Dearly I love a friend; yet a foe I may turn to my profit;
Friends show me that which I can; foes teach me that which I should.

by Friedrich Schiller.

An Enemy To Law And Order

A is defrauded of his land by B,
Who's driven from the premises by C.
D buys the place with coin of plundered E.
'That A's an Anarchist!' says F to G.

by Ambrose Bierce.

I Had No Time To Hate, Because

I had no time to hate, because
The grave would hinder me,
And life was not so ample I
Could finish enmity.

Nor had I time to love, but since
Some industry must be,
The little toil of love, I thought,
Was large enough for me.

by Emily Dickinson.

Mine enemy is growing old

MINE enemy is growing old,
I have at last revenge.
The palate of the hate departs;
If any would avenge,

Let him be quick, the viand flits,
It is a faded meat.
Anger as soon as fed is dead;
'T is starving makes it fat.

by Emily Dickinson.

The Preference Declared

Boy, I detest the Persian pomp;
I hate those linden-bark devices;
And as for roses, holy Moses!
They can't be got at living prices!
Myrtle is good enough for us,--
For you, as bearer of my flagon;
For me, supine beneath this vine,
Doing my best to get a jag on!

by Eugene Field.

Islam: The Religion Of Unity

The Din that had built the foundation of love
Which emptied the world of all hatred and spite
Which made warring strangers as gentle as doves
From every Quom drew out the poison of hate
Arabs, Ethiops, Tajiks, Dailamites and Turks
Mixed like milk and sugar, their unity worked.

by Maulana Altaf Hussain Hali.

Y'E Foe To Cathaye

O never an oathe sweares he,
And never a pig-taile jerkes;
With a brick-batte he ne lurkes
For to buste y'e crust, perdie,
Of y'e man from over sea,
A-synging as he werkes.
For he knows ful well, y's youth,
A tricke of exceeding worth:
And he plans withouten ruth
A conflagration's birth!

by Ambrose Bierce.

Jomer Dute Ashia Tomar Hate Dibe Dori

যমের দূতে আসিয়া তোমার হাতে দিবে দড়ি।
টানিয়া টানিয়া লইয়া যাবে যমেরও পুরিরে।।

সে সময় কোথায় রইব (তোমার) সুন্দর সুন্দর স্ত্রী।
কোথায় রইব রামপাশা কোথায় লক্ষণছিরি রে।।

করবায় নিরে হাসন রাজা রামপাশায় জমিদারী।
করবায় নিরে কাপনা নদীর তীরে ঘুরাঘুরি রে।।

(আর) যাইবায় নিরে হাসন রাজা রাজাগঞ্জ দিয়া।
করবায় নিরে হাসন রাজা দেশে দেশে বিয়া রে।।

ছাড় ছাড় হাসন রাজা এ ভবের আশা।
প্রাণ বন্ধের চরণ তলে কর গিয়া বাসা রে।।

by Hason Raja.

The Heart Courageous

Who hath a heart courageous
Will fight with right good cheer;
For well may he his foes out-face
Who owns no foe called Fear!

Who hath a heart courageous
Will fight as knight of old
For that which he doth count his own--
Against the world to hold.

Who hath a heart courageous
Will fight both night and day,
Against the Host Invisible--
That holds his soul at bay,

Who hath a heart courageous
Rests with tranquillity,
For Time he counts not as his foe,
Nor Death his enemy.

by Virna Sheard.

Ope not thy lips, thou foolish one,
Nor turn to me thy face;
The blasts of heaven shall strike thee down
Ere I will give thee grace.

Take thou thy shadow from my path,
Nor turn to me and pray;
The wild wild winds thy dirge may sing
Ere I will bid thee stay.

Turn thou away thy false dark eyes,
Nor gaze upon my face;
Great love I bore thee: now great hate
Sits grimly in its place.

All changes pass me like a dream,
I neither sing nor pray;
And thou art like the poisonous tree
That stole my life away.

by Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal.

In Memoriam 82: I Wage Not Any Feud With Death

I wage not any feud with Death
For changes wrought on form and face;
No lower life that earth's embrace
May breed with him, can fright my faith.

Eternal process moving on,
From state to state the spirit walks;
And these are but the shatter'd stalks,
Or ruin'd chrysalis of one.

Nor blame I Death, because he bare
The use of virtue out of earth:
I know transplanted human worth
Will bloom to profit, otherwhere.

For this alone on Death I wreak
The wrath that garners in my heart;
He put our lives so far apart
We cannot hear each other speak.

by Alfred Lord Tennyson.

The Woman Speaks

Why have you come? to see me in my shame?
A thing to spit on, to despise and scorn?
And then to ask me! You, by whom was torn
And then cast by, like some vile rag, my name!
What shelter could you give me, now, that blame
And loathing would not share? that wolves of vice
Would not besiege with eyes of glaring ice?
Wherein Sin sat not with her face of flame?
'You love me'? God! If yours be love, for lust
Hell must invent another synonym!
If yours be love, then hatred is the way
To Heaven and God! and not with soul but dust
Must burn the faces of the Cherubim,
O lie of lies, if yours be love, I say!

by Madison Julius Cawein.

Sonnet 150: O From What Power Hast Thou This Powerful Might

O, from what power hast thou this powerful might
With insufficiency my heart to sway?
To make me give the lie to my true sight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantise of skill
That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more,
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
O, though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state.
If thy unworthiness raised love in me,
More worthy I to be beloved of thee.

by William Shakespeare.

Sonnet 90: Then Hate Me When Thou Wilt; If Ever, Now

Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after-loss.
Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquered woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purposed overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite,
But in the onset come; so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune's might,
And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.

by William Shakespeare.

Sonnet 142: Love Is My Sin, And Thy Dear Virtue Hate

Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving,
O, but with mine, compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving,
Or if it do, not from those lips of thine
That have profaned their scarlet ornaments
And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robbed others' beds' revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee as thou lov'st those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee.
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
By self-example mayst thou be denied!

by William Shakespeare.

Bismarck At Canossa: Sonnets

NOT ALL disgraced, in that Italian town,
The imperial German cowered beneath thine hand,
Alone indeed imperial Hildebrand,
And felt thy foot and Rome’s, and felt her frown
And thine, more strong and sovereign than his crown,
Though iron forged its blood-encrusted band.
But now the princely wielder of his land,
For hatred’s sake toward freedom, so bows down,
No strength is in the foot to spurn: its tread
Can bruise not now the proud submitted head:
But how much more abased, much lower brought low,
And more intolerably humiliated,
The neck submissive of the prosperous foe,
Than his whom scorn saw shuddering in the snow!

by Algernon Charles Swinburne.

The War Of Bread

'There shall be no unwarranted manipulation of
the nation's food supply by those who handle it
on the way to the consumer.'—President Wilson.

Of all the wars that waste this world,
Where the life of man has bled,
This is the war I most abhor—
The theft of the people's bread!

They who hold back what the kind Earth gave
In the billowing fields of grain,
Are the cowardliest foe—for their secret blow
Strikes for their own base gain.

Arm of the law, reach forth in your might,
And the hidden stores unbind,
And defeat their power who, at this hour,
Wage dastardly war on their kind!

by Edith Matilda Thomas.

However skilled and strong art thou, my foe,
However fierce is thy relentless hate
Though firm thy hand, and strong thy aim, and straight
Thy poisoned arrow leaves the bended bow,
To pierce the target of my heart, ah! know
I am the master yet of my own fate.
Thou canst not rob me of my best estate,
Though fortune, fame and friends, yea love shall go.

Not to the dust shall my true self be hurled;
Nor shall I meet thy worst assaults dismayed.
When all things in the balance are well weighed,
There is but one great.danger in the world-
Thou canst not force my soul to wish thee ill,
That is the only evil that can kill.

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

Psalm 139 Part 3

Sincerity professed, and grace tried; or, The heart-searching God.

My God, what inward grief I feel
When impious men transgress thy will!
I mourn to hear their lips profane
Take thy tremendous name in vain.

Does not my soul detest and hate
The sons of malice and deceit?
Those that oppose thy laws and thee,
I count them enemies to me.

Lord, search my soul, try every thought;
Though my own heart accuse me not
Of walking in a false disguise,
I beg the trial of thine eyes.

Doth secret mischief lurk within?
Do I indulge some unknown sin?
O turn my feet whene'er I stray,
And lead me in thy perfect way.

by Isaac Watts.

My enemy came nigh,
And I
Stared fiercely in his face.
My lips went writhing back in a grimace,
And stern I watched him with a narrow eye.
Then, as I turned away, my enemy,
That bitter heart and savage, said to me:
'Some day, when this is past,
When all the arrows that we have are cast,
We may ask one another why we hate,
And fail to find a story to relate.
It may seem then to us a mystery
That we should hate each other.'

Thus said he,
And did not turn away,
Waiting to hear what I might have to say,
But I fled quickly, fearing had I stayed
I might have kissed him as I would a maid.

by James Brunton Stephens.

In Memoriam A. H. H.: 82. I Wage Not Any Feud With Death

I wage not any feud with Death
For changes wrought on form and face;
No lower life that earth's embrace
May breed with him, can fright my faith.
Eternal process moving on,
From state to state the spirit walks;
And these are but the shatter'd stalks,
Or ruin'd chrysalis of one.
Nor blame I Death, because he bare
The use of virtue out of earth:
I know transplanted human worth
Will bloom to profit, otherwhere.

For this alone on Death I wreak
The wrath that garners in my heart;
He put our lives so far apart
We cannot hear each other speak.

by Alfred Lord Tennyson.

Once, when my husband was a child, there came
To his father's table, one who called him kin,
In sunbleached corduroys paler than his skin.
His look was grave and kind; he bore the name
Of the dead singer of Senlac, and his smile.
Shyly and courteously he smiled and spoke;
"I've been in the laurel since the winter broke;
Four months, I reckon; yes, sir, quite a while."

He'd killed a score of foemen in the past,
In some blood feud, a dark and monstrous thing;
To him it seemed his duty. At the last
His enemies found him by a forest spring,
Which, as he died, lay bright beneath his head,
A silver shield that slowly turned to red.

by Elinor Morton Wylie.

John Marston: Xii

THE BITTERNESS of death and bitterer scorn
Breathes from the broad-leafed aloe-plant whence thou
Wast fain to gather for thy bended brow
A chaplet by no gentler forehead worn.
Grief deep as hell, wrath hardly to be borne,
Ploughed up thy soul till round the furrowing plough
The strange black soil foamed, as a black beaked prow
Bids night-black waves foam where its track has torn.
Too faint the phrase for thee that only saith
Scorn bitterer than the bitterness of death
Pervades the sullen splendour of thy soul,
Where hate and pain make war on force and fraud
And all the strengths of tyrants; whence unflawed
It keeps this noble heart of hatred whole.

by Algernon Charles Swinburne.

Hate You, Christ, I Do Not

Hate you, Christ, I do not, or seek. I believe
In you as in the others gods, your elders.
I count you as neither more nor less
Than they are, merely newer.

I do hate, yes, and calmly abhor people
Who seek you above the other gods, yours equals.
I seek you where you are, not higher
Than them, not lower, yourself merely.

Say god, needed perhaps because there was
None like you: one more in the Pantheon, nothing
More, not purer: because the whole
Was complete with gods, except you.

Take care, exclusive idolater of Christ: life
Is multiple, all days different from each other,
And only as multiple shall we
Be with reality and alone.

by Fernando Pessoa.

Thou two-faced year, Mother of Change and Fate,
Didst weep when Spain cast forth with flaming sword,
The children of the prophets of the Lord,
Prince, priest, and people, spurned by zealot hate.
Hounded from sea to sea, from state to state,
The West refused them, and the East abhorred.
No anchorage the known world could afford,
Close-locked was every port, barred every gate.
Then smiling, thou unveil'dst, O two-faced year,
A virgin world where doors of sunset part,
Saying, "Ho, all who weary, enter here!
There falls each ancient barrier that the art
Of race or creed or rank devised, to rear
Grim bulwarked hatred between heart and heart!"

by Emma Lazarus.

O, from what power hast thou this powerful might
With insufficiency my heart to sway?
To make me give the lie to my true sight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantize of skill
That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
O, though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state:
If thy unworthiness raised love in me,
More worthy I to be beloved of thee.

by William Shakespeare.

Bird Song - Crow

Crow
I detest the Carrion Crow!
(He's a raven, don't you know?)
He's a greedy glutton, also, and a ghoul,
And his sanctimonious caw
Rubs my temper on the raw.
He's a demon, and a most degraded fowl.

Blue Wren
I admire the pert Blue-wren
And his dainty little hen
Though she hasn't got a trace of blue upon her;
But she's pleasing, and she's pretty,
And she sings a cheerful ditty;
While her husband is a gentleman of honour.

Cuckoo
I despise the Pallid Cuckoo,
A disreputable 'crook' who
Shirks her duties for a lazy life of ease.
I abhor her mournful call,
Which is not a song at all
But a cross between a whimper and a wheeze.

by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis.

There's a man I know-
A likeable man-
Whom you meanly wound
Whenever you can,
Remark with malice
His task is done ill,
He's poor of judgment
And weak of will.
I implore you, now,
As that poor man's friend,
Let persecution
Have speediest end.

Cease taunting the man
With blunders he makes,
Cease harping alway
On wrongs and mistakes.
Come, be his good friend-
Hail fellow, well met-
His failures forgive,
And his faults forget.
Who is the man you've
Discouraged and blamed?
The man is yourself-
Are you not ashamed?

For faults of the past
Make ample amends,
And you and yourself
Be the best of friends.

by Jean Blewett.

Modern Love Iv: All Other Joys Of Life

All other joys of life he strove to warm,
And magnify, and catch them to his lip:
But they had suffered shipwreck with the ship,
And gazed upon him sallow from the storm.
Or if Delusion came, 'twas but to show
The coming minute mock the one that went.
Cold as a mountain in its star-pitched tent,
Stood high Philosophy, less friend than foe:
Whom self-caged Passion, from its prison-bars,
Is always watching with a wondering hate.
Not till the fire is dying in the grate,
Look we for any kinship with the stars.
Oh, wisdom never comes when it is gold,
And the great price we pay for it full worth:
We have it only when we are half earth.
Little avails that coinage to the old!

by George Meredith.

My youth was nothing but a black storm
Crossed now and then by brilliant suns.
The thunder and the rain so ravage the shores
Nothing's left of the fruit my garden held once.

I should employ the rake and the plow,
Having reached the autumn of ideas,
To restore this inundated ground
Where the deep grooves of water form tombs in the lees.

And who knows if the new flowers you dreamed
Will find in a soil stripped and cleaned
The mystic nourishment that fortifies?

—O Sorrow—O Sorrow—Time consumes Life,
And the obscure enemy that gnaws at my heart
Uses the blood that I lose to play my part.


Translated by William A. Sigler


Submitted by Ryan McGuire

by Charles Baudelaire.

Let those who will of friendship sing,
And to its guerdon grateful be,
But I a lyric garland bring
To crown thee, O, mine enemy!

Thanks, endless thanks, to thee I owe
For that my lifelong journey through
Thine honest hate has done for me
What love perchance had failed to do.

I had not scaled such weary heights
But that I held thy scorn in fear,
And never keenest lure might match
The subtle goading of thy sneer.

Thine anger struck from me a fire
That purged all dull content away,
Our mortal strife to me has been
Unflagging spur from day to day.

And thus, while all the world may laud
The gifts of love and loyalty,
I lay my meed of gratitude
Before thy feet, mine enemy!

by Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Beauty And Hate

I have sought and followed you, drunk with your sacred wine;
Led out by a laughing wind on a tumbling sea,
On crags amid clouds, in cups that allure the bee,
And deep in the gem-lit gloom of the tortuous mine,
And on widespread wings where the great worlds dance and shine
I have sought by the golden light; but have bent the knee
At last where you lie, a humble goddess and free,
Naked and flushed in the warmth of a crimson shrine.
The hordes of hate have trampled your blooms in mire,
And cackle and roar as their mockery priests blaspheme,
And sing the marching hymn of a wingless might.
They forge their god in the heat of unholy fire
The squat strong incubus born of an evil dream;
And it shrinks and crumbles away in the golden light.

by John Le Gay Brereton.

Where Is The Slave

Oh, where's the slave so lowly,
Condemn'd to chains unholy,
Who, could he burst
His bonds at first,
Would pine beneath them slowly?
What soul, whose wrongs degrade it,
Would wait till time decay'd it,
When thus its wing
At once may spring
To the throne of Him who made it?

Farewell, Erin, -- farewell, all,
Who live to weep our fall!

Less dear the laurel growing,
Alive, untouch'd and blowing,
Than that whose braid
Is pluckd to shade
The brows with victory glowing.
We tread the land that bore us,
Her green flag glitters o'er us,
The friends we've tried
Are by our side,
And the foe we hate before us.

Farewell, Erin, -- farewell, all,
Who live to weep our fall!

by Thomas Moore.

Self-examination; or, Evidences of grace.

Judge me, O Lord, and prove my ways,
And try my reins, and try my heart
My faith upon thy promise stays,
Nor from thy law my feet depart.

I hate to walk, I hate to sit,
With men of vanity and lies
The scoffer and the hypocrite
Are the abhorrence of mine eyes.

Amongst thy saints will I appear
With frauds well washed in innocence;
But when I stand before thy bar,
The blood of Christ is my defence.

I love thy habitation, Lord,
The temple where thine honors dwell;
There shall I hear thine holy word,
And there thy works of wonder tell.

Let not my soul be joined at last
With men of treachery and blood,
Since I my days on earth have passed
Among the saints, and near my God.

by Isaac Watts.

Hate is only Love that has missed its way.


Had it been when I came to the valley where the paths parted asunder,
Chance had led my feet to the way of love, not hate,
I might have cherished you well, have been to you fond and faithful,
Great as my hatred is, so might my love have been great.

Each cold word of mine might have been a kiss impassioned,
Warm with the throb of my heart, thrilled with my pulse's leap,
And every glance of scorn, lashing, pursuing, and stinging,
As a look of tenderness would have been wondrous and deep.

Bitter our hatred is, old and strong and unchanging,
Twined with the fibres of life, blent with body and soul,
But as its bitterness, so might have been our love's sweetness
Had it not missed the way­strange missing and sad!­to its goal.

by Lucy Maud Montgomery.

When now to battle he shall ride,
The bravest of the brave,
Joan the Maid be by his side
And Michael, quick to save.

Not against man's most fell device
The shell, the gas, the mine;
These he shall meet with steady eyes
And courage half-divine.

Oh, not the gaping wounds and red
And not the tortured sense,
And not the dying and the dead
And his own impotence.

But when the joy of battle faints
And his hot blood grows chill,
Be near him, all ye soldier saints,
Lest Satan work him ill!

Lest in the hour of his great fight
This foe should him assail,
The enemy that creeps by night
Strike through his coat of mail.

Sebastian of the arrows, haste,
Michael and the White Maid,
Lest in his splendid hour, at last,
The soldier be afraid.

by Katharine Tynan.

Struck, Was I, Not Yet By Lightning

925

Struck, was I, not yet by Lightning—
Lightning—lets away
Power to perceive His Process
With Vitality.

Maimed—was I—yet not by Venture—
Stone of stolid Boy—
Nor a Sportsman's Peradventure—
Who mine Enemy?

Robbed—was I—intact to Bandit—
All my Mansion torn—
Sun—withdrawn to Recognition—
Furthest shining—done—

Yet was not the foe—of any—
Not the smallest Bird
In the nearest Orchard dwelling
Be of Me—afraid.

Most—I love the Cause that slew Me.
Often as I die
Its beloved Recognition
Holds a Sun on Me—

Best—at Setting—as is Nature's—
Neither witnessed Rise
Till the infinite Aurora
In the other's eyes.

by Emily Dickinson.

If I have studied here in part
A tale as old as maiden's heart,
'Tis that I do see herein
Shadow of more piteous sin.

She, that but giving part, not whole,
Took even the part back, is the Soul:
And that so disdain-ed Lover--
Best unthought, since Love is over.

Love to invite, desire, and fear,
And Love's exactions cost too dear
Count for Love's possession,--ah,
Thy way, misera Anima!

To give the pledge, and yet be pined
That a pledge should have force to bind,
This, O Soul, too often still
Is the recreance of thy will!

Out of Love's arms to make fond chain,
And, because struggle bringeth pain,
Hate Love for Love's sweet constraint,
Is the way of Souls that faint.

Such a Soul, for saddest end,
Finds Love the foe in Love the friend;
And--ah, grief incredible!--
Treads the way of Heaven, to Hell.

by Francis Thompson.

On King William's Happy Deliverance From The Intended Assassination

The youth whose fortune the vast globe obey'd,
Finding his royal enemy betray'd
And in his chariot by vile hands opprest,
With noble pity and just rage posses't,
Wept at the fall of so sublime a state
And with the traitor's death reveng'd the fate
Of monarchy profane; so acted too
The generous Caesar when the Roman knew
A coward king had treacherously slain
One he scarce foil'd on the Pharsalian plain.
The doom of his fam'd rival he bemoan'd
And the base author of the crime dethron'd.
So virtuous was the actions of the great,
Far from the guilty acts of desperate hate:
They knew no foe, but in the open field,
And to their cause and to their gods appeal'd.

So William acts, and if his rivals dare
Dispute his right by arms, he'll meet them there
Where Jove, as once on Ida, holds the scale
And lets the good, the just, the brave prevail.

by Charles Sackville.

Pleading For Mercy

In mercy, not in wrath, rebuke
Thy feeble worm, my God!
My spirit dreads thine angry look,
And trembles at thy rod.

Have mercy, Lord, for I am weak,
Regard my heavy groans;
O let thy voice of comfort speak,
And heal my broken bones!

By day my busy beating head
Is filled with anxious fears;
By night, upon my restless bed,
I weep a flood of tears.

Thus I sit desolate and mourn,
Mine eyes grow dull with grief;
How long, my Lord, ere thou return,
And bring my soul relief?

O come and show thy pow'r to save,
And spare my fainting breath;
For who can praise thee in the grave,
Or sing thy name in death?

Satan, my cruel envious foe,
Insults me in my pain;
He smiles to see me brought so low,
And tells me hope is vain,

But hence, thou enemy, depart!
Nor tempt me to despair;
My Saviour comes to cheer my heart,
The Lord has heard my prayer.

by John Newton.