahti thi, poshida yahin hai koi!

Kuchh jo samjha tau mere shikwe ko Ruzwan samjha,
Mujhe jannat se nikala hua insaan samjha.
_______________

Thi farishton ko bhi hairat, ke yeh aawaaz hai kya!
Arsh waalon pe bhi khulta nahin yeh raaz hai kya!

Taa sar-e-arsh bhi insaan ki tag-o-taaz hai kya?
Aa gai khak ki chutki ko bhi parwaaz hai kya?

Ghaafil aadaab se yeh sukkaam-e-zamin kaise hain,
Shokh-o-gustaakh yeh pasti ke makin kaise hain,
_______________

Is qadar shokh ke Allah se bhi barham hai,
Tha jo masjud-e-malaik yeh wohi Aadam hai?

Aalam-e kaif hai, dana-e-ramuz-e-kam hai,
Haan, magar ijaz ke asrar se namahram hai.

Naaz hai taaqat-e-guftaar pe insaanon ko,
Baat karne ka saliqa nahin nadaanon ko!
_______________

Aai aawaaz ghum-angez hai afsana tira,
Ashk-e-betaab se labrezhai paimana tira.

Shukr shikwe ko kiya husn-e-ada se tu ne,
Hum sakhun kar diyabandon ko khuda se tu ne.

Hum tau mayal ba-karam hai, koi sayal hi nahin,
Rah dikhlain kise rahraw-e-manzil hi nahin.
_______________

Tarbiat aam tau hai, jauhar-e-qabil hi nahin,
Jis se taamir ho aadam ki yeh who gil hi nahin.

Koi qabil ho tau hum shan-e-kai dete hain;
Dhoondne waalon ko duniya bhi nai dete hain!

Haath be-zor hain, ilhaad se dil khoo-gar hain,
Ummati baais-e-ruswai-e-paighamber hain.
_______________

But-shikan uth gaye, baaqi jo rahe but-gar hain,
Tha Brahim pidar, aur pisar Aazar hain.

Bada aasham naye baaqi naya khum bhi naye,
Harm-e-Kaaba naya, but bhi naye, tum bhi naye.

Who bhi din the ke yehi maya-e-raanai tha,
Naazish-e-mausim-e-gul lala-e-sahraai tha!
_______________

Jo Musalmaan tha Allah ka saudai tha,
Kabhi mehboob tumhara yehi harjaai tha.

Safah-e-dahar se baatil ko mitaya kis ne?
Nau-e-insaan ko ghulami se chhuraya kis ne?

Mere Kaabe ko jabeenon se basaya kis ne?
Mere Quran ko seenon se lagaya kis ne?
_______________

The tau aaba who tumhaare hi, magar tum kya ho?
Haath par haath dhare muntezir-e-farda ho!

Kya kaha? "bahr-e-musalmaan hai faqt waade-e-hur,"
Shikwa beja bhi kare koi tau laazim hai shaoor!

Adal hai faatir-e-hasti ka azal se dastur,
Muslim aaeen hua kafir tau mile hur-o-qasur;
_______________

Tum mein hooron ka koichahne wala hi nahin,
Jalwa-e-tur tau maujood hai, Moosa hi nahin.

Munfait ek hai is qaum ki, nuqsaan bhi ek,
Ek hi sab ka nabi, din bhi, imaan bhi ek,

Harm-e-paak bhi, Allah bhi, Quran bhi ek,
Kuchh bari baat thi hote jo musalmaan bhi ek!
_______________

Firqa bandi hai kahin, aur kahin zaaten hain.
Kya zamane mein panpaneki yehi baaten hain?

Jaa ke hote hain masaajid mein saf-aara tau gharib,
Zahmat-e-roza jo karte hain gawara tau gharib.

Naam leta hai agar koi hamara, tau gharib,
Pardah rakhta hao agar koi tumhara, tau gharib.
_______________

Umra nasha-e-daulat mein hain ghafil hum se,
Zinda hai millat-e-baiza ghurba ke dam se.

Shor hai ho gaye duniya se musalmaan naabood,
Hum yeh kahte hain ke the bhi kahin Muslim maujood?

Waza mein tum ho nisari, tau tamuddan mein Hanood,
Yeh musalmaan hain! Jinhen dekh ke sharmain Yahud?
_______________

Baap ka ilm na bete ko agar azbar ho,
Phir pisar qabil-e-miraas-e-pidar kyonkar ho!

Har koi mast-e-mai-e-zauq-e-tan aasaani hai,
Tum musalmaan ho? Yeh andaaz-e-musalmaani hai?

Chaahte sab hain ke hon auj-e-surayya pe muqeem,
Pahle waisa koi paida tau kare qalb-e-salim!
_______________

Ahd-e-nau barq hai, aatish zan-e-har khirman hai,
Aiman is se koi sahra no koi gulshan hai.

Is nai aag ka aqwaam-e-kuhan eendhan hai,
Millat-e-khatam-e-rasal shoula ba parahan hai.

Dekh kar range-e-chaman ho na pareshan maali,
Kookab-e-ghuncha se shaakhen hain chamakne wali,
_______________

Khas-o-khashaak se hota hai gulistan khaali,
Gul bar andaaz hai khun-e-shuhda ki laali.

Rang gardoon ka zara dekh tau unnabi hai,
Yeh nikalte hue suraj ki ufaq taabi hai.

Nakhl-e-Islam namoona hai bro-mandi ka,
Phal hai yeh sainkron saalon ki chaman bandi ka.
_______________

Qaafila ho na sakega kabhi weeran tera,
Ghair yak baang-e-dara kuchh nahin samaan tera.

Nakhl-e-shama asti-o-dar should dood resha-e-tu,
Aaqbat soz bood saya-e-andesha-e-tu.

Ki Mohammed se wafa tu ne tau hum tere hain,
Yeh jahan cheez hai kya, lauh-eo-qalam tere hain.
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•21:42

Kyon Ziaan kaar banun, sood framosh rahoon?
Fikr-e-farda na karum, mahw-e-ghum-e-dosh rahoon,

Naale bulbul ke sunoon, aurhama tan gosh rahoon,
Hamnawa main bhi koi gul hoon ke khamosh rahoon?

Jurrat aamoz miri taab-e-sakhun hai mujhko,
Shikwa Allah se khakam badahan hai mujhko.

Ai Khuda shikwa-e-arbab-e-wafa bhi sun le,
Khu gar-e-hamd se thora sa gila bhi sun le.

Thi tau maujood azal se hi tiri zaat-e-qadim,
Phool tha zeb-e-chaman, par na pareshan thi shamim;

Shart insaaf hai, ai, sahib-e-altaf-e-amim,
Boo-e-gul phailti kis tarah jo hoti na nasim?

Hum se pahle tha ajab tere jahan ka manzir,
Kahin masjood the pather, kahin maabood shajar,

Khugar-e-paikar-e-mahsoos thi insaan ki nazar,
Maanta phir koi un-dekhe Khuda ko kyonkar?

Tujhko maalum hai leta tha koi naam tira?
Quwwat-e-baazoo-e-Muslim ne kiya Kaam tira!
_______________

Bas rahe the yahin salijuq bhi, toorani bhi,
Ahl-e-chin cheen mein, Iran mein sasaani bhi,

Isi maamoore mein aabad the Yunaani bhi,
Isi duniya mein Yahudi bhi the, Nusraani bhi,

Par tire naam pe talwar uthai kis ne,
Baat jo bigri huri thi who banaai kis ne?
_______________

The hameen ek tire maarka aaraaon mein!
Khushkion mein kabhi larte, kabhi dariyaon mein,

Di azaanen kabhi Europe ke kaleesaaon mein,
Kabhi Africa ke tapte hue sahraaon mein.

Thi na kuchh teg zani apni hakumat ke lieye,
Sar ba-kaf phirte the kya dahar mein daulat ke lieye?
_______________

Qaum apni jo zar-o-maal-e-jahan par marti,
But faroshi ke iwaz but shikni kyon karti?

Naqsh tauheed ka har dil pe bithaya hum ne,
Zer-e-khanjar bhi yeh paigham sunaya hum ne.

Tu hi kah de ke ukhara dar-e-Khyber kis ne,
Shaher qaiser ka jo tha us ko kiya sar kis ne?
_______________

Tore makhluq khudawandon ke paikar kis ne?
Kaat kar rakh diye kaffaar ke lashkar kis ne?

Aa gaya ain laraai mein agar waqt-e-namaz,
Qibla roo ho ke zamin bos hui qaum-e-Hejaz,

Ek hi saf mein khare ho gaye mahmud-o-Ayaz,
No koi banda raha aur no koi banda nawaz.
_______________

Banda-o-sahib-o-muhtaaj-o-ghani ek hue,
Teri sarkar mein pahunche tau sabhi ek hue.

Mehfil-e-kaun-o-makaan mein shar-o-shaam phire,
Mai-e-tauheed ko lekar sift-e-jam phire.

Dasht tau dasht hain, darya bhi na chhore hum ne,
Bahr-e-zulmaat mein daura diye ghore hum ne.
_______________

Safah-e-dahar se baatil ko mitaya hum ne,
Nau-e-insaan ko ghulami se chhuraya hum ne,

Tere kaabe ko jabeenon se basaya hum ne,
Tere Quraan ko seenon se lagaya hum ne.

Phir bhi hum se yeh gila hai, ke wafadar nahin,
Hum wafadar nahin, tu bhi tau dildar nahin!
_______________

Rahmaten hain tiri aghiyar ke kashaanon par,
Barq girti hai tau bechare Musalmaanon par!

Yeh shikait nahin, hain un ke khazane maamur,
Nehin mehfil mein jinhen baat bhi karne ka shaoor,

Qahar tau yeh hai ke kafir ko milen hoor-o-qasoor,
Aur bechaare Musalmaan ko faqt waada-e-hoor!
_______________

Taan-e-aghiyaar hai, ruswai hai, nadaari hai,
Kya tere nam pe marne ka iwaz khwari hai?

Hum tau jeete hain ke duniya mein tira naam rahe,
Kahin mumkin hai saqi na rahe, jaam rahe?

Teri mehfil bhi gai, chahne walw bhi gaye,
Shab ki aahen bhi gaien, subah ke nale bhi gaye,
_______________

Dil tujhe debhi gaye, apna sila le bhi gaye,
Aa ke baithe bhi na the, ke nikaale bhi gaye.

Aae ushaaq, gaye waada-e-farda lekar,
Ab unhen dhoond chirag-e-rukh-e-zeba lekar!

Dard-e-Laila bhi wohi, Qais ka pahlu bhi wohi,
Nejd ke dasht-o-jabal mein ram-e-aahoo bhi wohi,
_______________

Ishq ka dil bhi wohi, husn ka jaadoo bhi wohi,
Ummat-e-Ahmed-e-Mursil bhi wohi, tu bhi wohi,

Phir yeh aazurdagi-e-ghair-sabab kya maani,
Apne shaidaaon pe yeh chashm-e-ghazab kya maani?

Ishq ki khair, who pehli si ada bhi na sahi,
Jaada paimaai taslim-o-raza bhi na sahi,
_______________

Kabhi hum se, kabhi ghairon se shanasaai hai,
Baat kahne ki nahin, tu bhi tau harjaai hai.

Ahd-e-gul khatam hua, tut gaya saaz-e-chaman,
Ur gaye dalion se zamzama pardaaz-e-chaman.

Ek bulbul hai ke hai mahw-e-tarannum ab tak,
Us ke seene mein hai naghmon ka talatam ab tak.
_______________

Qumrian shaakh-e-sanober se gurezaan bhi huin,
Pattian phool ki jhar jhar ke pareshan bhi huin;

Who purani ravishen bagh ki weeran bhi huin,
Daalian parahan-e-barg se uriaan bhi huin.

Qaid-e-mausim se tabiat rahi aazad uski,
Kaash gulshan mein samjhta koi faryaad uski.
_______________

Chaak is bulbul-e-tanha ki nawa se dil hon,
Jaagne wale isi baang-e-dara se dil hon.

Yaani phir zinda naye ahd-e-wafa se dil hon,
Phir isi bada-e-deereena ke pyaase dil hon.

Ajmy khum hai tau kya, mai tau Hejaazi hai miri,
Naghma Hindi hai tau tya, lai tau Hejaazi hai miri.
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•21:37


Oh you, solace for us, the downtrodden,

Deliver the community from fear of death.

You destroyed Lat and Manat of old,

And revived the timeworn world.

Meditation and remembrance of man and jinn,

You are the morning, prayer of Azan.

Burning and ecstasy is from la-llah.

We made no god from quadruped,

Nor bowed low before the hermit,

Nor bend the knee before ancient gods,

Nor circumambulated round palaces of kings.

This, too, among your countless favors,

Our thought is the product of your teachings.

You remembrance the wealth of joy and ardor,

Which keeps the millet proud in poverty.

Goal and destination of every wayfarer,

Your desire is in the heart of each traveler.

Our harp, alas, has become so mute,

Plectrum is a burden upon its strings.
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•21:36

The land where Chishti sounded
The message of truth
The garden where Nanak sang
The song of unity
Where the tartars
Chose to dwell
Which from Arabs
Took their hill

That is my homeland
That is my homeland

The land which the Greek
Were taken aback
From where knowledge and skill,
The world did take.
Whose truth gave its dust,
A gold-like effect.
Which in the Turks' garment
Filled with diamond

That is my homeland
That is my homeland

Shattered was the star
Which in the Persian sky
Again saw it endure
In our galaxy
From where the world heard
The voice of accord
From where the Arabian Leader
Felt coming the Cool Zephyr

That is my homeland
That is my homeland

As Sinai is to Moses the Prophet
Such is to the world our mount
Where the Ship of the Noah
Came to a halt
Whose land is so high
As a ladder to roof of sky
Living in whose surroundings
Is like the abode of paradise.

That is my homeland
That is my homeland
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•21:51

mohabbat ka junun baqi nahin hai
musalmanon mein khun baqi nahin hai

safen kaj, dil pareshan, sajda bezuk
k jazba-e-andrun baqi nahin hai

ragon mein lahu baqi nahin hai
wo dil, wo awaz baqi nahin hai

namaz-o-roza-o-qurbani-o-haj
ye sab baqi hai tu baqi nahin hai
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•21:49

sach kah dun ai brahman gar tu bura na mane
tere sanam kadon k but ho gaye purane

apnon se bair rakhna tu ne buton se sikha
jang-o-jadal sikhaya waiz ko bhi Khuda ne

tang ake akhir main ne dair-o-haram ko chora
waiz ka waz chora, chore tere fasane

patthar ki muraton mein samjha hai tu Khuda hai
khak-e-watan ka mujh ko har zarra dewata hai

a gairat k parde ik bar phir utha dein
bichron ko phir mila dein naqsh-e-dui mita den

suni pari hui hai muddat se dil ki basti
a ik naya shiwala is des mein bana den

dunya k tirathon se uncha ho apna tirath
daman-e-asman se is ka kalas mila dein

har subah mil k gayen mantar wo mihe mihe
sare pujariyon ko mai pit ki pila dein

shakti bhi shanti bhi bhakton k git mein hai
dharti k basiyon ki mukti prit mein hai
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•21:48

khird k pas khabar k siwa kuch aur nahin
tera ilaj nazar k siwa kuch aur nahin

har muqam se age muqam hai tera
hayat zauq-e-safar k siwa kuch aur nahin

rangon mein gardish-e-khun hai agar to kya hasil
hayat soz-e-jigar k siwa kuch aur nahin

urus-e-lala munasib nahin hai mujhse hijab
k main nasim-e-sahar k siwa kuch aur nahin

jise qasad samajhte hain tajran-e-firang
wo shay mata-e-hunar k siwa kcuh aur nahin

giranbaha hai to hifz-e-khudi se hai warna
gauhar mein ab-e-gauhar k siwa kuch aur nahin
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•21:46

sitaron se age jahan aur bhi hain
abhi ishq k imtihan aur bhi hain

tahi zindagi se nahin ye fazayen
yahan saikaron karawan aur bhi hain

kanat na kar alam-e-rang-o-bu par
chaman aur bhi, ashiyan aur bhi hain

agar kho gaya ek nasheman to kya gam
maqamat-e-ah-o-fugan aur bhi hain

tu shahin hai parwaz hai kam tera
tere samne asman aur bhi hain

isi roz-o-shab mein ulajh kar na rah ja
k tere zamin-o-makan aur bhi hain

gae din k tanha tha main anjuman mein
yahan ab mere razadan aur bhi hain
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•08:48


Tere ishq ki intaha chahta hun
meri sadgi dekh kya chahta hun

sitam ho k ho wada-e-behijabi
koi bat sabr-azma chahta hun

ye jannat mubarak rahe zahidon ko
k main ap ka samna chahta hun

koi dam ka mehman hun ai ahl-e-mahfil
chirag-e-sahar hun, bujha chahta hun

bhari bazm mein raz ki bat kah di
bara be-adab hun, saza chahta hun
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•08:45


utho meri dunya k garibon ko jaga do
khak-e-umra k dar-o-diwar hila do

garmao gulamon ka lahu soz-e-yaqin se
kunjishk-e-phiromaya ko shahin se lara do

sultani-e-jamahur ka ata hai zamana
jo naqsh-e-kuhan tum ko nazar aye mita do

jis khet se dahqan ko mayassar nahin rozi
us khet k har khosha-e-gandum ko jala do

kyon khaliq-o-makhluq mein hayal rahen parde
piran-e-kalisa ko kalisa se hata do

main nakhush-o-bezar hun marmar k silon se
mere liye mitti ka haram aur bana do

tahazib-e-nawin kargah-e-shishagaran hai
adab-e-junun shayr-e-mashriq ko sikha do
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•08:42


tu abhi rahguzar mein hai qaid-e-makam se guzar
misr-o-hijaz se guzar, paires-o-sham se guzar

jis ka amal hai be-garaz, us ki jaza kuch aur hai
hur-o-khayam se guzar, bada-o-jam se guzar

garche hai dilkusha bahot husn-e-firang ki bahar
tayarek buland bal dana-o-dam se guzar

koh shigaf teri zarab tujhse kushad sharq-o-garab
teze-hilahal ki tarah aish-o-nayam se guzar

tera imam be-huzur, teri namaz be-surur
aisi namaz se guzar, aise imam smumkin hai ke tu jisako samajhata hai baharan e guzar
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•08:40


jinhen main dhundhta tha asmanon mein zaminon mein
wo nikle mere zulmat-e-khana-e-dil k makinon mein

mahine wasl k ghariyon ki surat urte jate hain
magar ghariyan judai ki guzarti hai mahinon mein

mujhe rokega tu ai nakhuda kya garq hone se
k jin ko dubna hai dub jate hain safinon mein

jala sakti hai sham-e-kushta ko mauj-e-nafas un ki
ilahi kya chupa hota hai ahal-e-dil k sinon mein

tamanna dard-e-dil ki ho to kar khidmat faqiron ki
nahin milta ye gauhar badshahon k khazinon mein

muhabbat k liye dil dhundh koi tutnewala
ye wo mai hai jise rakhte hain nazuk abginon mein

bura samajhun unhen mujh se to aisa ho nahin sakta
k main khud bhi to hun "Iqbal" apne nuktachinon mein

Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•10:52

AUTHOR COMMENTS:

Here I love you.
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.
The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.
Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.

The snow unfurls in dancing figures.
A silver gull slips down from the west.
Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.

Oh the black cross of a ship.
Alone.
Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.
Here I love you.
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.
The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.
But night comes and starts to sing to me.

The moon turns its clockwork dream.
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•10:50

AUTHOR COMMENT'S

Twice or thrice had I loved thee,
Before I knew thy face or name;
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame,
Angels affect us oft, and worshipped be;
Still when, to where thou wert, I came,
Some lovely glorious nothing I did see.
But since my soul, whose child love is,
Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do,
More subtle than the parent is
Love must not be, but take a body too;
And therefore what thou wert, and who,
I bid love ask, and now
That it assume thy body I allow,
And fix itself in thy lip, eye, and brow.
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•10:47


AUTHOR COMMENT'S

Give all to love;
Obey thy heart;
Friends, kindred, days,
Estate, good-fame,
Plans, credit, and the Muse,-
Nothing refuse.

'Tis a brave master;
Let it have scope:
Follow it utterly,
Hope beyond hope:
High and more high
It dives into noon,
With wing unspent,
Untold intent;
But it is a god,
Knows its own path,
And the outlets of the sky.
It was not for the mean;
It requireth courage stout,
Souls above doubt,
Valor unbending;
It will reward,-
They shall return
More than they were,
And ever ascending.

Leave all for love;
Yet, hear me, yet,
One word more thy heart behoved,
One pulse more of firm endeavor,-
Keep thee today,
To-morrow, forever,
Free as an Arab
Of thy beloved.
Cling with life to the maid;
But when the surprise,
First vague shadow of surmise
Flits across her bosom young
Of a joy apart from thee,
Free be she, fancy-free;
Nor thou detain her vesture's hem,
Nor the palest rose she flung
From her summer diadem.

Though thou loved her as thyself,
As a self of purer clay,
Tho' her parting dims the day,
Stealing grace from all alive,
Heartily know,
When half-gods go,
The gods arrive.
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•10:44



Somewhere there waiteth in this world of ours
For one lone soul another lonely soul
Each choosing each through all the weary hours
And meeting strangely at one sudden goal.
Then blend they, like green leaves with golden flowers,
Into one beautiful and perfect whole;
And life's long night is ended, and the way
Lies open onward to eternal day.
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•10:44
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•09:20
AUTHOR COMMENT'S
One night while sleeping
I dreamt
Seeing which I began

To get impatient
I saw that
To a place I am going
Where everywhere was dark
And paths are not reaching

As I proceeded
With the confidence I gathered
A queue I saw
Where boys had assembled

Emerald-like garment
They were wearing
In every hand
A little lamp was burning

Without making any noise
To and fro they were moving
Lord alone knows
Where exactly were they going?

While in this thought
My son did I find
Standing in this set
And left behind.

He was at the back
'coz he was not quick.
The lamp in his hand
Was not getting burnt.

I said 'Dear One!
Remember me.
Leaving me behind,
Where have you come?

Restless I am
In your separation
Enjoining I am
A necklace of tears

To us you have showed
No concern at all
The wound once healed
Loyal you are not at all

When saw the children
My fret and fume
Turning his face
The reply came

If you are sad
When from you I separate
Neither for your lad
Is there any profit (in separation)!

Saying this, the child
For sometime remained quiet.
Then lamp in his hand held
He spoke thus:

Are you wondering,
What to this is happening?
Your tears flowing
Has barred it from burning.

Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•09:13

AUTHOR COMMENT'S


One day a Spider was telling a Fly
'Everyday on this route you are passing by'

But not for once did my fortune trigger
That, towards my home you never got nearer

It matters not if from strangers you abstain
But away from friends you shouldn't remain

My home if you come
That shall be my honor!
That ladder in the front
Will reach you to your friend

When heard the fly the talk of the Spider-friend
(It said) O Sire! Play this game on the ignorant

This fly is not among the foolish ones
Who goes up your ladder and never returns

Hearing this the Spider said,
"Ah! You think a traitor I am?
A fool like you will nowhere be found.

Lord knows from where you came flying?
If you remain at my home what is wrong?

Many are the things for you to see
Although a small hut it is when from outside you see

On the doors are hanging curtains very fine
On the walls are mirrors that is full of shine

Said the fly: Fine! What you say is true but,
Your home I will come not.

O Lord! Save me from such subtle discourse
Once laid on them, then I will never arise!

When listened the Spider the talk of the Fly
It thought of a plan to bring the little one nigh

A hundred things with flattery is got done
Everyone in this world is a slave when put this crown

These things did the Spider think
And said,
'Lord has given u a high rank.'

In love I am with your face
That began when I saw you at once

Your eyes are shining like diamond
Your head with a crest has Allah adorned

This beauty, this attire, this splendor, this honor
And a resurrection it is your flight in the air

Pity arose in the fly when heard this flattery
It said 'I wish not to cause you any agony'

The habit of refusing I believe is bad
To break one's heart is in fact bad!

Saying this, it flew from its place
When it came near, the Spider jumped to lay the seize

Hungry was the Spider for many days
But now sitting at home,
The fly was flown to its place!

Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•07:51


Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•21:32

             
AUTHORS COMMENT'S


PERFECT WOMAN
by: William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
      HE was a phantom of delight
      When first she gleam'd upon my sight;
      A lovely apparition, sent
      To be a moment's ornament;
      Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
      Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
      But all things else about her drawn
      From May-time and the cheerful dawn;
      A dancing shape, an image gay,
      To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
       
      I saw her upon nearer view,
      A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
      Her household motions light and free,
      And steps of virgin liberty;
      A countenance in which did meet
      Sweet records, promises as sweet;
      A creature not too bright or good
      For human nature's daily food;
      For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
      Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
       
      And now I see with eye serene
      The very pulse of the machine;
      A being breathing thoughtful breath,
      A traveller between life and death;
      The reason firm, the temperate will,
      Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
      A perfect Woman, nobly plann'd,
      To warn, to comfort, and command;
      And yet a Spirit still, and bright
      With something of angelic light.

Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•22:10
AUTHOR COMMENT'S
What I Love About You
I love the way you look at me,
Your eyes so bright and blue.
I love the way you kiss me,
Your lips so soft and smooth.

I love the way you make me so happy,
And the ways you show you care.
I love the way you say, "I Love You,"
And the way you're always there.

I love the way you touch me,
Always sending chills down my spine.
I love that you are with me,
And glad that you are mine.

- Crystal Jansen -
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•21:23
William Wordsworth

AUTHOR COMMENT'S

William Wordsworth
On April 7, 1770, William Wordsworth was born in Cockermouth, Cumbria, England. Wordsworth's mother died when he was eight--this experience shapes much of his later work. Wordsworth attended Hawkshead Grammar School, where his love of poetry was firmly established and, it is believed, he made his first attempts at verse. While he was at Hawkshead, Wordsworth's father died leaving him and his four siblings orphans. After Hawkshead, Wordsworth studied at St. John's College in Cambridge and before his final semester, he set out on a walking tour of Europe, an experience that influenced both his poetry and his political sensibilities. While touring Europe, Wordsworth came into contact with the French Revolution. This experience as well as a subsequent period living in France, brought about Wordsworth's interest and sympathy for the life, troubles and speech of the "common man". These issues proved to be of the utmost importance to Wordsworth's work. Wordsworth's earliest poetry was published in 1793 in the collections An Evening Walk and Descriptive Sketches. While living in France, Wordsworth conceived a daughter, Caroline, out of wedlock; he left France, however, before she was born. In 1802, he returned to France with his sister on a four-week visit to meet Caroline. Later that year, he married Mary Hutchinson, a childhood friend, and they had five children together. In 1812, while living in Grasmere, they grieved the loss of two of their children, Catherine and John, who both died that year.
Equally important in the poetic life of Wordsworth was his 1795 meeting with the poet, Samuel Taylor Coleridge. It was with Coleridge that Wordsworth published the famous Lyrical Ballads in 1798. While the poems themselves are some of the most influential in Western literature, it is the preface to the second edition that remains one of the most important testaments to a poet's views on both his craft and his place in the world. In the preface Wordsworth writes on the need for "common speech" within poems and argues against the hierarchy of the period which valued epic poetry above the lyric.
Wordsworth's most famous work, The Prelude (1850), is considered by many to be the crowning achievement of English romanticism. The poem, revised numerous times, chronicles the spiritual life of the poet and marks the birth of a new genre of poetry. Although Wordsworth worked on The Prelude throughout his life, the poem was published posthumously. Wordsworth spent his final years settled at Rydal Mount in England, travelling and continuing his outdoor excursions. Devastated by the death of his daughter Dora in 1847, Wordsworth seemingly lost his will to compose poems. William Wordsworth died at Rydal Mount on April 23, 1850, leaving his wife Mary to publish The Prelude three months later.
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•21:17

Shakespeare's plays

 AUTHOR COMMENT'S
Sir John Gilbert's 1849 painting: The Plays of Shakespeare, containing scenes and characters from several of William Shakespeare's plays.
William Shakespeare's plays have the reputation of being among the greatest in the English language and in Western literature. Traditionally, the 37 plays are divided into the genres of tragedy, history, and comedy; they have been translated into every major living language, in addition to being continually performed all around the world.
Many of his plays appeared in print as a series of quartos, but approximately half of them remained unpublished until 1623, when the posthumous First Folio was published. The traditional division of his plays into tragedies, comedies, and histories follows the categories used in the First Folio. However, modern criticism has labelled some of these plays "problem plays" which elude easy categorization, or perhaps purposefully break generic conventions, and has introduced the term romances for what scholars believe to be his later comedies.
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•01:27
ONE of William and Kate’s wedding presents is a unique artwork to go alongside a verse by Britain’s poet laureate.
Carol Ann Duffy felt that the Royal Wedding was the perfect time to celebrate the unbreakable relationship between love and poetry.
She sees her own poem as inclusive of “everyone in love” and has produced a 46 line poem as part of Britain’s “national art”.
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Click here to find out more!
Rings imagines the types of rings – mostly found in nature – that a lover would give to their partner.
The poet laureate produced the verse with Stephen Raw, a textual artist who drew maps based on JRR Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, copies of which were purchased by the British Library.
A copy of the artwork – No 1 – signed by the artist and poet has been sent to William and Kate as a wedding gift. The poet laureate also ­commissioned work from 20 other poets, with the theme of vows, to be used at weddings and civil partnerships in the UK. “Poetry is our national art and this is a part of that, this is a celebration of the whole country and for all couples and everyone.”
Prints will be signed by Carol Ann Duffy and Stephen Raw and strictly limited to 500 copies.
The poem’s images range from “the ring surrounding the moon”, a “lipstick ring on a cheek” to the “ring of a slow dance”.


Read more: http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/top-stories/2011/04/29/royal-wedding-carol-ann-duffy-s-poetry-present-for-prince-william-and-kate-middleton-115875-23093422/#ixzz1UI3uRHqh
Go Camping for 95p! Vouchers collectable in the Daily and Sunday Mirror until 11th August . Click here for more information
Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
•01:23

  • Prince William And Kate Middleton

  •  
    AUTHOR COMMENT'S 
    Prince William and Kate Middleton. Photograph: Indigo/Getty Images
    A poem about the royal marriage,
    Like gilt upon a royal carriage,
    Can add some shine to the occasion
    And maybe through its sly persuasion
    Relieve republicans of doubt,
    So they don't spoil the fun day out.
    A task befitting, you might guess,
    Britain's royal poetess,
    (Or per the style guide: poet, female),
    But she's not answering my email.
    I signed it "from your biggest fan".
    Thanks for nothing, Carol Ann.
    *
    And so, it seems, it falls to me,
    For rather less than half her fee
    In rhyme robust and metre supple
    To toast the royal wedding couple.
    I'll grab a pen, put Radio 4 on,
    Then Duffy-like (not that one, moron)
    I'll wait for royal inspiration
    To strike me, at which time I'll write,
    A poem well-versed and bold and tight.
    I mean, just how hard can it be?
    If Duffy can do it, so can me.
    *
    Future princess, common Kate;
    As common as the common skate,
    Which is to say, quite rare these days,
    Unlike their cousins, manta rays.
    So Kate's like skates: rare, though without
    The rhombic shape and pointed snout,
    Or ventral gills or dorsal fin,
    Or, one presumes, the prickly skin
    (Frankly not sure where this heading,
    Or what it's got to do with wedding –
    I'll close it out with one more rhyme,
    And start again, with Will this time.)
    *
    Royal William, royal as jelly;
    Mates with what's-his-name, Guy Pelly.
    Royal as icing, royal as blue.
    Royal enough, let's hope, for two.
    For he will take this Eastertide,
    A common girl to be his bride.
    Lovely Kate, despite the fuss,
    Is really just like one of us,
    Though slightly better situated,
    Better dressed and educated,
    With better manners, nicer hair,
    More expensive dental care.
    *
    But look beyond the straight white teeth,
    What's important lies beneath.
    The role itself may not be vital
    (Indeed, the job's not worth the title),
    But when Queen Kate is so created
    The rest of us are elevated;
    And royals, in our common eyes
    Look less impressive, regal, wise.
    Could royalty become extinct
    Once commoner and royal are linked?
    The monarchy – destroyed by Kate,
    Like overfishing killed those skate.
    *
    Yes, my reasoning is simplistic,
    Daft, far-fetched and optimistic.
    Forget about it – let's not quibble.
    Hang some bunting; have a nibble!
    Let's put our politics away,
    And just enjoy the magic day.
    For first and foremost, it's a wedding –
    Boy from Windsor, girl from Reading – Imagine you're an honoured guest,
    Wish two crazy kids the best,
    Line the route and pray it's sunny.
    God bless this waste of public money
    Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
    •23:10


                             
    The Wild Swans at Coole                                                   
    AUTHOR COMMENT'S 
    by W. B. Yeats
            
    W. B. YeatsThe trees are in their autumn beauty,  
    The woodland paths are dry,  
    Under the October twilight the water  
    Mirrors a still sky;  
    Upon the brimming water among the stones          
    Are nine and fifty swans.  
      
    The nineteenth Autumn has come upon me  
    Since I first made my count;  
    I saw, before I had well finished,  
    All suddenly mount   
    And scatter wheeling in great broken rings  
    Upon their clamorous wings.  
      
    I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,  
    And now my heart is sore.  
    All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,   
    The first time on this shore,  
    The bell-beat of their wings above my head,  
    Trod with a lighter tread.  
      
    Unwearied still, lover by lover,  
    They paddle in the cold,   
    Companionable streams or climb the air;  
    Their hearts have not grown old;  
    Passion or conquest, wander where they will,  
    Attend upon them still.  
      
    But now they drift on the still water   
    Mysterious, beautiful;  
    Among what rushes will they build,  
    By what lake's edge or pool  
    Delight men's eyes, when I awake some day  
    To find they have flown away?

    Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
    •23:05
    AUTHOR COMMENT'S






    W. B. Yeats                                                                                                       
    W. B. YeatsBorn in Dublin, Ireland, in 1865, William Butler Yeats was the son of a well-known Irish painter, John Butler Yeats. He spent his childhood in County Sligo, where his parents were raised, and in London. He returned to Dublin at the age of fifteen to continue his education and study painting, but quickly discovered he preferred poetry. Born into the Anglo-Irish landowning class, Yeats became involved with the Celtic Revival, a movement against the cultural influences of English rule in Ireland during the Victorian period, which sought to promote the spirit of Ireland's native heritage. Though Yeats never learned Gaelic himself, his writing at the turn of the century drew extensively from sources in Irish mythology and folklore. Also a potent influence on his poetry was the Irish revolutionary Maud Gonne, whom he met in 1889, a woman equally famous for her passionate nationalist politics and her beauty. Though she married another man in 1903 and grew apart from Yeats (and Yeats himself was eventually married to another woman, Georgie Hyde Lees), she remained a powerful figure in his poetry.
    Yeats was deeply involved in politics in Ireland, and in the twenties, despite Irish independence from England, his verse reflected a pessimism about the political situation in his country and the rest of Europe, paralleling the increasing conservativism of his American counterparts in London, T. S. Eliot and Ezra Pound. His work after 1910 was strongly influenced by Pound, becoming more modern in its concision and imagery, but Yeats never abandoned his strict adherence to traditional verse forms. He had a life-long interest in mysticism and the occult, which was off-putting to some readers, but he remained uninhibited in advancing his idiosyncratic philosophy, and his poetry continued to grow stronger as he grew older. Appointed a senator of the Irish Free State in 1922, he is remembered as an important cultural leader, as a major playwright (he was one of the founders of the famous Abbey Theatre in Dublin), and as one of the very greatest poets—in any language—of the century. W. B. Yeats was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1923 and died in 1939 at the age of 73.
    Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
    •19:20
    AUTHOR COMMENT'S
                                                                                        
    Walt WhitmanWalt Whitman

    Born on May 31, 1819, Walt Whitman was the second son of Walter Whitman, a housebuilder, and Louisa Van Velsor. The family, which consisted of nine children, lived in Brooklyn and Long Island in the 1820s and 1830s.
    At the age of twelve, Whitman began to learn the printer's trade, and fell in love with the written word. Largely self-taught, he read voraciously, becoming acquainted with the works of HomerDanteShakespeare, and the Bible.
    Whitman worked as a printer in New York City until a devastating fire in the printing district demolished the industry. In 1836, at the age of 17, he began his career as teacher in the one-room school houses of Long Island. He continued to teach until 1841, when he turned to journalism as a full-time career.
    He founded a weekly newspaper, Long-Islander, and later edited a number of Brooklyn and New York papers. In 1848, Whitman left the Brooklyn Daily Eagle to become editor of the New OrleansCrescent. It was in New Orleans that he experienced at first hand the viciousness of slavery in the slave markets of that city. On his return to Brooklyn in the fall of 1848, he founded a "free soil" newspaper, the Brooklyn Freeman, and continued to develop the unique style of poetry that later so astonished Ralph Waldo Emerson.
    In 1855, Whitman took out a copyright on the first edition ofLeaves of Grass, which consisted of twelve untitled poems and a preface. He published the volume himself, and sent a copy to Emerson in July of 1855. Whitman released a second edition of the book in 1856, containing thirty-three poems, a letter from Emerson praising the first edition, and a long open letter by Whitman in response. During his subsequent career, Whitman continued to refine the volume, publishing several more editions of the book.
    At the outbreak of the Civil War, Whitman vowed to live a "purged" and "cleansed" life. He wrote freelance journalism and visited the wounded at New York-area hospitals. He then traveled to Washington, D.C. in December 1862 to care for his brother who had been wounded in the war.
    Overcome by the suffering of the many wounded in Washington, Whitman decided to stay and work in the hospitals and stayed in the city for eleven years. He took a job as a clerk for the Department of the Interior, which ended when the Secretary of the Interior, James Harlan, discovered that Whitman was the author of Leaves of Grass, which Harlan found offensive. Harlan fired the poet.
    Whitman struggled to support himself through most of his life. In Washington, he lived on a clerk's salary and modest royalties, and spent any excess money, including gifts from friends, to buy supplies for the patients he nursed. He had also been sending money to his widowed mother and an invalid brother. From time to time writers both in the states and in England sent him "purses" of money so that he could get by.
    In the early 1870s, Whitman settled in Camden, NJ, where he had come to visit his dying mother at his brother's house. However, after suffering a stroke, Whitman found it impossible to return to Washington. He stayed with his brother until the 1882 publication of Leaves of Grass gave Whitman enough money to buy a home in Camden.
    In the simple two-story clapboard house, Whitman spent his declining years working on additions and revisions to a new edition of the book and preparing his final volume of poems and prose, Good-Bye, My Fancy (1891). After his death on March 26, 1892, Whitman was buried in a tomb he designed and had built on a lot in Harleigh Cemetery.
    Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
    •19:14


                                                                            










    AUTHOR COMMENT'S


    Samuel Taylor Coleridge

    Samuel Taylor Coleridge
    Samuel Taylor Coleridge, a leader of the British Romantic movement, was born on October 21, 1772, in Devonshire, England. His father, a vicar of a parish and master of a grammar school, married twice and had fourteen children. The youngest child in the family, Coleridge was a student at his father's school and an avid reader. After his father died in 1781, Coleridge attended Christ's Hospital School in London, where he met lifelong friend Charles Lamb. While in London, he also befriended a classmate named Tom Evans, who introduced Coleridge to his family. Coleridge fell in love with Tom's older sister Mary.
    Coleridge's father had always wanted his son to be a clergyman, so when Coleridge entered Jesus College, University of Cambridge in 1791, he focused on a future in the Church of England. Coleridge's views, however, began to change over the course of his first year at Cambridge. He became a supporter of William Frend, a Fellow at the college whose Unitarian beliefs made him a controversial figure. While at Cambridge, Coleridge also accumulated a large debt, which his brothers eventually had to pay off. Financial problems continued to plague him throughout his life, and he constantly depended on the support of others.
    En route to Wales in June 1794, Coleridge met a student named Robert Southey. Striking an instant friendship, Coleridge postponed his trip for several weeks, and the men shared their philosophical ideas. Influenced by Plato's Republic, they constructed a vision of pantisocracy (equal government by all), which involved emigrating to the New World with ten other families to set up a commune on the banks of the Susquehanna River in Pennsylvania. Coleridge and Southey envisioned the men sharing the workload, a great library, philosophical discussions, and freedom of religious and political beliefs.
    After finally visiting Wales, Coleridge returned to England to find that Southey had become engaged to a woman named Edith Fricker. As marriage was an integral part of the plan for communal living in the New World, Coleridge decided to marry another Fricker daughter, Sarah. Coleridge wed in 1795, in spite of the fact that he still loved Mary Evans, who was engaged to another man. Coleridge's marriage was unhappy and he spent much of it apart from his wife. During that period, Coleridge and Southey collaborated on a play titled The Fall of Robespierre(1795). While the pantisocracy was still in the planning stages, Southey abandoned the project to pursue his legacy in law. Left without an alternative plan, Coleridge spent the next few years beginning his career as a writer. He never returned to Cambridge to finish his degree.
    In 1795 Coleridge befriended William Wordsworth, who greatly influenced Coleridge's verse. Coleridge, whose early work was celebratory and conventional, began writing in a more natural style. In his "conversation poems," such as "The Eolian Harp" and "This Lime-Tree Bower My Prison," Coleridge used his intimate friends and their experiences as subjects. The following year, Coleridge published his first volume of poetry, Poems on Various Subjects, and began the first of ten issues of a liberal political publication entitled The Watchman. From 1797 to 1798 he lived near Wordsworth and his sister, Dorothy, in Somersetshire. In 1798 the two men collaborated on a joint volume of poetry entitled Lyrical Ballads. The collection is considered the first great work of the Romantic school of poetry and contains Coleridge's famous poem, "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner."
    That autumn the two poets traveled to the Continent together. Coleridge spent most of the trip in Germany, studying the philosophy of Immanuel Kant, Jakob Boehme, and G.E. Lessing. While there he mastered the German language and began translating. When he returned to England in 1800, he settled with family and friends at Keswick. Over the next two decades Coleridge lectured on literature and philosophy, wrote about religious and political theory, spent two years on the island of Malta as a secretary to the governor in an effort to overcome his poor health and his opium addiction, and lived off of financial donations and grants. Still addicted to opium, he moved in with the physician James Gillman in 1816. In 1817, he publishedBiographia Literaria, which contained his finest literary criticism. He continued to publish poetry and prose, notably Sibylline Leaves(1817), Aids to Reflection (1825), and Church and State (1830). He died in London on July 25, 1834.
    Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
    •19:11

    AUTHOR COMMENT'S

    The Garden of love
    William Blake 
    I went to the Garden of Love,
    And saw what I never had seen:
    A Chapel was built in the midst,
    Where I used to play on the green.

    And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
    And "Thou shalt not" writ over the door;
    So I turned to the Garden of Love,
    That so many sweet flowers bore;

    And I saw it was filled with graves,
    And tombstones where flowers should be;
    And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
    And binding with briers my joys and desires.
    Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
    •21:27

                  AUTHOR COMMENT'S                        

    by: William Shakespeare                                                     
        HEN let not winter's ragged hand deface
        In thee thy summer ere thou be distilled:
        Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
        With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed.
        That use is not forbidden usury
        Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
        That's for thyself to breed another thee,
        Or ten times happier be it ten for one.
        Ten times thyself were happier than thou art,
        If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:
        Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,
        Leaving thee living in posterity?
        Be not self-willed, for thou art much too fair
        To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.
    Author: POETRY FOR LOVER,S
    •21:17

    by: William Shakespeare
        OR shame, deny that thou bear'st love to any                          
        Who for thyself art so unprovident:
        Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
        But that thou none lov'st is most evident;
        For thou art so possessed with murd'rous hate
        That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire,
        Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate
        Which to repair should be thy chief desire.
        O, change thy thought, that I may change my mind;
        Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?
        Be as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
        Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove:
        Make thee another self for love of me,
        That beauty still may live in thine or thee.