Quotes about Orpheus, page 3
When Orpheus Sweetly Did Complayne
When Orpheus sweetly did complayne
Upon his lute with heavy strayne
How his Euridice was slayne,
The trees to heare
Obtayn'd an eare,
And after left it off againe.
At every stroake and every stay
The boughs kept time, and nodding lay,
And listened bending all one way:
The aspen tree
As well as hee
Began to shake and learn'd to play.
If wood could speake, a tree might heare,
If wood could sound true greife so neare
A tree might dropp an amber teare:
If wood so well
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poem by William Strode
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Stanzas Written In Passing The Ambracian Gulf
Through cloudless skies, in silvery sheen,
Full beams the moon on Actium's coast:
And on these waves for Egypt's queen,
The ancient world was won and lost.
And now upon the scene I look,
The azure grave of many a Roman;
Where stem Ambition once forsook
His wavering crown to follow woman.
Florence! whom I will love as well
As ever yet was said or sung
(Since Orpheus sang his spouse from hell),
Whilst thou art fair and I am young;
Sweet Florence! those were pleasant times;
When worlds were staked for ladies'
Had bards as many realms as rhymes;
Thy charms might raise new Antonies.
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Poem 1
YE learned sisters which haue oftentimes
beene to me ayding, others to adorne:
Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefull rymes,
That euen the greatest did not greatly scorne
To heare theyr names sung in your simply layes,
But ioyed in theyr prayse.
And when ye lift your owne mishaps to mourne,
Which death, or loue, or fortunes wreck did rayse,
Your string could soone to sadder tenor turne,
And teach the woods and waters to lament
Your dolefull dreriment.
Now lay those sorrowfull complaints aside,
And hauing all your heads with girland crownd,
Helpe me mine owne loues prayses to resound,
Ne let the same of any be enuide,
So Orpheus did for his owne bride,
So I vnto my selfe alone will sing,
The woods shall to me answer and my Eccho ring.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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At Break of Day
I thought that past the gates of doom,
Where Orpheus played a strain divine
Of love importunate as mine,
Unto the dwellings of the dead I came through
paths of gloom.
Around me, looming dark through cloud,
Vast walls arose whence mournful fell
The shadow and the hush of hell;
And silence, brooding, palpable, inwrapped me like
a shroud.
Naught blossomed there; in that chill place
Where longing dwells divorced from hope,
Naught to a joyless horoscope
Lent prophecies of future grace, but—I beheld
thy face!
And I awoke,—songs trembling near,—
Awoke and saw day's chariot pass
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poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
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Quick! We Have But a Second
Quick! we have but a second,
Fill round the cup while you may;
For time, the churl, hath beckon'd,
And we must away, away!
Grasp the pleasure that's flying,
For oh, not Orpheus' strain
Could keep sweet hours from dying,
Or charm them to life again.
Then, quick! we have but a second,
Fill round the cup while you may!
For Time, the churl hath beckon'd,
And we must away, away.
See the glass, how it flushes,
Like some young Hebe's lip,
And half meets thine, and blushes
That thou shouldst delay to sip.
Shame, oh shame unto thee,
If ever thou see'st that day,
When a cup or lip shall woo thee,
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poem by Thomas Moore
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Conversation With A Genius
Like mountains - on this brow
Laurels of praise.
'I can't sing!'
- 'You will!' - 'Sound
(Put me on a diet
of flour!)
Like milk -
Is gone from my breast.
Empty. Dry.
In full-blown spring?
I feel like a twig.'
- 'That's an old song!
Drop it, don't blabber!'
'From now on I'd better -
Pound gravel!'
- 'All the more reason to sing!'
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poem by Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva
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Tired And Unhappy, You Think Of Houses
Tired and unhappy, you think of houses
Soft-carpeted and warm in the December evening,
While snow's white pieces fall past the window,
And the orange firelight leaps.
A young girl sings
That song of Gluck where Orpheus pleads with Death;
Her elders watch, nodding their happiness
To see time fresh again in her self-conscious eyes:
The servants bring in the coffee, the children go to bed,
Elder and younger yawn and go to bed,
The coals fade and glow, rose and ashen,
It is time to shake yourself! and break this
Banal dream, and turn your head
Where the underground is charged, where the weight
Of the lean building is seen,
Where close in the subway rush, anonymous
In the audience, well-dressed or mean,
So many surround you, ringing your fate,
Caught in an anger exact as a machine!
poem by Delmore Schwartz
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Kathleen
'Going out there is no other
coming back there is no trace'.
Love and care for one another,
Smooth the sadness from her face.
Like Orestes how she travels!
Light-foot ever, onward roams;
as the skein of life unravels,
everywhere she makes her homes.
Loves she keeps in golden cages,
(LOVE she smiles at from afar) ,
turns (with smiles) her golden pages
(climbs her grass blade to her star) .
Still the sadness does not leave her
though she smiles and smiles again
and her gladness like a fever
is shadowed round with wisps of pain.
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poem by Brian Taylor
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Rapture -- To Laura
From earth I seem to wing my flight,
And sun myself in Heaven's pure light,
When thy sweet gaze meets mine
I dream I quaff ethereal dew,
When my own form I mirrored view
In those blue eyes divine!
Blest notes from Paradise afar,
Or strains from some benignant star
Enchant my ravished ear:
My Muse feels then the shepherd's hour
When silvery tones of magic power
Escape those lips so dear!
Young Loves around thee fan their wings--
Behind, the maddened fir-tree springs,
As when by Orpheus fired:
The poles whirl round with swifter motion,
When in the dance, like waves o'er Ocean,
Thy footsteps float untired!
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poem by Friedrich Schiller
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Ballade Of Amoureuse
Not Jason nor Medea wise,
I crave to see, nor win much lore,
Nor list to Orpheus' minstrelsies;
Nor Her'cles would I see, that o'er
The wide world roamed from shore to shore;
Nor, by St. James, Penelope, -
Nor pure Lucrece, such wrong that bore:
To see my Love suffices me!
Virgil and Cato, no man vies
With them in wealth of clerkly store;
I would not see them with mine eyes;
Nor him that sailed, sans sail nor oar,
Across the barren sea and hoar,
And all for love of his ladye;
Nor pearl nor sapphire takes me more:
To see my Love suffices me!
I heed not Pegasus, that flies
As swift as shafts the bowmen pour;
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poem by Andrew Lang
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Hymn (For Boys' Voices)
All the things magicians do
Could be done by me and you
Freely, if we only knew.
Human children every day
Could play at games the faeries play
If they were but shown the way.
Every man a God would be
Laughing through eternity
If as God's his eyes could see.
All the wizardries of God—
Slaying matter with a nod,
Charming spirits with his rod,
With the singing of his voice
Making lonely lands rejoice,
Leaving us no will nor choice,
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poem by Clive Staples Lewis
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Eclogue IV
POLLIO
Muses of Sicily, essay we now
A somewhat loftier task! Not all men love
Coppice or lowly tamarisk: sing we woods,
Woods worthy of a Consul let them be.
Now the last age by Cumae's Sibyl sung
Has come and gone, and the majestic roll
Of circling centuries begins anew:
Justice returns, returns old Saturn's reign,
With a new breed of men sent down from heaven.
Only do thou, at the boy's birth in whom
The iron shall cease, the golden race arise,
Befriend him, chaste Lucina; 'tis thine own
Apollo reigns. And in thy consulate,
This glorious age, O Pollio, shall begin,
And the months enter on their mighty march.
Under thy guidance, whatso tracks remain
Of our old wickedness, once done away,
Shall free the earth from never-ceasing fear.
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Eclogue 4: Pollio
POLLIO
Muses of Sicily, essay we now
A somewhat loftier task! Not all men love
Coppice or lowly tamarisk: sing we woods,
Woods worthy of a Consul let them be.
Now the last age by Cumae's Sibyl sung
Has come and gone, and the majestic roll
Of circling centuries begins anew:
Justice returns, returns old Saturn's reign,
With a new breed of men sent down from heaven.
Only do thou, at the boy's birth in whom
The iron shall cease, the golden race arise,
Befriend him, chaste Lucina; 'tis thine own
Apollo reigns. And in thy consulate,
This glorious age, O Pollio, shall begin,
And the months enter on their mighty march.
Under thy guidance, whatso tracks remain
Of our old wickedness, once done away,
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poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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On a Friend's Escape from Drowning off the Norfolk Coast
Came up that cold sea at Cromer like a running grave
Beside him as he struck
Wildly towards the shore, but the blackcapped wave
Crossed him and swung him back,
And he saw his son digging in the castled dirt that could save.
Then the farewell rock
Rose a last time to his eyes. As he cried out
A pawing gag of the sea
Smothered his cry and he sank in his own shout
Like a dying airman. Then she
Deep near her son asleep on the hourglass sand
Was awakened by whom
Save the Fate who knew that this was the wrong time:
And opened her eyes
On the death of her son's begetter. Up she flies
Into the hydra-headed
Grave as he closes his life upon her who for
Life has so richly bedded him.
But she drove through his drowning like Orpheus and tore
Back by his hair
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poem by George Barker
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Taxi, Taxi
All these streets are never ending
Tie them in a knot
Drive me through a red light waiting
For everyone to stop
Sing to me like pavarotti
Sing to me of spain
Take me to you operetta
And make it rain
Chorus:
Taxi, taxi give me a ride
Im going to take you
To the other side
Taxi, taxi turn off you light
Im going to ride with you all night
Take me to your meditation
Take me to your door
Show me loves sweet revelation
Lying on your floor
Hole me in your arms forever
Take me to the end
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song performed by Cher
Added by Lucian Velea
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To the Author of a Poem Entitled Succession
Begone, ye Critics, and restrain your spite,
Codrus writes on, and will for ever write,
The heaviest Muse the swiftest course has gone,
As clocks run fastest when most lead is on;
What tho' no bees around your cradle flew,
Nor on your lips distill'd their golden dew;
Yet have we oft discover'd in their stead
When you, like Orpheus, strike the warbling lyre.
Attentive blocks stand round you and admire.
Wit pass'd through thee no longer is the same,
As meat digested takes a diff'rent name;
But sense must sure thy safest plunder be,
Since no reprisals can be made on thee.
Thus thou may'st rise, and in thy daring flight
(Though ne'er so weighty) reach a wondrous height.
So, forced from engines, lead itself can fly,
Sure Bavius copied Maevius to the full,
And Chaerilus taught Codrus to be dull;
Therefore, dear friend, at my advice give o'er
This needless labour; and contend no more
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poem by Alexander Pope
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For Philip Ridgate Esq.
To friend with fingers quick & limber,
I send this piece of tunefull timber:
that, as 'tis said in Orpheus story,
He may teach trees to dance a Bory;
Or else in modern Phrase more knavish,
He may the heart of broomstick ravish.
The man whose parts in Taverns shine,
Doates on the merry pipe of wine;
& he who late has got his pate full,
perceives the water pipe is gratefull;
But these are pipes that still are mute,
there is some musick in a flute.
Which since I as a present send,
the presents worth to recommend,
Ile in soft words its praises warble,
translated from Italian marble.
'When ere we hear its strains & closes,
'Enchanted reason sweetly dozes,
'on laps of nymphs, & beds of roses;
'the Soul that all its charms admires,
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poem by Thomas Parnell
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Jealousy Is Born
to the pundits of the flesh and pulsing things.
Your institutional love (religion, state, Ethics)
To the men who believe woman want to be dominated, and held under a monogomous monopoly. owned as concubines.
For woman who, with age, brings war, who need securities like: money, home and fancy things.
fraud formula of body and spirit unto death.
therefore the legal religious and moral sex charade supplies the whips and chains for an unatural love, tortured by this stupidity, ignorance and prejudice, they both remain docile.
Eurydice never had to worry about dogmatic bondage,
Orpheus held an ethereal love without guard, just poetry.
Take any couple tied together, dependent upon each other
in feeling and thought, sheltered from outside interest or desire, and could it not become hateful and unbearable in time.
they bring out the shabbiest of human traits in their longing to be individuals once more. courage and liberation could save these poor souls, from the green eyed monster who lures them into its murky mire.
poem by Jerome Moore
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The Makers
Who can remember back to the first poets,
The greatest ones, greater even than Orpheus?
No one has remembered that far back
Or now considers, among the artifacts,
And bones and cantilevered inference
The past is made of, those first and greatest poets,
So lofty and disdainful of renown
They left us not a name to know them by.
They were the ones that in whatever tongue
Worded the world, that were the first to say
Star, water, stone, that said the visible
And made it bring invisibles to view
In wind and time and change, and in the mind
Itself that minded the hitherto idiot world
And spoke the speechless world and sang the towers
Of the city into the astonished sky.
They were the first great listeners, attuned
To interval, relationship, and scale,
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poem by Howard Nemerov
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To Mr. L-----
The sun that gilds the western sky
And makes the orient red,
Whose gladsome rays delight the eye
And cheer the lonely shade,
Withdraws his vegetative heat,
To southern climes retires;
While absent, we supply his seat
With gross, material fires.
'Tis new-year's morn; each rustic swain
Ambrosial cordials take;
And round the fire the festive train
A semi-circle make:
While clouds ascend, of sable smoke,
From pipes of ebon hue,
With inharmonick song and joke
They pass the morning through.
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poem by Ann Eliza Bleecker from The Posthumous Works of Ann Eliza Bleecker
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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