"bachelor" poems
Never try to trick me with a kiss
Pretending that the birds are here to stay;
The dying man will scoff and scorn at this.
A stone can masquerade where no heart is
And virgins rise where lustful Venus lay:
Never try to trick me with a kiss.
Our noble doctor claims the pain is his,
While stricken patients let him have his say;
The dying man will scoff and scorn at this.
Each virile bachelor dreads paralysis,
The old maid in the gable cries all day:
Never try to trick me with a kiss.
The suave eternal serpents promise bliss
To mortal children longing to be gay;
The dying man will scoff and scorn at this.
Sooner or later something goes amiss;
The singing birds pack up and fly away;
So never try to trick me with a kiss:
The dying man will scoff and scorn at this.
23.4k
Back when I was young my father told me:
That I’d grow up, and I would be lonely,
But not to go, chasing Cleopatra,
Or else I’d die just another bachelor.
He said;
“Oh those pretty girls, there are so many,
Just look around you and, you’ll find plenty;
When you’re hurt and broken by a lover,
Amen, don’t worry, just find another.”
I said;
“Daddy, what if none of them love me back?
What if I’m alone, when the sky turns black?
What If all I am, ain’t what I could be?
It’s hard to find wisdom, but not misery”
He said;
“Son don’t stress, there’ll always be someone
Looking just for you. You: their only one.
And don’t ever worry about heartbreak,
The road to love; it is made of mistakes.
So, count your fingers and count your blessings,
Invite Cleopatra to your wedding.
Never love ‘til you don’t have to chase it,
But when you do, don’t you ever waste it.”
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 6:05 PM UTC
Something I never understand,
(but ponder quite a lot)
is how boys get away with things
that girls simply cannot.
A man can boast about his feats,
and all pronounce him clever,
but a woman is conceited
if she speaks of her endeavor.
And tell me, why is 'bachelor'
a more attractive word
than the female term of 'spinster'
and the concept that's inferred?
It's this gender inequality
that renders women shamed
by the ****** exploitation
for which they're always blamed.
Whilst men are given status for
the women they've undressed,
so after this, please tell me now;
which gender has it best?
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 6:10 PM UTC
Born like a kid,
Believed like a child,
Thought like a philosopher,
Depressed like a prisoner,
Felt like a sinner,
Hated like a lawyer,
Ate like a veterinarian,
Lied like a politician,
Read like a historian,
Saw like a physician,
Slept like a pharmacist,
Smelt like a scientist,
Spoke like a priest,
Heard like an economist,
Loved like a counselor,
Tasted like a rich bachelor,
Worked like a tool,
Cheated like a fool,
Walked like a diplomat,
And died like a cat.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 12:29 PM UTC
'Why keep a cow when I can buy,'
Said he, 'the milk I need,'
I wanted to spit in his eye
Of selfishness and greed;
But did not, for the reason he
Was stronger than I be.
I told him: ''Tis our human fate,
For better or for worse,
That man and maid should love and mate,
And little children nurse.
Of course, if you are less than man
You can't do what we can.
'So many loving maids would wed,
And wondrous mothers be.'
'I'll buy the love I want,' he said,
'No squally brats for me.'
. . . I hope the devil stoketh well
For him a special hell.
7.4k
There once was a black man... Old at heart, he fought verbally and accordingly with bold words, which abbreviated and arbitrated great art! He spoke of activism. Not just racial, and economic racism. He fought against demonic injustices for you, yes, made me see. He stood for principles of non-violence. Acknowledged corrupt government
mileage, European knowledge and college. A philosopher, teacher
and preacher as well as a civil rights leader. When he spoke his words of fire indeed chiseled and inspired. Causing some to conspire and also perspire! Born January 15th 1929 in Atlanta, Georgia. Named in honor of the German protestant Martin Luther. Bachelor of Arts
degree in sociology. Making a mark in doctoral studies, systematic theology. June 5th 1955 This King married Corretta Scott in Heiberger,
Alabama for many to see. Proceeding with four children: Yolanda, Martin Luther the 3rd to be! Dexter Scott and Bernice to increase the peace. Despite the European police, the movements and stressed
protests, the silence, ****** and racial violence. The segregation and interrogations in force, instead of integration of course. Black mishaps, lack of differences in relapse perhaps! Plagiarized and slandered, demised by some of the wise. Accused of communistic ties. Blinded
by others’ eyes and of our world’s twisted lies. Montgomery, Georgia
bus boycott, 1955 was the year. However, forever in disguise, our fear of tears was apparently adhered. From here to near, also all those dear. Mere letters he wrote, from Birmingham jail I quote! From the slums, some of sums, hail and prevail! A creation prevailing into a deriving and thriving nation. Mr. King’s vision of a dream, mission,
opposition, optimism and truism, on our wars, welfare and more. I suppose this sounds honest and fair. Mr. King’s theories and worries in emotionalism, evangelism, humanitarianism, racism and socialism. Nobel Peace Prize won in 1964. Regretfully, you may have heard of this before. Government conspiracies and indecencies. Assassination
and discrimination, allegedly, by James Earl Ray. On April 4th, I
almost choke, because for him, his blood did soak. Some thought this **** was a thrill or forced by will. Others still procrastinate in hate! However, forever Martin Luther King was and still is one of the late greats.
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 12:53 PM UTC
I'm no good at this
and my cabin doesn't help.
Decades of dirt and grime,
a decaying outhouse,
cobwebs and insects,
windows nearly opaque:
Cabin, you are lovely,
but you are filthy.
I am in urgent need
of a French maid
(uniform optional)
or maybe just
a compassionate
and tidy friend.
Or, probably, I'll just continue
not to look too closely.
Ah, the bachelor's life!
- mce
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 8:07 AM UTC
And we’ve all been there, me and my lovers,
we’ve all see our fair share of troubles.
cause Romance is Chance in the form of a Dance
and I’m sorry to say I still move like I did fifteen years ago.
Macarena with me and I’ll sweep you off your feet,
maybe someday I’ll learn to waltz and blow you away.
Until it all comes crashing down.
Because inevitably it all comes crashing down
even the Flintstones died millennia ago.
My Anna Marie, I’m sorry you left,
Europe ringed and you answered,
I guess we couldn’t afford long distance
(is that even still a thing?)
and I couldn’t wait for you,
I was too young and too ready to love again.
Dear Jenna,
Darling,
as much fun as you are
we move at different speeds,
and mine’s stuck in the slow lane.
I liked *** on the second date,
but I wasn’t ready for the **** three weeks in.
God knows I’d never try and change you
even he doesn’t have the ***** to try.
And God bless you Tiffany,
cause it ***** to die,
but it ***** even more
stuck here saying goodbye.
Bachelor Status reaffirmed:
**** sites filled to capacity
with self-made men of audacity
come to satisfy their proclivities
“Dear phantom girlfriends,
you’re here to gratify
Please entertain us in our fantasies
and our impossibly similar tendencies.
Also, it wouldn’t hurt if it’s all free.”
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 12:40 AM UTC
Cockcrow harbour:
the gulls whining like tethered dogs
about rooftops
paliophobic cars and
grounded vessels..
Look:
on the hoary horizon
a glaucous strip
beguils
with backwater.
Not putting on a show
the frigid sea benumbed..
Easily,
with a tail of emerald jelly
skim a vanishing lane off that
lustrous sheet
and watch
the trailblazing mainland
scuttle.
Now,
Only scattered dreaming is possible.
In it's bachelor pad,
cradling over crinkles,
away from the meretriciosness
of validating the real by sharing it,
THE WIND
blusters off any veneer.
Here,
stale but spry,
fare your way around the inoffensive isle
to it's most shyest of harbours:
a mouth full of silver
saving it's breath.
The windows facing the sea
seem
black & white,
their wooden frames hooked to the wind,
the splattered gulls meow
your name
in a way
that's
personal.
Of course comes to mind.
The pines
are demanding a visit,
They're whispering
so you can hear them,
each as different as every snore,
these pines know
how to grow in the sand
and still reach for
the Nimbostratus with heads in unison.
The spaces
between their trunks illuminating
the blazing needles
raining down
painting the ground
familiar
to your lover's
skin texture:
Feel her closeness
from jilted borderwatchtowers
as she speads her mire
like no one's watching:
weedy and sugared
with bellflowers,
the waves in her shallow armpit
billeting a pair of white swans:
demurely they float
sometimes as pillows and sometimes
as question marks..
Go ask the seasoned locals,
they say the bones she parked
when she let her ice sheet melt
are portals
to her noble underbelly.
Hidden in the woods
reminiscent of your heart,
the red
tank-sized stone
is sealed,
but what the lighting reach cannot
the rain shall sluice apart
dumbly.
And though her hair has
come to be
the moss
black and hoarse
as sailor's beard,
there is still time.
The void says
her noisy neighbour is nothing
to die for.
The theadbear car with absent doors
incites
to drive her
in reverse gear
to the first few
days of holidays:
her golden locks a-blaze,
her arm around your
hind-sighted doppelganger.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 2:20 AM UTC
Having read both cell biology & molecular biology in Bachelor's,
This subject seems a lot different when studying it in the Master's.
But I just can't abdicate & concede this point in my master's degree at all,
I'll study creating poems about every major topic to let poetry happen.
That way it'll be easier to revise,
Both poetically and theoretically.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 8:54 AM UTC
The bar behind the theatre was nearly empty apart from a couple of gay boys.
Well, it was a gay bar, so no ******* surprise there.
I glanced at the fat one and decided, 'No thank you very much,'
as I have noticed fat people often smell unpleasantly,
maybe it's the sweat trapped between their ********** that does it.
But the other one was very cute and I decided I would have him.
In those days, it was regarded as 'de rigeur' to buy a lad a lager and lime
before dragging him home with you for some nookie,
so I coughed up for a half pint with charm and grace.
Sadly, he was no great shakes in the conversational stakes,
but was I after intellectual stimulation? No, I ******* wasn't.
Anyway, once I'd checked his passport to ensure he was over-age
(no one wants any ******* trouble from the bigoted morality squad)
I dragged him back to my elegant bachelor orgy-pad
and stripped him off to investigate his lithe little body;
a nice smooth little **** and a reasonably clean ****
What more can you want from a one night stand?
After a bit of a damp snog and a good old *****
I lubed him up and gave his *** a right good poking.
He moaned a bit, but then who wouldn't moan,
with seven and a half inches of thick gristle shoved
all the way up their sphincter? I know I would.
After I had filled his rear end with love juice a couple of times,
I felt that kicking out was the name of the game.
Generously, I gave him a half-crown for his bus fare
as he said he was a bit short of cash, being unemployed.
It was the least I could do, as he had three miles to go home,
and it was raining cats and ******* dogs outside.
After he'd left, I checked out the bed sheets (as you would)
and was irritated to find a few skidmarks there,
or they may have been where I wiped my fingers
after having eaten a bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk.
A quick sniff confirmed my worst suspicions though.
'Ah well, true love always comes at a price', I reflected,
as I scraped the worst bits off with a nail file.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 11:49 AM UTC
Let me continue the story about a guy named Akshant,
Who belonged to Mathura in India, once the city of Krishna.
Akshant rejoined college and scored acceptably well this time,
He had realized his mistakes while he was to stay at home.
Repentance on committing mistakes intentionally was ripe,
He barely controlled the regret from flowing through his eyes.
Anamika was the only friend who was by his side in this time,
Giving him relief from loneliness which rang as the door chime.
Akshant had a poor memory so not much could stay on his mind,
Stressing his memory too much would only make his brain to grind.
Akshant then studied cautiously holding onto Anamika's hand,
Cautious he was not to crush it as he had formerly done to others.
He brightened up his professional life along with the romantic life,
And he scored brilliantly given his mental health was really affected.
The dried clots inside his brain were still an issue two years later,
But he controlled himself to not harm others from his anger.
The clots used to come out through as tears and ear wax,
Almost all was physically well after three more years.
Akshant went Kodaikanal after his bachelor's degree college,
He was an eligible bachelor when he had a job confirmation.
This happened when he was drifting away in the Kodai lake,
Anamika who sat next to him in the boat congratulated him.
Now Anamika confessed her feelings for Akshant in the boat,
Akshant couldn't find any words & found himself quite quiet.
This made Anamika challenge and taunt about his manliness,
Which caused Akshant get enraged & kiss his reply on her lips.
The boat swayed terribly in the star-shaped lake's still waters,
Anamika ogled & felt her hair get wet & this made her ****** Akshant.
She started kissing him back now & her eyes were coming back to normal,
These had been wide ogling when Akshant had started kissing hard and so it was.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 2:23 AM UTC
My countenance
made love with the harsh earth
she left me
bruised
confused
and bloodied
with a couple days
plucked out of my memory
thank whoever is above
for the few buddies
that pulled me to the
corner with a flashlight
bag of cold ice
shoulder rubs
and words of advice
I got back in the ring
ready for to resume the fight
I learned that night that
you can't beat Gaia
but that you could endure
a few rounds.
Just kidding,
I was knocked out
during the first round.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 1:35 PM UTC
Seeking a gentleman who gets lost in thoughts
Feels everything and holds onto nothing.
Bachelor must tolerate banjos, books, and bare-feet.
A writer is preferred, but not exclusively.
I'm seeking a companion who loves tea and coffee in the afternoons
Must be willing to gamble with the suggested shows on netflix
And suggested artists on pandora.
Bonus points if music moves him in directions he didn't know existed.
Seeking a gentleman whose heart is made entirely of love and passion
With a reasonable head
And an unapologetic twinkle in his eyes.
I warn you that I love sunburns and tank-tops
Rain makes me sad, and I own a blue Snuggie named Ralf.
I laugh too loud at lame jokes about muffins and bars
Cry desperately in movies
And am driven to push boundaries.
***** makes me loose
I'm terrified of fourteen-year-old girls and spiders.
And I consider 90 degrees to be jacket weather.
I'm seeking a gentleman with an empty hand and a full heart
That I can love with all that I have
Laugh with, cry with, dream with.
You can find me in the words on this page.
I'll be waiting.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 7:31 PM UTC
Women Rising: Five Predictions for Women in the 2012 Workplace
In Society 3.0, Dr. Wilen-Daugenti presents a compelling case for how women’s prospects in business are on the rise. Based on her research at Apollo Research Institute, she predicts that in 2012, women in the workplace will reach the following milestones:
1. More women will become leaders in the workplace.
In 2012, 18 women will be running Fortune 500 companies—the highest number yet. This confirms a rising trend of women’s corporate leadership. The U.S. Government Accountability Office reported that in 2009, 40% of managers in the workforce were women. In 2010, women held 15.7% of board seats at Fortune 500 companies.
2. Women-owned firms will drive job creation and employment.
Women business owners employ 35% more people than all the Fortune 500 companies combined. Women own 10.1 million U.S. firms, employing more than 13 million people and generating $1.9 trillion in sales as of 2008.
3. Women will obtain higher education in greater numbers.
Women now earn more degrees than men, with graduates from all ethnic, racial, and socioeconomic groups racing past men in rates of completing programs of study. Women aged 25 to 34 are more likely to have a college degree and are more likely than men to go to graduate school. By 2012, women are expected to earn 60% of bachelor’s degrees, 63% of master’s degrees, and 54% of doctoral and professional degrees.
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 6:14 PM UTC
From a fifth storey bachelor’s window
pondering shadows in the car park below,
Johnny opens another can.
I stuff another pipe.
We talk about our trip to Brazil
and how great it would’ve been had we gone;
Johnny turns up the radio.
I take the first drag.
Old girlfriends swing by in our conversation,
most of them giving us the finger, mind you;
Johnny dabs at his tears.
I pass him the pipe.
Dusk-scalpels are slicing through the curtains now,
they scrape over coffee table dust,
through Irish coffee stains,
cut open Johnny’s frown:
The neighbours are at it again, arguing;
he accuses her of seeing someone else,
she tells him *correct,
it’s your ****** sister.*
Johnny taps out the pipe in the ashtray,
says he has to do someone a favour;
throws on his jacket,
says take it easy.
Johnny’s shadow tiptoes into evening,
a car alarm screams and a gunshot cries.
I convince myself
this is Brazil.
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 7:59 PM UTC
Before I moved to New Mexico
I never thought that I deserved to be in college
Because In California I got bad grades, skipped classes,
Didn’t care about my life and played the victim in high school
Now I’m pursing an Associates and a Bachelor’s Degree
In Liberal art, education and creative writing
I wasn’t sure if I had what it takes to lean on God’s faith
To complete my classes and do well
In that secondary education knowledge
I but I passed my summer with a B+
In my life I’m known to be late for everything I attend
Yeah I was always on that black people time
Waking up at 4:00 am to get ready, eat
And also catch the bus to a summer class
That starts at 8:30am and ends 12:50pm
Every Friday for 3 months was difficult
But I learned to make sacrifices and
I never missed a day of class
I had a bad habit of being a procrastinating excuse maker
But I was tired of wasting time,
I hated proving people right about me
I was tired of my family treating me
Like I was a burden on them
And having haters trying to destroy my spirit
So I could do what they want me to do
So I pushed passed the negativity and I never fell behind
I’d never had a scholarship before
But my first year in Central New Mexico Community College
I received 2 scholarships and I’m going for another one
My mentor used to tell repeatedly
That anything in life that’s worthwhile takes hard work
So try, when it doesn’t work try again and
When you feel like giving up, try even harder
Because a man has no excuses, rich or poor
Now I know 100% that anything is possible with God
And a lot of effort on my part
So I won’t ever quit, I’ll stay motivated and hungry till I have nothing left
Because I’d rather die trying my best than live with regrets.
By Shannon Pollard
©Summer 2012
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC
Don’t think too much
About forbidden touch
Or legal abuse of such
Little creatures like dairy cows and fabric workers.
Don’t feel too much.
The homeless man with his crutch
Can disappear, hush.
Turn your head dear, eat McDonald’s chicken fingers.
Don’t love too much.
Why on real people crush?
People slip through your clutch.
As flashing lights reanimate Rihanna, both your eyes close the shutters.
Our world distracts us from seeing,
Persuades us we need a break.
Deserving one after a day going nowhere.
Turn the TV on to the latest ‘Bachelor’.
So loud. So loud. So loud. Too loud!
I shut my eyes from the too-bright lights.
I need to escape the escape, to find solace.
I put pen to paper and hear its whisper.
Poetry softly roars while TV screams shrill.
You’ll remember the written words for time
Degrees of magnitude than you’ll remember
(consciously) that singing cat meme.
Real love takes more effort
Than a heart reaction on Facebook.
Writing truth takes longer than re-posting.
Yet I want to share myself, not another gif lol.
Mute the volume for a second.
Can deaf ears hear again
the music of
the pen?
Think too much.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
If you're a writer your main trade is hating yourself and
finding ways to be clever about it.
Smoke cigar and coffee-stained typewriters,
bachelor in the sixties, suicide in the seventies.
I'm just a cliché, raining cats and dogs, beating dead horses and singing
a little song about death
a little song about love
there is nothing new under the sun.
Dylan doesn't understand what you do is better than
accounting, your trade is people
like stock markets-
string them up and watch them fall
I play with hearts, you say like
a girl showing off her somersaults in the backyard.
But no one is listening.
…
…
…
So you burn your eyes out with hot wax in the living room
and swear
your name is Icarus
throw your diploma into the laundry and watch it turn into tissue paper,
taking moonlight walks down the beach and
straight into the bottom
of the ocean.
(you thought she would hit you
when you told her you wanted to write
but she only laughed...
and you were surprised
how much
it hurt.)
Your father's pride, a phone full of contacts,
seeing straight in the ******* morning and the heart
of a girl that was once foolish
enough to love nitroglycerine,
sold for
a bottle of ink and a scrap of paper
and your name in the
obituaries.
...
...
...
Tell yourself it was worth it.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 1:44 AM UTC
empty water bottles everywhere
cheerios on the floor
I can never keep track of myself
or the food I bring out of the kitchen
I'm worse than a bachelor
& my Benadryl is almost gone
I need it to sleep
sleep and to dream
so maybe my nothing
will be something
that it seems
I cannot stop obsessing over
how lonely I feel
in my new married life
I feel better talking to people
I barely know
than I do my own husband
they say the first year
is the hardest
but I think I've just always felt
this way
when your heart clings to something
you can't have
the feeling never quite frays
never quite
erodes in its natural form
I find myself daydreaming about
things that don't happen
true love that doesn't come true
romance is not abundant in these parts
chivalry is carved on a tombstone
a few blocks from my
apartment
& I'm lucky to get a kiss on
the cheek whenever
I walk by
I want to believe that
there is some man out there
who would build me a bouquet of
wildflowers
& play me some classic rock
ballad about eternity
maybe he lives
in this house
maybe he lives
at all
Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 12:12 AM UTC
Your old brown chair sits waiting for you
Here behind me as I write, thirty years after your death.
You, the quiet bachelor with the twinkling eyes
Smoking pipe and soft French voice.
Always Charlie’s second,
A good mechanic, but a better blacksmith.
When the police said you couldn’t drive anymore,
You went home and died of sadness.
Unable to leave home, you stayed.
I still remember the day
The ambulance screamed southward
As I played on Grandpa’s lawn.
It was you on your way out,
Going in style.
Published July 09, 20
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 3:15 PM UTC
across the pond,
I lived off the diet of
some 55 year old bachelor
racing towards the past
only, I looked forward to
so much more than
my mother's improved health.
I would find books and read them
laying them vulnerable and bare
to my devouring mind. *(I swear
to god, there's an approachable
Minotaur among my grey matter.)*
I skipped Barcelona with an alcoholic
to research gay fascists and history's
slaughter benches. I hand-wrote that paper
just so I could feel something at work besides
strong coffee and false anxieties about projected moments.
I raised my hand, countless times
in foreign classes with tobacco residue
creased to my sheet paper. While others
slept or day-dreamed about the pigeon **** outside
*but I smiled at the professor, & mommy and daddy sent them
capitalist notes with the appearance of life.*
I met a girl, who got to know me through
all five senses, at once. Speaking more languages
than half this world is aware of, I danced til my flight
departed and I knew which city was my favorite, because
I knew nothing of it going in and having no expectations
opens me like an oyster whose made multiple pearls.
I lost my scarf there, in Italy,
a beautiful one with conversational brilliance
falling to disappearance on my final night, after the rains
of Tuscany had drenched away my need for movement
and the winds of Ventotene had me sailing with
men, I knew nothing of. *After I cried on the floor
over the beauty of Hegel and Marx and fell into
Nebulae of epiphanies.*
across the pond, my life had verve.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 10:10 AM UTC
Five little girls, of Five, Four, Three, Two, One:
Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun.
Five rosy girls, in years from Ten to Six:
Sitting down to lessons - no more time for tricks.
Five growing girls, from Fifteen to Eleven:
Music, Drawing, Languages, and food enough for seven!
Five winsome girls, from Twenty to Sixteen:
Each young man that calls, I say "Now tell me which you MEAN!"
Five dashing girls, the youngest Twenty-one:
But, if nobody proposes, what is there to be done?
Five showy girls - but Thirty is an age
When girls may be ENGAGING, but they somehow don't ENGAGE.
Five dressy girls, of Thirty-one or more:
So gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much before!
Five PASSE girls - Their age? Well, never mind!
We jog along together, like the rest of human kind:
But the quondam "careless bachelor" begins to think he knows
The answer to that ancient problem "how the money goes"!
2.5k
Will you conquer my heart with your beauty; my sould going out from afar?
Shall I fall to your hand as a victim of crafty and cautions shikar?
Have I met you and passed you already, unknowing, unthinking and blind?
Shall I meet you next session at Simla, O sweetest and best of your kind?
Does the P. and O. bear you to meward, or, clad in short frocks in the West,
Are you growing the charms that shall capture and torture the heart in my breast?
Will you stay in the Plains till September—my passion as warm as the day?
Will you bring me to book on the Mountains, or where the thermantidotes play?
When the light of your eyes shall make pallid the mean lesser lights I pursue,
And the charm of your presence shall lure me from love of the gay “thirteen-two”;
When the peg and the pig-skin shall please not; when I buy me Calcutta-build clothes;
When I quit the Delight of Wild ***** foreswearing the swearing of oaths ;
As a deer to the hand of the hunter when I turn ’mid the gibes of my friends;
When the days of my freedom are numbered, and the life of the bachelor ends.
Ah, Goddess! child, spinster, or widow—as of old on Mars Hill whey they raised
To the God that they knew not an altar—so I, a young Pagan, have praised
The Goddess I know not nor worship; yet, if half that men tell me be true,
You will come in the future, and therefore these verses are written to you.
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