What Should I Say - Sir Thomas Wyatt

What should I say,
Since faith is dead,
And truth away
From you is fled?
Should I be led
With doubleness?
Nay, nay, mistress!

I promised you,
And you promised me,
To be as true
As I would be.
But since I see
Your double heart,
Farewell my part!

Though for to take
It is not my mind,
But to forsake
I am not blind
And as I find,
So will I trust:
Farewell, unjust!

Can ye say nay?
But you said
That I alway
Should be obeyed?
And thus betrayed
Or that I wist--
Farewell, unkissed.

What a beautiful poem.
One thing that puzzles me though, Handsome, i would have never imagined you posting such poems. After all, you seem preocupied by conquest more than trying to ensure the welfare of the province... )))))))

Author: Selda Bagcan

From Now On (Anymore)
Even if you were the Koran, the Gospel or the Psalms
I will not open you [to read you] anymore
Even if you were the elixer of life
I will not drink of you anymore

Even if you were a magnificent bird
Even if you were the first among all that is beautiful
Even if you were a priceless fabric
I will not sew you anymore

Even if you were the rose of a special garden
Even if you were honey of white seeds
Even if you were a coral-colored pearl
I will not wear you anymore

Death is what the Lord wisheth
Your words are wounds on my soul
Even if you were the bridge to heaven
I will not pass you anymore

Bundan Sonra
kuran, incil, zebur olsan
açmam seni bundan sonra
abıkevser suyu olsan
içmem seni bundan sonra

eğer ulu bir kuş olsan
cümle güzele baş olsan
paha yetmez kumaş olsan
biçmem seni bundan sonra

has bahçenin gülü olsan
beyaz tohum balı olsan
nur-i mercan inci olsan
takmam seni bundan sonra

ölümdür hakkın muradı
sözün özüme yaradır
olsan cennettin sıratı
geçmem seni bundan sonra

I found this rather nice poem on a lyric / poetry site some time ago with an anonymous author:

I close my eyes at night and dream,
about the man of my fantasies
He kisses me so soft and tender
He makes my heart want to surrender
with the gentle stroke of his hands
he takes me to a land, in heaven
his arms hold me close
as if a silent promise to not let me go
feeling the deepness of passion while making love
who is the name of the one I dream of?
I feel his intesity as I open my eyes
and look up
it was you all along I was dreaming of..............

Sorrows Of The Moon-Baudelaire (translated by Joanna Richardson)

This evening the moon dreams more lazily
As some fair woman, lost in cushions deep
With gentle hand caresses listlessly
The contour of her breasts before she sleeps

On velvet backs of avalanches soft
She often lies enraptured as she dies
And gazes on white visions aloft
Which like a blossoming to heaven rise

When sometimes on this globe, in indolence
She lets a secret tear drop down, by chance
A poet, set against oblivion

Takes in his hand this pale and furtive tear
This opal drop where rainbow hues appear
And hides it in his breast far from the sun

Lovely,so lovely,thank you handsom,geniuda,LL

(From IRVING LAYTON)
The worm

Thw filty rain
blackens the street

Knowing that you lie
this afternoon
whimpering in another man's
arms

I picture you stretched out,
a stiffened corpse

And your cold vagina
extruding
a solitary pink
worm.
==========================

Bargain

In fourteen years
of married bliss
Not once have I been disloyal
to my wife;
and you, I am told, are still
a virgin.

If you are set
to barter your maidenhead
for my unheard-of fidelity
call me between three and five tomorrow
and it is done.

To a Creole Lady-Charles Baudelaire

In the perfumed country which the sun caresses,
I knew, under a canopy of crimson trees
And palms from which indolence rains into your eyes,
A Creole lady whose charms were unknown.

Her complexion is pale and warm; the dark enchantress
Affects a noble air with the movements of her neck.
Tall and slender, she walks like a huntress;
Her smile is calm and her eye confident.

If you went, Madame, to the true land of glory,
On the banks of the Seine or along the green Loire,
Beauty fit to ornament those ancient manors,

You'd make, in the shelter of those shady retreats,
A thousand sonnets grow in the hearts of poets,
Whom your large eyes would make more subject than your slaves.

===========================================


I WORSHIP YOU LIKE NIGHT'S PAVILION-Charles Baudelaire

I worship you like night's pavilion,
O vase of sadness, o great silent one,
And love you more since you escape from me,
And since you seem, my night's sublimity,
To mock me and increase the leagues that lie
Between my arms and blue immensity.

I move to attack, beseige, assail,
Like eager worms after a funeral.
I even love, o beast implacable,
The coldness which makes you more beautiful.