- I am the finer woman
I am a lady of Zeta Phi Beta Sorority
I am the heart of a Sigma
The vital rib created from his side
If virtue and sisterly love is what you seek
Strive for perfection
- Shame on a Brother who pledged his all but commits the cardinal sin,
for he is not an asset to the organization the organization is an asset to him.
Shame on a Brother who does no work to help his chapter build,
but sit in his blue room with blue lights,
on his blue bed drinking blue juice wearing his blue letters, he chills.
Shame on a Brother who shows no shame and learns to live with the stigma,
Sigma taught him all he knows about time value now he has no time for Sigma.
Shame on a Brother who is a member, but not active and does not realize what's at stake for when to many Brothers lean on the shield,
the shield will eventually break.
Shame on a Brother for he is not a true Brother when most needed, his pledging stopped. There is no difference between an unactive Brother and another who pledged and dropped.
SHAME ON A BROTHER
- Thou hast many temples and wooded groves, and all the cliffs and towering peaks of the high mountains, and all sea-flowing rivers and dear to thee, Apollo, but thou rejoices most in Delos. Long-robed Ionians come to honour thee with their children and gentle women. Thou art delighted with boxing and dancing and song.
Whenever a festival is held in thy honour, a man, seeing the Ionians gathered there, would say they were immortal, untouched by age. He would remark their grace, and rejoice at the sight of these men and the women with
beautiful girdles and their swift ships and their endless wealth . . .
- Now Crete remains, and Salamis is green
In the darkening shade of her laurel leaves,
While Delos, crowned with a wreath of fiery rays,
Lifts her head, drunk with thought, to the sunrise,
And there are enough purple fruit on Tinos for everyone,
And in Chios too there is ripe fruit; the Cyprian liquor
Flows from the drunken hills; and from Calauria
The silver streams slip down to the sea
To the ancient waters of the Father.
All are living still, the islands, mothers of heroes,
Flowering from year to year . . .
- O land of Homer!
By the scarlet cherry tree, or when
Sent by you in the vineyard I see
The young peaches hanging green,
And the swallow comes from afar, telling tales
While building his house on my walls,
Then, O Ionia, I dream of you,
In the days of May under the stars.
Therefore I have come, O islands, to see you . .
- What grief it would have been, my God,
What grief
If my heart was not consoled
By the hope of marble
And the prospect of a shining sunray
Which shall give new life
To the splendid ruins
Exactly like a red flower
Amid green leaves.
- Stoop if you can to the dark sea forgetting
The sound of a flute to naked feet
That trod in your sleep in the other the sunken life
Write if you can on your last shell
The day the name the place
And cast it to sink in the sea.
- O shining white and famed in song and violet-wreathed,
Fortress of Hellas, glorious Athens, city of God.
- O golden lyre, shared by Apollo with the Muses,
The violet-haired: the dancers and the choristers heed you,
And the singers obey your measures when,
Shaken by the music, you set the beat for the dance . . .
The arrows of music soothe the heart of the gods
By virtue of the wisdom of Apollo and the deep-girdled Muses.
- Revere the Cyprian. And I will breathe a fair wind
On you in love and over the bright-eyed sea.