The Plague Of Perfidy

cherukulona baini cheddagunambunna
tipiveyakunna dinaga bosaga
dantipurapu druhi yatadetlundura
viswadhabhirama vinura vema

by Vemana.

The Body Grows Without

578

The Body grows without—
The more convenient way—
That if the Spirit—like to hide
Its Temple stands, alway,

Ajar—secure—inviting&md ash;
It never did betray
The Soul that asked its shelter
In solemn honesty

by Emily Dickinson.

To Censorious Courtling

COURTLING, I rather thou should'st utterly
Dispraise my work, than praise it frostily:
When I am read, thou feign'st a weak applause,
As if thou wert my friend, but lack'dst a cause.
This but thy judgment fools: the other way
Would both thy folly and thy spite betray.

by Ben Jonson.

To One False In Love

O false as fair
I am forgotten, then, by thee!
Or haply on another shine
The eyes that once looked into mine
Pretence of love — all faithlessly

Out! nought I care
For such as can true love betray!
Love on, forsworn, your little day:

Ye are nought to me.

by Sappho.

Søn Var Judas Af De Øgle-Unger

Søn var Judas af de Øgle-Unger,
Som bagtalde Gud med deres Tunger,
Mens hans Manna var i deres Mund,
Thi, med Himmel-Brødets Smag i Munden,
Gik han ud med Dragen fra Afgrunden,
Solgde Herren i den samme Stund!
Lad os Du, som Mennesket har skabt,
Med Umennesket ei gaae fortabt!

by Nicolaj Frederik Severin Grundtvig.

Song From 'The Vicar Of Wakefield'

WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom, is -- to die.

by Oliver Goldsmith.

When Lovely Woman Stoops To Folly

When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom, is—to die.

by Oliver Goldsmith.

God give us grace, each in his place,
To keep from sin and sinning:
Our souls we sell for gifts from Hell,
That are not worth the winning.
False smiles that lure but to betray,
False gold some demon flashes,
False hopes that lead from Heaven astray,
False fruit that turns to ashes.

by Lady Jane Wilde.

Silent, Silent Night

Silent, silent night,
Quench the holy light
Of thy torches bright;

For possessed of Day
Thousand spirits stray
That sweet joys betray.

Why should joys be sweet
Used with deceit,
Nor with sorrows meet?

But an honest joy
Does itself destroy
For a harlot coy.

by William Blake.

Now fie on foolish love, it not befits
Or man or woman know it.
Love was not meant for people in their wits,
And they that fondly show it
Betray the straw, and features in their brain,
And shall have Bedlam for their pain:
If simple love be such a curse,
To marry is to make it ten times worse.

by Francis Beaumont.

Sorrow's Treachery

I made a truce last night with Sorrow,
The queen of tears, the foe of sleep,
To keep her tents until the morrow,
Nor send such dreams to make me weep.

Before the lusty day was springing,
Before the tired moon was set,
I dreamed I heard my dead love singing,
And when I woke my eyes were wet.

by Robert Fuller Murray.

To Robert Barber Esq; Deputy To The Treasurer's Remembrancer In The Court Of Exchequer

Whilst Gay's unhappy Fate thy Ear attends,
Thy Heart, indignant, scorns his faithless Friends;
Thy gen'rous Heart, which never learnt the Way,
A Friend or to deceive, or to betray:
With Honour and Integrity so blest,
Not Law, infectious, can pollute thy Breast:
With Justice and Humanity endow'd,
You shine, distinguish'd, 'midst a venal Croud.

by Mary Barber.

Fortune's Treachery

When Fortune's shield protects you, then beware --
Tomorrow, for your foot she sets a snare.
Her gift, an eaglet's pinion -- now your flight,
Anon, the lethal arrow -- to upbear!

Based on the translation by Solomon Solis-Cohen that's reproduced on page 377 of A Treasury of Jewish Poetry: From Biblical Times to the Present, edited by Nathan and Marynn Ausubel (Crown Publishers, 1957).

by Yehudah HaLevi.

We believe in the true God
Who is the universe itself,
Without him there is no place,
He is the beginning and the end.
Wherever we look,
We see his face,
He is everything in this life,
He is the true God!
The blossoming flowers
Betray his beauty,
He is the rose,
He is himself the nightingale,
And when the true God
Wanted to reveal himself to the world,
He then created man.

by Naim Frashëri.

The gifts o' the gods; not all men have them, ay,
And some indeed that have them know it not;
And some that have them not, deem that they have,
And there's the mischief: it is this that makes
So many failures, tempts men to betray
Their proper selves, and on a false surmise
Of what they are or will be, lures them to
Their own undoing; as pirate lights decoy
Unwary mariners to ruin on
A monstrous shore.

by Robert Crawford.

Thee, Christ, I sought to sell all day
And hurried to the mart to hold
A hundred heavy coins of gold
And lo! they would not pay.

But “thirty pieces of silver” cried
(Thine ancient price), and I agreed,
Six for each of the wounds that bleed
In hands and feet and side.

“Including cross and crown” we priced,
Is now their claim and I refuse,
I will not bargain all to lose,
I will not sell Thee, Christ!

by Joseph Mary Plunkett.

Life—is What We Make Of It

698

Life—is what we make of it—
Death—we do not know—
Christ's acquaintance with Him
Justify Him—though—

He—would trust no stranger—
Other—could betray—
Just His own endorsement—
That—sufficeth Me—

All the other Distance
He hath traversed first—
No New Mile remaineth—
Far as Paradise—

His sure foot preceding—
Tender Pioneer—
Base must be the Coward
Dare not venture—now—

by Emily Dickinson.

ON READING HER POEMS.


Blest is the bard, whose modest pride,
Unlured by vapour gleams of wit,
Still clings to nature as a guide
With following feet, that fear to quit.
And blest are they, who o'er life's road,
Too often treacherous or abrupt,
Tho' guile betray and malice goad,
Move kindly on and uncorrupt.
But doubly blessëd is thy part,
Who, 'mid bad taste—bad world—still true,
Preserv'st simplicity of heart,
As woman, and as poct, too.

by John Kenyon.

I Love This White And Slender Body

I Love this white and slender body,
These limbs that answer Love's caresses,
Passionate eyes, and forehead covered
With heavy waves of thick, black tresses.

You are the very one I've searched for
In many lands, in every weather.
You are my sort; you understand me;
As equals we can talk together.

In me you've found the man you care for.
And, for a while, you'll richly pay me
With kindness, kisses and endearments--
And then, as usual, you'll betray me.

by Heinrich Heine.

The Last Betrayal

AND I shall lie alone at last,
Clear of the stream that ran so fast,
And feel the flower roots in my hair,
And in my hands the roots of trees;
Myself wrapt in the ungrudging peace
That leaves no pain uncovered anywhere.

What--this hope left? this way not barred?
This last best treasure without guard?
This heaven free--no prayers to pay?
Fool--are the Rulers of men asleep?
Thou knowest what tears They bade thee weep,
But, when peace comes, 'tis thou wilt sleep, not They.

by Edith Nesbit.

Song From Amphitryon

Air Iris I love, and hourly I die,
But not for a lip, nor a languishing eye:
She's fickle and false, and there we agree,
For I am as false and as fickle as she.
We neither believe what either can say;
And, neither believing, we neither betray.
'Tis civil to swear, and say things of course;
We mean not the taking for better or worse.
When present, we love; when absent, agree:
I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me.
The legend of love no couple can find,
So easy to part, or so equally join'd.

by John Dryden.

To Certain Critics

Then call me traitor if you must,
Shout reason and default!
Say I betray a sacred trust
Aching beyond this vault.
I'll bear your censure as your praise,
For never shall the clan
Confine my singing to its ways
Beyond the ways of man.

No racial option narrows grief,
Pain is not patriot,
And sorrow plaits her dismal leaf
For all as lief as not.
With blind sheep groping every hill,
Searching an oriflamme,
How shall the shpherd heart then thrill
To only the darker lamb?

by Countee Cullen.

Fair Iris I Love And Hourly I Die

Fair Iris I love and hourly I die,
But not for a lip nor a languishing eye:
She's fickle and false, and there I agree;
For I am as false and as fickle as she:
We neither believe what either can say;
And, neither believing, we neither betray.

'Tis civil to swear and say things, of course;
We mean not the taking for better or worse.
When present we love, when absent agree;
I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me:
The legend of love no couple can find
So easy to part, or so equally join'd.

by John Dryden.

The Worst Treason

The deepest infamy man can attain,
Is to strangle Rome, or France enchain;
Whate'er the place, the land, the city be,
'T is to rob man of soul and liberty;
'T is with drawn sword the senate to invade,
And murder law in its own court betrayed.
To enslave the land is guilt of such black dye,
It is ne'er quitted by God's vengeful eye;
The crime once done, they day of grace expires,
Heaven's punishment, which, howe'er slow, ne'er tires,
Begins to march, and comes serene and calm,
With her steel knotted whip beneath her arm.

by Victor Marie Hugo.

Where, from the eye of day,
The dark and silent river
Pursues through tangled woods a way
O'er which the tall trees quiver;

The silver mist, that breaks
From out that woodland cover,
Betrays the hidden path it takes,
And hangs the current over!

So oft the thoughts that burst
From hidden springs of feeling,
Like silent streams, unseen at first,
From our cold hearts are stealing:

But soon the clouds that veil
The eye of Love, when glowing,
Betray the long unwhispered tale
Of thoughts in darkness flowing!

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

All On The Earth

All on the earth will die - and youth and mother,
Wife will betray you, leave once faithful friend,
But you learn to enjoy the bliss another -
Look in a mirror of the polar land.

Get on your bark, sail to the distant Pole
In walls of ice - and bit by bit forget
How they loved there, perished, fought, gained goal…
Forget your passions' ever painful set.

And let your soul, tiered all to bear,
Come used to shudder of the slow colds -
Such that it will not crave for something here,
When once from there the dazzling lighting bolts.

by Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok.

Foe and friend and foe again,
Turning coat and turning yet,
That's a feat you don't disdain,
De Wet.

England's easy, England's kind,
Quick to pardon and forget.
There's a limit, as you'll find,
De Wet.

Glad to raise a fallen foe,
Ready to erase a debt.
Quick to spare a traitor ? No,
De Wet.

England trusts a solemn vow,
That's her way. We don't regret.
So be it, we know you now,
De Wet.

Treachery will miss its aim,
You'll be learning, never fret.
That it's best to play the game,
De Wet.

by Jessie Pope.

Sad and made of copper
The symbol we are wed,
Even our comedies
End a little sadly….
Our joyful neighbors
Wear their infernal
Hirsute fur coats….
And that only… banal
Are our mangy bears
With prey trembling
In blood-covered lips.

For what purpose, when dreams betray,
That words brim over with delusions?
For what purpose, on a forgotten grave,
Grass grows greener and emits a noise?

For what purpose these lunar heights,
If my garden is silent and dark?
And the tails of her plaits are untied,
And I hear their breath... for what?

by Innokenty Fedorovich Annensky.

Whate'er is Born of Mortal Birth
Must be consumed with the Earth
To rise from Generation free:
Then what have I to do with thee?

The Sexes sprung from Shame & Pride,
Blow'd in the morn, in evening died;
But Mercy chang'd Death into Sleep;
The Sexes rose to work & weep.

Thou, Mother of my Mortal part,
With cruelty didst mould my Heart,
And with false self-deceiving tears
Didst bind my Nostrils, Eyes, & Ears:

Didst close my Tongue in senseless clay,
And me to Mortal Life betray.
The Death of Jesus set me free:
Then what have I to do with thee?

by William Blake.

Commemoration Of Rodney's Victory

INSTEAD of a Song, boy's, I'll give you a Toast;
Here's to the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost!—
That we lost, did I say?—nay, by Heav'n, that we found;
For their fame it will last while the world goes round.
The next in succession I'll give you's THE KING!
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing!
And here's the grand fabric, our free CONSTITUTION,
As built on the base of our great Revolution!
And longer with Politics not to be cramm'd,
Be ANARCHY curs'd, and TYRANNY damn'd!
And who would to LIBERTY e'er prove disloyal,
May his son be a hangman—and he his first trial!

by Robert Burns.

The Meaning Of The Look

I think that look of Christ might seem to say--
'Thou Peter ! art thou then a common stone
Which I at last must break my heart upon
For all God's charge to his high angels may
Guard my foot better ? Did I yesterday
Wash thy feet, my beloved, that they should run
Quick to deny me 'neath the morning sun ?
And do thy kisses, like the rest, betray ?
The cock crows coldly.--GO, and manifest
A late contrition, but no bootless fear !
For when thy final need is dreariest,
Thou shalt not be denied, as I am here;
My voice to God and angels shall attest,
Because I KNOW this man, let him be clear.'

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

So long as the blade has not
Cut off that brain,
That white, green and fatty parcel,
Whose steam is never fresh,
Ah ! He, should cut off his
Nose, his lips, his ears,
His belly ! And abandon
But no, truly, I believe that so long as
The blade to his head,
And the stone to his side,
And the flame to his guts
Have not done execution, the tiresome
Child, the so stupid animal,
Must never for an instant cease
To cheat and betray
And like a Rocky Mountain cat ;
To make all places stink !
But still when he dies,
O my God !
May there rise up some prayer !

by Arthur Rimbaud.

The Runes Of Weland's Sword

1906


A smith makes me
To betray my Man
In my first fight.

To gather Gold
At the world's end
I am sent.

The Gold I gather
Comes into England
Out of deep Water.

Like a shining Fish
Then it descends
Into deep Water.

It is not given
For goods or gear,
But for The Thing.

The Gold I gather
A King covets
For an ill use

The Gold I gather
Is drawn up
Out of deep Water.

Like a shining Fish
Then it descends
Into deep Water.

It is not given
For goods or gear,
But for The Thing.

by Rudyard Kipling.

Spring, and the wispy clouds that fade away
And draw the ecstatic soul in pain to aspire
In maddening flight through heaven's thin flood of fire
To melt in rapture at the heart of day,
The powers of the world that promise and betray
Have dragged me from you in their icy ire
And set me spinning at their loom, for hire,
The shroud in which my senses must decay.
For hire I give myself, and cannot tell
If the blind force that flings me in the chest
Have power or will to pay the bargained price,
Yet for a word of love I gladly quell
The quivering hope of not inactive rest
And very humbly make my sacrifice.

by John Le Gay Brereton.

Sonnet Iv: Why, When I Gaze

Why, when I gaze on Phaon's beauteous eyes,
Why does each thought in wild disorder stray?
Why does each fainting faculty decay,
And my chill'd breast in throbbing tumults rise?
Mute, on the ground my Lyre neglected lies,
The Muse forgot, and lost the melting lay;
My down-cast looks, my faultering lips betray,
That stung by hopeless passion,--Sappho dies!
Now, on a bank of Cypress let me rest;
Come, tuneful maids, ye pupils of my care,
Come, with your dulcet numbers soothe my breast;
And, as the soft vibrations float on air,
Let pity waft my spirit to the blest,
To mock the barb'rous triumphs of despair!

by Mary Darby Robinson.

The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part Ii: To Juliet: Xl

THE SAME CONTINUED
'Tis strange we are thus parted, not by death
Or man's device, but by our own mad will,
We who have stood together on life's path
Through half a youth of good repute and ill,
Friends more than lovers. See, Love's citadel
We held so stoutly 'gainst a world in arms
Lies all dismantled now, a sight to fill
The Earth with lamentations and alarms.
Whose was the fault? I dare not ask nor say.
If there was treachery, 'tis best untold.
The price of treason we receive to--day
Is paid to both of us in evil gold.
Ay, take thy bitter freedom. 'Tis the fee
Of love betrayed and faith's apostasy.

by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt.

Could I But Leave Men Wiser By My Song

Could I but leave men wiser by my song,
And somewhat happier in their little day,
Wean them from things that lure but to betray,
Make the harsh gentle, and the feeble strong,
Shunning the paths where pride and folly throng,
Then would I carol all the livelong day,
And, as the golden sunset waned to grey,
With vesper voice my twilight hour prolong.
But now they hear me heedlessly, or pass,
With hurrying steps, to pomp's ambitious strife
But with chagrin and disappointment rife,
And shadows fleeting as one's breath on glass,
Still with foiled feet and baffled hopes, alas!
Lost in the long vain labyrinth of Life.

by Alfred Austin.

A Woman’s Sonnets: Vi

What have I lost? The faith I had that Right
Must surely prove itself than Ill more strong.
For see how little my poor prayers had might
To save me, at the trial's pinch, from wrong.
What have I lost? The truth of my proud eyes
Scorning deceit. Behold me here to--day
Leading a double life, at shifts with lies,
And trembling lest each shadow should betray.
No longer with my lost ones may I mourn,
Who came to me in sleep and breathed soft words.
Sleepless I lie and fearful and forlorn,
With their love's edge still wounding like a sword's.
In thy dear presence only I find rest.
To thee alone naught needs to be confessed.

by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt.

Sonnet 151: Love Is Too Young To Know What Conscience Is

Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove.
For thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body's treason;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason,
But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
No want of conscience hold it that I call,
Her "love" for whose dear love I rise and fall.

by William Shakespeare.

The Victory Of Patience

Armed of the gods! Divinest conqueror!
What soundless hosts are thine! Nor pomp, nor state,
Nor token, to betray where thou dost wait.
All Nature stands, for thee, ambassador;
Her forces all thy serfs, for peace or war.
greatest and least alike, thou rul'st their fate,--
The avalanch chained until its century's date,
The mulberry leaf made robe for emperor!
Shall man alone thy law deny? --refuse
Thy healing for his blunders and his sins?
Oh, make us thine! Teach us who waits best sues;
Who longest waits of all most surely wins.
When Time is spent, Eternity begins.
To doubt, to chafe, to haste, doth God accuse.

by Helen Hunt Jackson.