Showing posts with label Muse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Muse. Show all posts
Tender Flower
of Mankind
.
© 2009 - Ben Heine
A poem by Peter S. Quinn
Oh love is so sweetly during,
Each honey flower bud
Like spring in the morning
That has its seeds florid
To bring in freshly fragrance
Like feelings in to the day
Of the instant abundance
That comes in its fair play
Oh love of every devotee
That is revived like spring
When blossoms come to be
Like heart in love to sing
When new daybreak is in light
To give its clearest vision
For a day to come in bright
With all its shade precision
Oh love that arrives and grows
With verve touches to give
That never again goes
If it's with roots that live
Like carnations in posy
Of pinkish whitish and red
The days of sweet love rosy
Not to go pale in spring's bed
of Mankind
.
© 2009 - Ben Heine.
Oh LoveA poem by Peter S. Quinn
Oh love is so sweetly during,
Each honey flower bud
Like spring in the morning
That has its seeds florid
To bring in freshly fragrance
Like feelings in to the day
Of the instant abundance
That comes in its fair play
Oh love of every devotee
That is revived like spring
When blossoms come to be
Like heart in love to sing
When new daybreak is in light
To give its clearest vision
For a day to come in bright
With all its shade precision
Oh love that arrives and grows
With verve touches to give
That never again goes
If it's with roots that live
Like carnations in posy
Of pinkish whitish and red
The days of sweet love rosy
Not to go pale in spring's bed
.
That Muse
.
(Ben Heine © Cartoons).
So is it not with me as with that muse
.
By William Shakespeare
.
So is it not with me as with that muse,
Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven it self for ornament doth use
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,
Making a couplement of proud compare
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems,
With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O, let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then, believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fixed in heaven's air.
Let them say more that like of hearsay well;
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.
-----------------------
(The poem appeared on infoplease.com)
.
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