"beatrice" poems
Original French
Dictes moy ou, n'en quel pays,
Est Flora la belle Rommaine,
Archipiades ne Thaïs,
Qui fut sa cousine germaine,
Echo parlant quant bruyt on maine
Dessus riviere ou sus estan,
Qui beaulté ot trop plus q'humaine.
Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?
Ou est la tres sage Helloïs,
Pour qui chastré fut et puis moyne
Pierre Esbaillart a Saint Denis?
Pour son amour ot ceste essoyne.
Semblablement, ou est la royne
Qui commanda que Buridan
Fust geté en ung sac en Saine?
Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?
La royne Blanche comme lis
Qui chantoit a voix de seraine,
Berte au grand pié, Beatris, Alis,
Haremburgis qui tint le Maine,
Et Jehanne la bonne Lorraine
Qu'Englois brulerent a Rouan;
Ou sont ilz, ou, Vierge souvraine?
Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?
Prince, n'enquerez de sepmaine
Ou elles sont, ne de cest an,
Qu'a ce reffrain ne vous remaine:
Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?
English Translation
Ballad Of The Ladies Of Yore
Tell me where, in what country,
Is Flora the beautiful Roman,
Archipiada or Thais
Who was first cousin to her once,
Echo who speaks when there's a sound
On a pond or a river
Whose beauty was more than human?
But where are the snows of yesteryear?
Where is the leamed Heloise
For whom they castrated Pierre Abelard
And made him a monk at Saint-Denis,
For his love he took this pain,
Likewise where is the queen
Who commanded that Buridan
Be thrown in a sack into the Seine?
But where are the snows of yesteryear?
The queen white as a lily
Who sang with a siren's voice,
Big-footed Bertha, Beatrice, Alice,
Haremburgis who held Maine
And Jeanne the good maid of Lorraine
Whom the English bumt at Rouen, where,
Where are they, sovereign ******
But where are the snows of yesteryear?
Prince, don't ask me in a week
or in a year what place they are;
I can only give you this refrain:
Where are the snows of yesteryear?
9.4k
From the French of François Villon
Tell me now in what hidden way is
Lady Flora the lovely Roman?
Where’s Hipparchia, and where is Thais,
Neither of them the fairer woman?
Where is Echo, beheld of no man,
Only heard on river and mere—
She whose beauty was more than human?—
But where are the snows of yester-year?
Where’s Heloise, the learned nun,
For whose sake Abeillard, I ween,
Lost manhood and put priesthood on?
(From Love he won such dule and teen!)
And where, I pray you, is the Queen
Who willed that Buridan should steer
Sewed in a sack’s mouth down the Seine?—
But where are the snows of yester-year?
White Queen Blanche, like a queen of lilies,
With a voice like any mermaiden—
Bertha Broadfoot, Beatrice, Alice,
And Ermengarde the lady of Maine—
And that good Joan whom Englishmen
At Rouen doomed and burned her there—
Mother of God, where are they then?—
But where are the snows of yester-year?
Nay, never ask this week, fair lord,
Where they are gone, nor yet this year,
Except with this for an overword—
But where are the snows of yester-year?
9.1k
Beatrice
Independent, Selfless
Daring, Trusting, Hardworking
Loving, Challenging, Caring, inspiring
Prior
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
Two crowned Kings, and One that stood alone
With no green weight of laurels round his head,
But with sad eyes as one uncomforted,
And wearied with man’s never-ceasing moan
For sins no bleating victim can atone,
And sweet long lips with tears and kisses fed.
Girt was he in a garment black and red,
And at his feet I marked a broken stone
Which sent up lilies, dove-like, to his knees.
Now at their sight, my heart being lit with flame,
I cried to Beatrice, ‘Who are these?’
And she made answer, knowing well each name,
‘AEschylos first, the second Sophokles,
And last (wide stream of tears!) Euripides.’
4.4k
Spoke to a Baphomet
Down by the willow
He was watching the moon bathe in that same river
That dissolved everything in its way
He whispered:' This is your version of Aegri somnia'
I tell him that this is not a bad dream and that
I really am shattered in thousands of pieces
And that
I came to lay my burden down
So, he offers a rope and I suddenly see a brighter season
He plays me ***** one for the shepherd none for the sheep
I asked for my own Beatrice back
she burns in a pit
9th circle - still have her knife in my back
And only then he tells me the rules-the waiting game begins only when the lights go out
But
I
Can't
See
In
The
Dark
Game over.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 12:38 PM UTC
I felt a spirit of love begin to stir
Within my heart, long time unfelt till then;
And saw Love coming towards me fair and fain
(That I scarce knew him for his joyful cheer),
Saying, 'Be now indeed my worshipper!'
And in his speech he laughed and laughed again.
Then, while it was his pleasure to remain,
I chanced to look the way he had drawn near,
And saw the Ladies Joan and Beatrice
Approach me, this the other following,
One and a second marvel instantly.
And even as now my memory speaketh this,
Love spake it then: 'The first is christened Spring;
The second Love, she is so like to me.'
3.1k
371
A precious—mouldering pleasure—’tis—
To meet an Antique Book—
In just the Dress his Century wore—
A privilege—I think—
His venerable Hand to take—
And warming in our own—
A passage back—or two—to make—
To Times when he—was young—
His quaint opinions—to inspect—
His thought to ascertain
On Themes concern our mutual mind—
The Literature of Man—
What interested Scholars—most—
What Competitions ran—
When Plato—was a Certainty—
And Sophocles—a Man—
When Sappho—was a living Girl—
And Beatrice wore
The Gown that Dante—deified—
Facts Centuries before
He traverses—familiar—
As One should come to Town—
And tell you all your Dreams—were true—
He lived—where Dreams were born—
His presence is Enchantment—
You beg him not to go—
Old Volume shake their Vellum Heads
And tantalize—just so—
2.9k
A lily-girl, not made for this world’s pain,
With brown, soft hair close braided by her ears,
And longing eyes half veiled by slumberous tears
Like bluest water seen through mists of rain:
Pale cheeks whereon no love hath left its stain,
Red underlip drawn in for fear of love,
And white throat, whiter than the silvered dove,
Through whose wan marble creeps one purple vein.
Yet, though my lips shall praise her without cease,
Even to kiss her feet I am not bold,
Being o’ershadowed by the wings of awe,
Like Dante, when he stood with Beatrice
Beneath the flaming Lion’s breast, and saw
The seventh Crystal, and the Stair of Gold.
2.9k
For ShirleyB
Feel your heartbeat quicken
For these pasta-salad days:
I am bringing chicken.
Bulging bellies thicken
Laden with crab hollandaise.
Feel your heartbeat quicken.
Sweet Siobhan seems stricken
By the puddings and soufflés.
(I am bringing chicken.)
Insert thy toothpick in
Anastasia’s canapés:
Feel your heartbeat quicken.
Beatrice (she’s Wiccan)
Brought a heap of warm beignets;
I am bringing chicken.
Jealousy shall sicken
Those who brought their best entrées--
Feel your heartbeat quicken:
I am bringing chicken!
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 6:50 PM UTC
Good old Gregory Goose was Gladder than any Gander could be and not Just because Nelson the Ninja Snail had said he was "JUST-DUCKY" ! This was a Very Special morning for Gregory Goose, in Fact it was yesterdays Super Special situation that made His Delight so DELICIOUS. The comment by Nelson the Ninja Snail, had simply added to His Glory! Gregory's Special Situation Had been the Unexpected Announcement that HE was to be Named "TEAM-CAPTAIN" for the Annual "Hog Wallow and Here's Mud in Your eye" CONTEST ! ! "Oh the delight" He thought, "I am to be Captain, after waiting all these years". "ME" he exclaimed ! "Captain of the South Forty Blocks"...... "W O W ' ! ! At the most convenient time of the day, Harold Hippo, Candy Cow, Curtis Chipmunk, Marvin Monkey, Beatrice Bovine and Larry Lynx decided to make a Personal call on Good Old *GREGORY GOOSE . Keep in mind Now, That Harold, Candy, Curtis, Marvin, Beatrice and Larry we're the *INSIDE, of the "INNER-CIRCLE". JUST ASK THEM !! They were on the INSIDE ! ! Well, when Gregory Goose heard the Knock at the door, He opened it with a Great Big Grin, That ONLY Gregory could Give! Before Him stood the "J U D G E S " of All Contests and Efforts. *Gregory was Beside Himself ! ! Instead of Seeing a group of Smiles and Handshakes, He saw Staring Eyes, Necks that had been stiffened AND *Gnashing of Teeth. Beatrice Bovine was the First to Speak, "Gregory, it has been brought to our attention that you had a conversation with Nelson the Ninja Snail,, and YOU didn't Rebuke his statement of being called "JUST-DUCKY". "As a result of this, *WE decided YOU "Cannot Be" CAPTAIN of the Hog Wallow and Mud in Your Eye Contest, PERIOD ! ! Gregory Simply smiled, Looked Straight into their Eyes, Quietly said "BYE", Softly Closed the door.... Turned Grinning, Knelt to his Knees, PRAYING, Thanking GOD, for the FACT,, That he, Gregory, He was Made just a *LITTLE BIT PECULIAR ! !
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 3:19 AM UTC
In purple checked dresses we are confronted
Behind a piano sits ‘Miss Creak’ head of house
She has one bad eye, unfixable from childhood
But plays beautifully perched on an oakwood
And fabric stool. This is our secondary school.
On the wall above the piano is a framed print
‘Madonna of the Meadows’ by the artist Bellini
I pushed a drawing of a couple intertwining
Under ‘her’ door knowing she never would have
But a boy may have felt affection for ‘that’ affliction.
Here we all ate meals, did fashion shows and sang
I was glad my dress was purple not orange or red
Went better with my blue eyes and blonde hair
The rest of the school diveded into coloured checks
To represent Shakespearean female characters.
Just opened in Wandsworth a new comprehensive
Serving all abilities, behaviours and nationalities
Cordelia, Beatrice, Juliet, Katharine,
Portia, Rosalind, Olivia, Viola a rather unsuitable
Vision for such an uptake of adolescent froth.
Miss Creak was, kindly, I wish I had always been.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 10:59 AM UTC
Eyes watered up as my voice cracked
Seeing you here, hearing your voice, and our supposed to be ‘happy date’ turned into closing curtains
For you stabbed me with three words that completely broke me
apart;
You started this relationship in three words, yet you also ended it in three;
How funny, how did “Be my girlfriend” get turned into “Let's break up” that easily?
I shook my head and begged you to stay;
I persisted and kept asking you for a reason;
For how will I be able to move on if I get left behind without something as little as that?
A few minutes of silence enveloped us before you opened your mouth to speak;
My fingers curled up and formed a fist after hearing your explanation;
Just because of the rumors and judgments people say, you'll split up with me?
Why?
Do you see our relationship as an acne? That makes you look bad in society?
I stepped towards you and held your shoulder,
“Their opinions don't matter!” I yelled as tears continue to fall;
It's true, isn't it?
Like how a little pesky pimple doesn't make people ugly, our relationship's flaw doesn't matter too;
So why can't you
understand?
“No, Beatrice, we need to stop this. I'm sorry. Good bye.”
I felt my whole world crashing down as you slowly stepped back, and permanently left my life;
You really are my greatest downfall, my love;
Goodbye.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 11:19 AM UTC
Each of you.
My individual singularities, Dad’s One Thing.
Conceived 1955.
Driven home, progeny, made man, unequivocal, indisputable.
Post-war night spirits undaunted ~ stop ******* me.
*** for you, stopped me.
Can’t make it the way you want. Please stop.
Backing off, I respect real you.
Don’t push me Me.
Don’t dream.
Will dream us.
Short sentence for guilt whisked way beyond what crime could be.
We combine beans and seeds and gourds.
That’s science! Culinary!
Botany, true, but I’m enaturated.
Human pod progressed.
If that’s a word, don’t dream it’s not.
Forget every word.
But make each and every word count.
Then add stash, socked away.
I concede.
Mi casa su casa.
Paint it.
Together.
Made mistake then fixed it.
Copasetic dovetails, my lady and me (not I).
We walk talk island jib.
I like the cut of your yar across the moonlit pool.
Go around with me to all haunts, snow globetrotting shaken not stirred
My déjà vu in futurum videre, I can’t believe.
Asunder goddesses should be together,
While Isis and Osiris boogie like Beatrice and Dante encircled,
Their own private imbroglio invaded
By Goth end time alchemists conjuring copyrights for gelt.
You tell me this short story.
I cringe.
My mind clouds men’s, and then conjures Morpheus.
My shadow child joins me in Paradise,
Deliria dancing in concert with Shakespearean intent.
My daughter’s got more guts in one pinky
Than all that fallen pilot on our island bargained for
In the games that decided who’s hungrier.
You could have been that gal.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 12:21 AM UTC
I'd like to make you think
And I do love to make you think
That I am a saint among men
A will of iron from beginning to end
I would like to make you think
It comes easy to me
That I am never on the brink
Of losing sanity
I want you to think I wasn't torn
When she only wants the night
Nothing more
It was but a trifle to say no
A lonely bed easily kept so
It has never crossed my mind
That a drink or two would bury me behind
That a fight in a dim alley way
Wouldn't make me feel alive
Knuckles made for darker play
Wouldn't have a place to thrive
If I could be honest with myself
And I do hate to be honest with myself
I posses the soul of a saint
Good is all I wish to do
But my heart is filled with pain
Always a struggle to stay true
So if you are to know me
As I would like for you to
You will have to see
Behind everything I do
I am a demon of an angel
Hating but kind
Living life through the angle
Of a tortured mind
Though I can't say who will win
Or when the struggle will finally end
I can say I will fight this sin
Try to be something better than I've ever been
And I will remember you
In everything I do
Because the world deserves something better than this
This angel who fell
So save me the sweetest kiss
And I will make it through this hell
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 4:09 PM UTC
If I could hold you close
would I rip your clothes,
or run my fingers through your hair?
I think I prefer to love you from afar,
my guiding star, my Beatrice.
From you would I steal a kiss?
That would just make earthly my heavenly bliss.
I know what I love is more than you,
you are only a symbol
of what’s beautiful and true.
We revolve in twin orbit, fan and star.
Love is like gravity,
bending space and time,
locking us in a dance--
spinning in rhythm, a cosmic balance--
what seems like great distance
bridged by the knowledge
of a fast-beating heart.
Together we glow more brightly than apart.
And between us there is no night,
only heat and fire and light.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 8:51 PM UTC
Beatrice,
Dauntless,
Tris,
Selfless,
Smart,
Prior,
Fighter,
Saviour,
Lover,
A girl with one dream.
To find the truth.
Candor.
A girl who gives homage to those who need it.
Amity.
Beatrice,
Tris,
Prior.
Abnegation,
Dauntless,
Erudite,
Amity,
Candor.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
Ms. Love & Mr. Understanding -
They go together like
The mists of love & misunderstandings.
Ms. Love was 15, Ms. Love woke up
Now Ms. Love is 25 with no one to love
Except memories of yesterday, once upon a far away
She met a boy - same old story - now he's gone and now he's all she
Wants – but they both have moved on
Yeah they both have moved on…
Or haven't they?
Dan understanding understated undemanding
Underwhelmed to find his hand in hand in hand with Beatrice Blanding
She's a nice girl in the right world and though she may not be the right girl
She loves him dearly
And he loves her… nearly
But is it nearly enough?
Looking for love behind all the wrong doors
Like you came into the bedroom and forgot what you came for -
Is it something different, is it more of the same?
Was it someone else, or is it me again?
Dan understanding gives Ms. Love a call
He says I've missed too much of your life already I can't miss it all
Oh, what say you wanna play? I'm on a train I'm round your way
I'm up to here with being brave, I want to see what life could have been
Do you know what I mean?
Do you mind if I lean in and…
Kiss you?
Looking for love behind all the wrong doors
Like you came into the bedroom and forgot what you came for
Is it something different, is it more of the same?
Was it someone else, or is it me again?
Ms. Love & Mr. Understanding -
They still go together like
The mists of love & misunderstandings.
Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 6:29 AM UTC
Love looked back as he took his flight,
And lo, his eyes were filled with tears.
Was it for love of lost delight
Love looked back as he took his flight?
Only I know while day grew night,
Turning still to the vanished years,
Love looked back as he took his flight,
And lo, his eyes were filled with tears.
II
(Written in a copy of “La Vita Nuova”. For M. C. S.)
If you were Lady Beatrice
And I the Florentine,
I’d never waste my time like this—
If you were Lady Beatrice
I’d woo and then demand a kiss,
Nor weep like Dante here, I ween,
If you were Lady Beatrice
And I the Florentine.
III
(Written in a copy of “The Poems of Sappho”.)
Beyond the dim Hesperides,
The girl who sang them long ago
Could never dream that over seas,
Beyond the dim Hesperides,
The wind would blow such songs as these—
I wonder now if she can know,
Beyond the dim Hesperides,
The girl who sang them long ago?
IV
Dead leaves upon the stream
And dead leaves on the air—
All of my lost hopes seem
Dead leaves upon the stream;
I watch them in a dream,
Going I know not where,
Dead leaves upon the stream
And dead leaves on the air.
1.5k
Dear Ex,
Been figuring how to write this letter to you.
To you Carol for Helping me be independent
To you Beatrice for making my Trust Grow
To you Tash for teaching me good ***
To you Carol for teaching me that crying is okay
To you Olive for teaching me hangover remedies that actually worked
And To you Beth, for making me stronger than ever.
Its strange sometimes, I sit and reflect
of how it would be if I hadn't been in your lives as a lover, then.
Would some chunks in my life be missing because I wouldn't have learnt any lessons?
Would I be a Better Lover?
Would I still be innocent because I wouldn't know a painful heartbreak and how it felt to really want to revenge and hold on to Anger?
Would I still be a ******
The fights, built me.
The tours, made me exposed to races,tribes,religions all specrums of life.
The laughs extended my life
The friendship made me love.
Yes, there was pain
there were tears
Curses
But all these, were corners of the road that I journey to, to perfection someday.
You taught me how different love was.
It can't be defined in a single word.
ha ha, I remember, to one of you, foot massages and a shower together every night meant I Love you
For the other, saying it after every hour meant I Love you.
Its different.
IT IS BEAUTIFUL.
This is a note of gratitude.
Saying THANK YOU, for making me a better Lover.
THANK YOU for making me a better Mother.
THANK YOU for making me The BEST Best Friend
THANK YOU for now, Making me THE BEST WIFE.
I Am Happy.
And unlike a large number that would hate Ex's
and curse
and regret,
I choose the Route of Gratitude,
coz this far,
I will say
You Molded me
To the better person I am now.
I Respect You.
©TheUnspoken
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 8:41 AM UTC
Margaret Murray, the one with the glasses.
The psychic, the mystic, her tarot card classes.
Told Sheila her mangoes were ready to eat.
Told Mary her cousin'd be back on his feet.
Beverley Spence was a sceptic, tough cookie.
In seeing her fortune snapped up by the ******
Decided to tell her her ulcer would heal.
It's better than sharing with friends what was real.
Patty was eager to hear from her mother.
Jessie bereft at the loss of her brother.
Beatrice needed the skills of a healer.
For Margaret saw death and she would not reveal her -
True destiny seen in the cards at the clubby.
Preventing a scene with her hard drinking hubby.
£20 fortunes, no refunds, no worries.
There's no better tarot than Margaret Murray's.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 1:18 PM UTC
My heart is full of desire,
But instead he chooses Beatrice Prior.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
I am Dante
I am a poet, a writer, and a fool
My love for her burns worse than hell
I will go through the circles
Of the nine hells below
Just to have her rest in my arms
My soul will suffer
As those below do,
But my love for her will guide me
The fires may touch my skin
And the hopelessness will hit me,
But I will keep fighting for her
I care not for the souls of the souls of the ******
I only care for the soul of my love
For she is my Beatrice
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 7:48 AM UTC
A bat of the eyes, a flick of the wrist,
a ruffle of sleeve, a daydream,
a heartattack kiss and
I'm gone, no time to grieve--
all the leaves of prose and bad poetry,
perhaps you'll remember me-
during those halcyon afternoons,
when the coffee brews,
distant church bells ring out
a panhandler's tune no one can sing to,
but we used to dance it through
in damp clothes and into dark rooms--
a life lost in desperate minutes,
forbidden fruits and daggers of knowledge
were all we could taste, feel in the midst
of the misery in simply existing,
and woman you're free to rise above me,
stare from the balcony,
while I reenact a lifetime of sin
on a half-lit stage, far from the lilac's bloom,
never will I dress as a groom,
nor will I sleep under the same moon,
that was miles ago, summers away from here,
a mythical love taken to sea,
oh, it's easy to miss what never could be.
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 11:08 AM UTC
It’s nice to have some holiday downtime and not be all go-go-go. I’ve even gotten in some Animal Crossing play. After 40 minutes of picking up weeds, Bianca, one of my villagers, told me she’d heard I was dead.
Later, we’re in Lisa’s living room taking turns playing songs from Spotify.
Lisa just played “Woo”, by Rihanna. When the song ends, fading out, Leeza deadpan said, “That song is pure evil.”
“You guys, I forgot to mention it but that is my energy song, it makes me feel so HOT.” Lisa adds with a chuckle.
“It has an evil vibe,” I admit. “An evil vibe,” Leeza confirms.
“Don’t be judging,” Lisa reminds us.
“Your next,” Lisa said, nodding to Leeza, “What’ve you got for us,” she speculates, “some mental health rock?”
Leeza’s had this girl-punk-rock group called “Vancougar” playing on a loop in her room. At first, I wasn’t enthusiastic but now I think they slay. Her mom’s even gotten on board, dancing “the twist” to “Philadelphia” when it rolls around. Leeza has great taste in music although she leans a bit EMO (emotionally hard core) for me. She makes me feel old by introducing us to all these new bands like “Youngest and only,” “Calling all Captains” and “Beatrice Dear.”
“I’ve got one song to play,” Leeza says, “Paparazzi, by Lady Gaga.”
“I’ve been listening to that song all WEEK!” I gasp, “I love that song, it may be her best - that’s so random,” I finish saying as the song starts.
As Paparazzi ends Lisa says, “That song has major Gwen Stefani vibes.”
“It DOES,” I agree, “It could be “Cool” or “Sweet Escape.”
“Yeah, for sure,” Leeza agreed, “shoutout to No Doubt.”
Leeza says, “I have a conversation topic: What’s something we all acknowledge is cheugy but we still do anyway?”
“Being blonde,” I say, which gets stitches of laughter because it’s true and Lisa and I are.
“That’s true, that’s fair,” redheaded Leeza laughs. “Anyone blonde is dead to me,” which gets her a pillow in the face.
“Ok, I’m going to come for a lot of people,” Lisa says, “but yogurt, yogurt is cheugy.”
Leeza gasps, “You think yogurt.. It’s not cheugy!” she practically yells, “It gives MOM.”
Dec 28, 2022
Dec 28, 2022 at 3:33 PM UTC