Car poems

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“Blessed be Jehovah, who daily carries the load for us,
The true God of our salvation.
Selah.
The true God is for us a God of saving acts;
And to Jehovah the Sovereign Lord belong the ways out from death.”—Ps. 68:19, 20.

God's Loving Care For His People

© The Bible

“Because you said: ‘Jehovah is my refuge,’

You have made the Most High himself your dwelling;

Astrophel and Stella: 25

© Sir Philip Sidney

The wisest scholler of the weight most wise,By Phœbus doome, with sugred sentence sayes,That vertue if it once met with our eyes,Strange flames of Loue it in our soules would rayse

Astrophel and Stella: 22

© Sir Philip Sidney

In highest way of heau'n the Sunne did ride,Progressing them from faire twinnes gold'n place:Hauing no scarfe of clowds before his face,But shining foorth of heate in his chiefe pride;When some faire Ladies by hard promise tied,On horse-back met him in his furious race,Yet each prepar'd with fannes wel shading grace,From that foes woundes their tender skinnes to hide

Astrophel and Stella: 16

© Sir Philip Sidney

In nature apt to like when I did seeBeauties, which were of manie Carrets fine,My boyling sprits did thither soone inclyne,And, Loue, I thought that I was full of thee:But finding not those restlesse flames in me,Which others said did make their soules to pine:I thought those babes of some pinnes hurt did whine,By my soule judgeing what Loues paines might be

Astrophel and Stella: 13

© Sir Philip Sidney

Phœbus was Iudge betweene Ioue, Mars, and Loue,Of those three gods, whose armes the fairest were:Ioues golden shield did Eagle sables beare,Whose talents held young Ganymed aboue:But in Vert field Mars bare a golden speare,Which through a bleeding heart his poynt did shoue:Each had his creast, Mars caried Venus gloue,Ioue on his helm the thunders-bolt did reare,Cupid then smiles, for on his crest there liesStellas faire haire, her face he makes his shield,Where roses gueuls are borne in silver field

Astrophel and Stella: 5

© Sir Philip Sidney

It is most true, that eyes are form'd to serueThe inward light: and that the heauenly partOught to be king, from whose rules who do swerue,Rebels of Nature striue for their owne smart

The Lust of the Eyes

© Siddall Elizabeth

I care not for my Lady's soul Though I worship before her smile;I care not where be my Lady's goal When her beauty shall lose its wile.

Getting Born

© Shields Carol

Odd that no one knows how it feels to be born, whether it's one smooth whistling ride down green, ether-muffled air or whether the first breath burns in the lungs with the redness of flames.

A Pastoral Ballad, Absence

© William Shenstone

Ye shepherds so cheerful and gay, Whose flocks never carelessly roam;Should Corydon's happen to stray, Oh! call the poor wanderers home

Dream Song 5: Henry sats in de bar and was odd

© John Berryman

Henry sats in de bar & was odd,
off in the glass from the glass,
at odds wif de world & its god,
his wife is a complete nothing,
St Stephen
getting even.

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Your love and pity doth th'impression fill

© William Shakespeare

Your love and pity doth th'impression fillWhich vulgar scandal stampt upon my brow,For what care I who calls me well or illSo you o'er-green my bad, my good allow?You are my all-the-world, and I must striveTo know my shames and praises from your tongue,None else to me, nor I to none alive,That my steel'd sense o'er-changes right or wrong

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Sweet love, renew thy force, be it not said

© William Shakespeare

Sweet love, renew thy force, be it not saidThy edge should blunter be than appetite,Which but to-day by feeding is allayed,To-morrow sharp'ned in his former might

Shakespeare's Sonnets: So am I as the rich whose blessèd key

© William Shakespeare

So am I as the rich whose blessèd keyCan bring him to his sweet up-lockèd treasure,The which he will not ev'ry hour surveyFor blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure

Shakespeare's Sonnets: My love is as a fever longing still

My love is as a fever longing stillFor that which longer nurseth the disease,Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch

Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catchOne of her feathered creatures broke away,Sets down her babe, and makes all swift dispatchIn pursuit of the thing she would have stay,Whil'st her neglected child holds her in chase,Cries to catch her whose busy care is bentTo follow that which flies before her face,Not prizing her poor infant's discontent,So run'st thou after that which flies from thee,Whil'st I, thy babe, chase thee afar behind

Shakespeare's Sonnets: How careful was I when I took my way

How careful was I, when I took my way,Each trifle under truest bars to thrustThat to my use it might un-usèd stayFrom hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust;But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief,Thou best of dearest, and mine only care,Art left the prey of every vulgar thief

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Devouring time, blunt thou the lion's paws

Devouring time, blunt thou the lion's pawsAnd make the earth devour her own sweet brood,Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jawsAnd burn the long-liv'd phoenix in her blood,Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st,And do what e'er thou wilt, swift-footed time,To the wide world and all her fading sweets:But I forbid thee one most heinous crime,O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen,Him in thy course untainted do allowFor beauty's pattern to succeeding men

Shakespeare's Sonnets: But be contented when that fell arrest

But be contented when that fell arrestWithout all bail shall carry me away

Shakespeare's Sonnets: As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'stIn one of thine, from that which thou depart'st,And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'stThou may'st call thine, when thou from youth convert'st;Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase,Without this, folly, age, and cold decay;If all were minded so, the times should cease,And threescore year would make the world away:Let those whom nature hath not made for store,Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish;Look whom she best endow'd, she gave the more,Which bount'ous gift thou should'st in bounty cherish

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