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    I enjoy reading other people's poetry, especially when it is full of fire, or ancient knowledge, so I will post poems that spark me here. I'll start with Lilith she is my past.



    The Return of Lilith *

    Translated by: Henry Matthews **

    Wildcats shall meet with hyenas;
    goat-demons shall call to each other.
    There too Lilith shall repose,
    and find a place to rest.
    Isaiah 34:14

    I am Lilith, returned from her exile.

    I am Lilith, returned from the prison of white oblivion, lioness of the master and goddess of the twin moons. I gather in a cup what cannot be gathered, and I drink it, for I am the priestess and the temple. I leave no drop for no one, lest they think I have had enough. I copulate and multiply by myself to make a people from my own, and then kill my lovers to make way for those who did not know me.

    I am Lilith, the forest woman. I did not know a hopeful wait but I have known lions and true beasts. I impregnate all parts in me to weave the tale; I gather voices in my womb to complete the number of slaves. I eat my body so I am not accused of hunger and I drink my water so I am not thirsty. My tresses are long for the winter and my bags have no ceiling. Nothing quenches me and nothing fills me, and I return to be the lioness of the lost on earth.

    Long are my tresses
    Far
    And long
    Like a smile fading away in the rain
    Slumber after pleasure reached.
    My shivers are scars of shadows sometimes
    And gleams of the blade, at all times.

    I am the guardian of the well, the sum of contrasts. Kisses on my body are the scars of those who tried. From the flute between the thighs my song rises and from my song flows the curse, water on the earth.

    I am the two moons Lilith. The hand of every maiden, the window of every virgin. The angel of the fall and the conscience of light slumber. Daughter of Delilah, Magdalena and the seven fairies. From my lust mountains rise and rivers break. I return to injure the wisp of virtue with my water and rub the ointment of sin on the wounds of deprivation.

    I am the curse of past curses
    The enticer of boats so the storm will not abate
    My names bejewel your tongues when thirsty you
    Follow me as the touch follows the kiss
    And take me like the night on his mother’s breast.

    I am Lilith the secret of fingers that insist. I open the road and uncover dreams and lay bare the cities of manhood for my deluge. I do not gather two from each kind but I become them so the species will be pure from any virtue.

    The dreams are all open to me
    I am the conscience of light slumber
    I wear and shed the dream
    entice the boats away and don’t guide the storm
    I scatter the sky with the cunning of a cloud
    So no one gets my honey
    I have no home and no pillow
    I am the naked
    Who gives nudity the flower of its meaning.

    I am Lilith the cup and the server
    I came to say:
    More than one cup for me
    I came to say:
    The server is blind
    I came to say:
    Adam, Adam, you are busy with many matters but the need is one.

    Gather me
    The need is one
    Come gather me in the rain of your eyes
    Stab your mounts in my abyss
    Carve your features in the memory of my palms
    And breathe the tigress lurking at the drop of the shoulders.

    I am Lilith, the verse of apple. Books wrote me even if you did not read me. I am the unbridled pleasure the renegade wife the fulfillment of lust which brings the great destruction. My shirt is a window on madness. Whoever hears me deserves to die and whoever does not hear me will be killed by his remorse.

    I am the moon within
    Astray is my compass and migration my home
    No caller knocks at my door
    No house leads to my window
    And no window exists but the illusion of a window.

    I am not the stubborn steed or the easy ride, rather the shiver of the first seduction.
    I am neither the stubborn horse nor the easy steed, rather the debacle of the final regret.

    I am Lilith the destiny woman
    Salome’s last dance and the fading of the light
    I climb your night stone by stone every time the sun of absence bleeds the horizon
    I climb to set a dream to the table
    I delve into your vagabond mind
    I make room for my head in your sleep.

    For my blazes I climb up the stairways of the night
    And for your dreams
    I seek not certainty but obsession
    Not arriving but the pleasure of not arriving.
    Your night is my ladder to me
    And my hand to beneath the imaginary.

    I am the two genders Lilith. I am the desired gender. I take and am not given. I bring back to Adam his truth, and to Eve her ferocious breast so the logic of creation is appeased.

    I am the one who was conceived under the sign of ecstasy
    She whose presence rises
    She whose tongue is a beehive
    She who is a cake, eaten and kept
    She who is the crying hunger
    And who Limbo preserves.

    I am the arrogance of the two breasts
    Budding to grow and laugh
    To want and be eaten
    My breasts are salty
    So high that I do not reach them:
    Kiss them for me.

    Two lamps hint in two lights
    Budding so that their mischief may be forgiven.

    I am Lilith, the lascivious angel. Adam’s first steed, corrupter of Satan. The shadow of stifled sex and its purest scream. I am the shy maiden of the volcano, the jealous because I am the beautiful whisperer of the wilderness. The first paradise could not stand me. I was pushed out to sow conflict on earth and arrange in beds the matters of my subjects.

    My hand is the key to flame and the fierceness of hope
    Your bodies are firewood and my hand is the fireplace
    My hand is unbridled desire:
    With faith
    It moves mountains.

    I, the goddess of the twin nights, the destiny of the wise. The unity of sleep and wakefulness. I am the foetus poet. I slew myself and found her. I return from my exile to be the bride of the seven days and the destruction of future life.

    I am the seducing lioness. I return to slay the prisoners and rule the earth.
    I return to mend Adam’s ribs and rid the men from their Eves.

    I am Lilith, returned from exile to inherit the death of the mother to whom
    I gave birth
    @Lilith
    Last edited by Aylen; 05-10-2014 at 06:03 PM.

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







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    Lilith is one of my fav female figures in world mythology.


    Of Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told
    (The witch he loved before the gift of Eve,)
    That, ere the snake's, her sweet tongue could deceive,
    And her enchanted hair was the first gold.
    And still she sits, young while the earth is old,
    And, subtly of herself contemplative,
    Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave,
    Till heart and beauty and life are in its hold.
    The rose and poppy are her flowers; for where
    Is he not found, O Lilith, whom shed scent
    And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare?
    Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine, so went
    Thy spell through him, and left his straight neck bent
    And round his heart one strangling golden hair. (Dante Gabriel Rossetti)
    Last edited by Amber; 01-22-2014 at 09:47 PM.

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    [I used to have this one on my website before I took it down]

    Liturgy for Lilith


    I am Lilith, Grandmother of Mary Magdalene

    I am Lilith, whose sexual fire was too hot for God.

    I am Lilith, the First Woman, who chose the rage of exile over the cancer

    Of servitude.

    I am Lilith, Mother to the Mother-less.

    I am Lilith, whose blood covers the moon.

    I am Lilith, standing on owl’s claws at a woman’s crossroads.

    I am Lilith, the Whore in the gateway of the Temple.

    I am Lilith, whose serpentine tongue caused Eve to laugh, and pick the apple!

    I am Lilith, Revolving Sword of Flame – scorching hypocrisy from truth’s white bones.

    I am Lilith, free-moving in the Wilderness.

    I am Lilith, spirit of night and air.

    I am Lilith, in whose dark caves transgressors find sanctuary.

    I am Salome.

    I am Morgan le Faye.

    I am the Queen of Shayba –

    My hair is black, and I am ‘dark but comely’,

    (Solomon sang my song!).

    My hair is red and my skin, ivory.

    I am Eve’s big sister.

    I am Lilith, Mother to the motherless.

    I am Lilith, whose sexual fire was too hot for God.

    I am Lilith, living in the Shadow.

    Waiting. For you.



    "Fabian’s work, which ranges from poetry to playwriting, provides us with exciting new images of Lilith and of sacred sexuality. Fabian, who refers to her profession as that of sacred prostitute, gives us Lilith in a new, strongly feminist light. She portrays Lilith as bold, openly sexual, irreverent, enlightened, righteously rageful at times and unquestionably empowered."

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







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    Th' Arch-Enemy, and thence in Heav'n call'd Satan, with bold words breaking the horrid silence thus began.

    If thou beest he; but O how fall'n! how chang'd from him, who in the happy Realms of Light cloth'd with transcendent brightness didst outshine myriads though bright: If he whom mutual league, united thoughts and counsels, equal hope, and hazard in the Glorious Enterprize, joynd with me once, now misery hath joynd in equal ruin: into what Pit thou seest from what highth fal'n, so much the stronger provd he with his Thunder: and till then who knew the force of those dire Arms? yet not for those nor what the Potent Victor in his rage can else inflict do I repent or change, though chang'd in outward lustre; that fixt mind and high disdain, from sence of injur'd merit, that with the mightiest rais'd me to contend, and to the fierce contention brought along innumerable force of Spirits arm'd that durst dislike his reign, and me preferring, his utmost power with adverse power oppos'd in dubious Battel on the Plains of Heav'n, and shook his throne...

    What though the field be lost? all is not lost; the unconquerable Will, and study of revenge, immortal hate, and courage never to submit or yield: and what is else not to be overcome? that Glory never shall his wrath or might extort from me. To bow and sue for grace with suppliant knee, and deifie his power who from the terrour of this Arm so late doubted his Empire, that were low indeed, that were an ignominy and shame beneath this downfall; since by Fate the strength of Gods and this Empyreal substance cannot fail, since through experience of this great event in Arms not worse, in foresight much advanc't, we may with more successful hope resolve to wage by force or guile eternal Warr irreconcileable, to our grand Foe, who now triumphs, and in th' excess of joy sole reigning holds the Tyranny of Heav'n.
    So spake th' Apostate Angel, though in pain, vaunting aloud, but rackt with deep despair.
    Attached Images Attached Images

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    "sparks"

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    Fable of the Mermaid and the Drunks

    All those men were there inside,
    when she came in totally naked.
    They had been drinking: they began to spit.
    Newly come from the river, she knew nothing.
    She was a mermaid who had lost her way.
    The insults flowed down her gleaming flesh.
    Obscenities drowned her golden breasts.
    Not knowing tears, she did not weep tears.
    Not knowing clothes, she did not have clothes.
    They blackened her with burnt corks and cigarette stubs,
    and rolled around laughing on the tavern floor.
    She did not speak because she had no speech.
    Her eyes were the colour of distant love,
    her twin arms were made of white topaz.
    Her lips moved, silent, in a coral light,
    and suddenly she went out by that door.
    Entering the river she was cleaned,
    shining like a white stone in the rain,
    and without looking back she swam again
    swam towards emptiness, swam towards death. (Pablo Neruda)
    Last edited by Amber; 01-22-2014 at 09:47 PM.

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    WHEN we two parted
    In silence and tears,
    Half broken-hearted
    To sever for years,
    Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
    Colder thy kiss;
    Truly that hour foretold
    Sorrow to this.

    The dew of the morning
    Sunk chill on my brow—
    It felt like the warning
    Of what I feel now.
    Thy vows are all broken,
    And light is thy fame:
    I hear thy name spoken,
    And share in its shame.

    They name thee before me,
    A knell to mine ear;
    A shudder comes o'er me—
    Why wert thou so dear?
    They know not I knew thee,
    Who knew thee too well:
    Long, long shall I rue thee,
    Too deeply to tell.

    In secret we met—
    In silence I grieve,
    That thy heart could forget,
    Thy spirit deceive.
    If I should meet thee
    After long years,
    How should I greet thee?
    With silence and tears.

    -- Lord Byron

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







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    While looking Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials Trilogy

    From Paradise Lost

    Into this wilde Abyss,
    The Womb of nature and perhaps her Grave,
    Of neither Sea, nor Shore, nor Air, nor Fire,
    But all these in their pregnant causes mixt
    Confus'dly, and which thus must ever fight,
    Unless th' Almighty Maker them ordain
    His dark materials to create more Worlds,
    Into this wilde Abyss the warie fiend
    Stood on the brink of Hell and look'd a while,
    Pondering his Voyage; for no narrow frith
    He had to cross.

    — Book 2, lines 910–920

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    The Triple Fool


    I am two fools, I know—
    For loving, and for saying so
    In whining poetry;
    But where's that wiseman that would not be I,
    If she would not deny?
    Then, as th' earths inward narrow crooked lanes
    Do purge sea waters fretful salt away,
    I thought, if I could draw my pains
    Through rhymes vexation, I should them allay.
    Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce,
    For he tames it that fetters it in verse.

    But when I have done so,
    Some man, his art and voice to show,
    Doth set and sing my pain,
    And, by delighting many, frees again
    Grief, which verse did restrain.
    To Love and Grief tribute of verse belongs,
    But not of such as pleases when 'tis read;
    Both are increased by such songs,
    For both their triumphs so are published;
    And I, which was two fooles, do so grow three;
    Who are a little wise, the best fools be.


    --John Donne

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







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    Quote Originally Posted by Aylen View Post
    The Triple Fool


    I am two fools, I know—
    For loving, and for saying so
    In whining poetry;
    But where's that wiseman that would not be I,
    If she would not deny?
    Then, as th' earths inward narrow crooked lanes
    Do purge sea waters fretful salt away,
    I thought, if I could draw my pains
    Through rhymes vexation, I should them allay.
    Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce,
    For he tames it that fetters it in verse.

    But when I have done so,
    Some man, his art and voice to show,
    Doth set and sing my pain,
    And, by delighting many, frees again
    Grief, which verse did restrain.
    To Love and Grief tribute of verse belongs,
    But not of such as pleases when 'tis read;
    Both are increased by such songs,
    For both their triumphs so are published;
    And I, which was two fooles, do so grow three;
    Who are a little wise, the best fools be.


    --John Donne
    Love's Diet

    TO*what a cumbersome unwieldiness*
    And burdenous corpulence my love had grown,
    * * But that I did, to make it less,*
    * * And keep it in proportion,*
    Give it a diet, made it feed upon
    That which love worst endures, discretion.

    Above one sigh a day I allow'd him not,*
    Of which my fortune, and my faults had part ;*
    * * And if sometimes by stealth he got*
    * * A she sigh from my mistress' heart,
    And thought to feast upon that, I let him see
    'Twas neither very sound, nor meant to me.*

    If he wrung from me a tear, I brined it so*
    With scorn and shame, that him it nourish'd not ;
    * * If he suck'd hers, I let him know*
    * * 'Twas not a tear which he had got ;*
    His drink was counterfeit, as was his meat ;
    For eyes, which roll towards all, weep not, but sweat.

    Whatever he would dictate I writ that,
    But burnt her letters when she writ to me ;
    * * And if that favour made him fat,
    * * I said, "If any title be
    Convey'd by this, ah ! what doth it avail,
    To be the fortieth name in an entail?"

    Thus I reclaim'd my buzzard love, to fly*
    At what, and when, and how, and where I choose.*
    * * Now negligent of sports I lie,*
    * * And now, as other falconers use,*
    I spring a mistress, swear, write, sigh, and weep ;
    And the game kill'd, or lost, go talk or sleep.
    I think Donne was EIE. What other type could be so "fabulous"?

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    Quote Originally Posted by Johannes Bloem View Post
    I think Donne was EIE. What other type could be so "fabulous"?
    I pretty much know fuck all about types but I agree on the fab part.

    Damn I got a dirty mouth today, and to think I couldn't comfortably say "fuck" out loud, except in certain situations, until 3 years ago.

    Edit: I'm experimenting.

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







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    Quote Originally Posted by Aylen View Post
    I pretty much know fuck all about types but I agree on the fab part.

    Damn I got a dirty mouth today, and to think I couldn't comfortably say "fuck" out loud, except in certain situations, until 3 years ago.
    oh don't worry, I also type Freddie Mercury EIE. Talk about fabulous.

    "certain situations", eh? more like "sticky situations".

    anyway what happened 3 years ago?

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    Quote Originally Posted by Johannes Bloem View Post
    oh don't worry, I also type Freddie Mercury EIE. Talk about fabulous.

    "certain situations", eh? more like "sticky situations".

    anyway what happened 3 years ago?
    very, very, dark, bad things.

    I got tired of people assuming I was all sugar and spice and would not stick up for myself. They learn real fast and "fuck" is now used for emphasis. I decided "ladies" can say it outside the bedroom.

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







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    Quote Originally Posted by Aylen View Post
    very, very, dark, bad things.

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    Last edited by Aylen; 01-23-2014 at 08:14 AM.

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







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    ‘He’s equal with the Gods, that man’


    He’s equal with the Gods, that man
    Who sits across from you,
    Face to face, close enough, to sip
    Your voice’s sweetness,

    And what excites my mind,
    Your laughter, glittering. So,
    When I see you, for a moment,
    My voice goes,

    My tongue freezes. Fire,
    Delicate fire, in the flesh.
    Blind, stunned, the sound
    Of thunder, in my ears.

    Shivering with sweat, cold
    Tremors over the skin,
    I turn the colour of dead grass,
    And I’m an inch from dying.

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







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    Leda and the Swan

    by W. B. Yeats

    A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
    Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
    By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
    He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

    How can those terrified vague fingers push
    The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
    And how can body, laid in that white rush,
    But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

    A shudder in the loins engenders there
    The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
    And Agamemnon dead.
    Being so caught up,
    So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
    Did she put on his knowledge with his power
    Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







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    Before life set me on a different path, I had a website...it was titled:

    "La Belle Dame Sans Merci"

    Ballad

    I.

    O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
    Alone and palely loitering?
    The sedge has wither’d from the lake,
    And no birds sing.

    II.

    O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
    So haggard and so woe-begone?
    The squirrel’s granary is full,
    And the harvest’s done.

    III.

    I see a lily on thy brow
    With anguish moist and fever dew,
    And on thy cheeks a fading rose
    Fast withereth too.

    IV.

    I met a lady in the meads,
    Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
    Her hair was long, her foot was light,
    And her eyes were wild.

    V.

    I made a garland for her head,
    And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
    She look’d at me as she did love,
    And made sweet moan.

    VI.

    I set her on my pacing steed,
    And nothing else saw all day long,
    For sidelong would she bend, and sing
    A faery’s song.

    VII.

    She found me roots of relish sweet,
    And honey wild, and manna dew,
    And sure in language strange she said—
    “I love thee true.”

    VIII.

    She took me to her elfin grot,
    And there she wept, and sigh’d fill sore,
    And there I shut her wild wild eyes
    With kisses four.

    IX.

    And there she lulled me asleep,
    And there I dream’d—Ah! woe betide!
    The latest dream I ever dream’d
    On the cold hill’s side.

    X.

    I saw pale kings and princes too,
    Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
    They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci
    Hath thee in thrall!”

    XI.

    I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
    With horrid warning gaped wide,
    And I awoke and found me here,
    On the cold hill’s side.

    XII.

    And this is why I sojourn here,
    Alone and palely loitering,
    Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,
    And no birds sing.

    -- John Keats

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







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    I Sing the Body Electric


    by Walt Whitman
    1


    I sing the body electric,
    The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
    They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
    And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.


    Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?
    And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?
    And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul? And if the body
    were not the soul, what is the soul?

    2


    The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself
    balks account,
    That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.


    The expression of the face balks account,
    But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face,
    It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of
    his hips and wrists,
    It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist
    and knees, dress does not hide him,
    The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth,
    To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more,
    You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.


    The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the
    folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the
    contour of their shape downwards,
    The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through
    the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls
    silently to and from the heave of the water,
    The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the
    horse-man in his saddle,
    Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances,
    The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open
    dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting,
    The female soothing a child, the farmer's daughter in the garden or
    cow-yard,
    The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six
    horses through the crowd,
    The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty,
    good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sundown
    after work,
    The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance,
    The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes;
    The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine
    muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps,
    The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes
    suddenly again, and the listening on the alert,
    The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv'd
    neck and the counting;
    Such-like I love--I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother's
    breast with the little child,
    Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with
    the firemen, and pause, listen, count.

    3


    I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons,
    And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons.


    This man was a wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person,
    The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of his hair and
    beard, the immeasurable meaning of his black eyes, the richness
    and breadth of his manners,
    These I used to go and visit him to see, he was wise also,
    He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old, his sons were
    massive, clean, bearded, tan-faced, handsome,
    They and his daughters loved him, all who saw him loved him,
    They did not love him by allowance, they loved him with personal
    love,
    He drank water only, the blood show'd like scarlet through the
    clear-brown skin of his face,
    He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he sail'd his boat himself, he
    had a fine one presented to him by a ship-joiner, he had
    fowling-pieces presented to him by men that loved him,
    When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or fish,
    you would pick him out as the most beautiful and vigorous of
    the gang,
    You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit
    by him in the boat that you and he might touch each other.

    4


    I have perceiv'd that to be with those I like is enough,
    To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,
    To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough,
    To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round
    his or her neck for a moment, what is this then?
    I do not ask any more delight, I
    swim in it as in a sea.
    There is something in staying close to men and women and looking on them,
    and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well,
    All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.

    5


    This is the female form,
    A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,
    It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,
    I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor,
    all falls aside but myself and it,
    Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what
    was expected of heaven or fear'd of hell, are now consumed,
    Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response
    likewise ungovernable,
    Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all
    diffused, mine too diffused,
    Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling
    and deliciously aching,
    Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of
    love, white-blow and delirious nice,
    Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the
    prostrate dawn,
    Undulating into the willing and yielding day,
    Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh'd day.


    This the nucleus--after the child is born of woman, man is born
    of woman,
    This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the
    outlet again.


    Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the
    exit of the rest,
    You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.


    The female contains all qualities and tempers them,
    She is in her place and moves with perfect balance,
    She is all things duly veil'd, she is both passive and active,
    She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as
    daughters.


    As I see my soul reflected in Nature,
    As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness,
    sanity, beauty,
    See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see.

    6


    The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place,
    He too is all qualities, he is action and power,
    The flush of the known universe is in him,
    Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well,
    The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is
    utmost become him well, pride is for him,
    The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul,
    Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to
    the test of himself,
    Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes
    soundings at last only here,
    (Where else does he strike soundings except here?)


    The man's body is sacred and the woman's body is sacred,
    No matter who it is, it is sacred--is it the meanest one in the
    laborers' gang?
    Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf?
    Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as
    much as you,
    Each has his or her place in the procession.


    (All is a procession,
    The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)


    Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant?
    Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has
    no right to a sight?
    Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float, and
    the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts,
    For you only, and not for him and her?

    7


    A man's body at auction,
    (For before the war I often go to the slave-mart and watch the sale,)
    I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not half know his business.


    Gentlemen look on this wonder,
    Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for it,
    For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years without one animal or plant,
    For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll'd.


    In this head the all-baffling brain,
    In it and below it the makings of heroes.


    Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in tendon and nerve,
    They shall be stript that you may see them.
    Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition,
    Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone and neck, flesh not flabby, good-sized
    arms and legs,
    And wonders within there yet.


    Within there runs blood,
    The same old blood! the same red-running blood!
    There swells and jets a heart, there all passions, desires, reachings,
    aspirations,
    (Do you think they are not there because they are not express'd in
    parlors and lecture-rooms?)


    This is not only one man, this the father of those who shall be fathers
    in their turns,
    In him the start of populous states and rich republics,
    Of him countless immortal lives with countless embodiments and enjoyments.


    How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his offspring
    through the centuries?
    (Who might you find you have come from yourself, if you could trace
    back through the centuries?)

    8


    A woman's body at auction,
    She too is not only herself, she is the teeming mother of mothers,
    She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the mothers.


    Have you ever loved the body of a woman?
    Have you ever loved the body of a man?
    Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all in all nations and
    times all over the earth?


    If any thing is sacred the human body is sacred,
    And the glory and sweet of a man is the token of manhood untainted,
    And in man or woman a clean, strong, firm-fibred body, is more beautiful
    than the most beautiful face.
    Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body? or the fool
    that corrupted her own live body?
    For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves.

    9


    O my body! I dare not desert the likes of you in other men and women,
    nor the likes of the parts of you,
    I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of the
    soul, (and that they are the soul,)
    I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my poems, and
    that they are my poems,
    Man's, woman's, child, youth's, wife's, husband's, mother's,
    father's, young man's, young woman's poems,
    Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of the ears,
    Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eyebrows, and the waking or
    sleeping of the lids,
    Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, jaws, and the
    jaw-hinges,
    Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition,
    Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat, back of the neck, neck-slue,
    Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula, hind-shoulders, and the
    ample side-round of the chest,
    Upper-arm, armpit, elbow-socket, lower-arm, arm-sinews, arm-bones,
    Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb, forefinger,
    finger-joints, finger-nails,
    Broad breast-front, curling hair of the breast, breast-bone, breast-side,
    Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the backbone,
    Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and outward round, man-balls, man-root,
    Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk above,
    Leg-fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under-leg,
    Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel;
    All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your body
    or of any one's body, male or female,
    The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the bowels sweet and clean,
    The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame,
    Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, maternity,
    Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and the man that comes from woman,
    The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping,
    love-looks, love-perturbations and risings,
    The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud,
    Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking, swimming,
    Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and
    tightening,
    The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the eyes,
    The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair,
    The curious sympathy one feels when feeling with the hand the naked
    meat of the body,
    The circling rivers the breath, and breathing it in and out,
    The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward
    toward the knees,
    The thin red jellies within you or within me, the bones and the
    marrow in the bones,
    The exquisite realization of health;
    O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of
    the soul,
    O I say now these are the soul!

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







  20. #20
    Olduvai's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Aylen View Post
    I Sing the Body Electric


    by Walt Whitman
    1


    I sing the body electric,
    The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
    They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
    And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.


    Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?
    And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?
    And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul? And if the body
    were not the soul, what is the soul?

    2


    The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself
    balks account,
    That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect.


    The expression of the face balks account,
    But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face,
    It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of
    his hips and wrists,
    It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist
    and knees, dress does not hide him,
    The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth,
    To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more,
    You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.


    The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of women, the
    folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the
    contour of their shape downwards,
    The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through
    the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up and rolls
    silently to and from the heave of the water,
    The bending forward and backward of rowers in row-boats, the
    horse-man in his saddle,
    Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances,
    The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open
    dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting,
    The female soothing a child, the farmer's daughter in the garden or
    cow-yard,
    The young fellow hoeing corn, the sleigh-driver driving his six
    horses through the crowd,
    The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty,
    good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sundown
    after work,
    The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance,
    The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes;
    The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine
    muscle through clean-setting trowsers and waist-straps,
    The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes
    suddenly again, and the listening on the alert,
    The natural, perfect, varied attitudes, the bent head, the curv'd
    neck and the counting;
    Such-like I love--I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother's
    breast with the little child,
    Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line with
    the firemen, and pause, listen, count.

    3


    I knew a man, a common farmer, the father of five sons,
    And in them the fathers of sons, and in them the fathers of sons.


    This man was a wonderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person,
    The shape of his head, the pale yellow and white of his hair and
    beard, the immeasurable meaning of his black eyes, the richness
    and breadth of his manners,
    These I used to go and visit him to see, he was wise also,
    He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old, his sons were
    massive, clean, bearded, tan-faced, handsome,
    They and his daughters loved him, all who saw him loved him,
    They did not love him by allowance, they loved him with personal
    love,
    He drank water only, the blood show'd like scarlet through the
    clear-brown skin of his face,
    He was a frequent gunner and fisher, he sail'd his boat himself, he
    had a fine one presented to him by a ship-joiner, he had
    fowling-pieces presented to him by men that loved him,
    When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or fish,
    you would pick him out as the most beautiful and vigorous of
    the gang,
    You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit
    by him in the boat that you and he might touch each other.

    4


    I have perceiv'd that to be with those I like is enough,
    To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough,
    To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough,
    To pass among them or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round
    his or her neck for a moment, what is this then?
    I do not ask any more delight, I
    swim in it as in a sea.
    There is something in staying close to men and women and looking on them,
    and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul well,
    All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.

    5


    This is the female form,
    A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,
    It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,
    I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor,
    all falls aside but myself and it,
    Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what
    was expected of heaven or fear'd of hell, are now consumed,
    Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response
    likewise ungovernable,
    Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all
    diffused, mine too diffused,
    Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling
    and deliciously aching,
    Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of
    love, white-blow and delirious nice,
    Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the
    prostrate dawn,
    Undulating into the willing and yielding day,
    Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh'd day.


    This the nucleus--after the child is born of woman, man is born
    of woman,
    This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the
    outlet again.


    Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the
    exit of the rest,
    You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.


    The female contains all qualities and tempers them,
    She is in her place and moves with perfect balance,
    She is all things duly veil'd, she is both passive and active,
    She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as
    daughters.


    As I see my soul reflected in Nature,
    As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness,
    sanity, beauty,
    See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see.

    6


    The male is not less the soul nor more, he too is in his place,
    He too is all qualities, he is action and power,
    The flush of the known universe is in him,
    Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well,
    The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sorrow that is
    utmost become him well, pride is for him,
    The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul,
    Knowledge becomes him, he likes it always, he brings every thing to
    the test of himself,
    Whatever the survey, whatever the sea and the sail he strikes
    soundings at last only here,
    (Where else does he strike soundings except here?)


    The man's body is sacred and the woman's body is sacred,
    No matter who it is, it is sacred--is it the meanest one in the
    laborers' gang?
    Is it one of the dull-faced immigrants just landed on the wharf?
    Each belongs here or anywhere just as much as the well-off, just as
    much as you,
    Each has his or her place in the procession.


    (All is a procession,
    The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)


    Do you know so much yourself that you call the meanest ignorant?
    Do you suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has
    no right to a sight?
    Do you think matter has cohered together from its diffuse float, and
    the soil is on the surface, and water runs and vegetation sprouts,
    For you only, and not for him and her?

    7


    A man's body at auction,
    (For before the war I often go to the slave-mart and watch the sale,)
    I help the auctioneer, the sloven does not half know his business.


    Gentlemen look on this wonder,
    Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for it,
    For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years without one animal or plant,
    For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll'd.


    In this head the all-baffling brain,
    In it and below it the makings of heroes.


    Examine these limbs, red, black, or white, they are cunning in tendon and nerve,
    They shall be stript that you may see them.
    Exquisite senses, life-lit eyes, pluck, volition,
    Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant backbone and neck, flesh not flabby, good-sized
    arms and legs,
    And wonders within there yet.


    Within there runs blood,
    The same old blood! the same red-running blood!
    There swells and jets a heart, there all passions, desires, reachings,
    aspirations,
    (Do you think they are not there because they are not express'd in
    parlors and lecture-rooms?)


    This is not only one man, this the father of those who shall be fathers
    in their turns,
    In him the start of populous states and rich republics,
    Of him countless immortal lives with countless embodiments and enjoyments.


    How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his offspring
    through the centuries?
    (Who might you find you have come from yourself, if you could trace
    back through the centuries?)

    8


    A woman's body at auction,
    She too is not only herself, she is the teeming mother of mothers,
    She is the bearer of them that shall grow and be mates to the mothers.


    Have you ever loved the body of a woman?
    Have you ever loved the body of a man?
    Do you not see that these are exactly the same to all in all nations and
    times all over the earth?


    If any thing is sacred the human body is sacred,
    And the glory and sweet of a man is the token of manhood untainted,
    And in man or woman a clean, strong, firm-fibred body, is more beautiful
    than the most beautiful face.
    Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body? or the fool
    that corrupted her own live body?
    For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves.

    9


    O my body! I dare not desert the likes of you in other men and women,
    nor the likes of the parts of you,
    I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of the
    soul, (and that they are the soul,)
    I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my poems, and
    that they are my poems,
    Man's, woman's, child, youth's, wife's, husband's, mother's,
    father's, young man's, young woman's poems,
    Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of the ears,
    Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eyebrows, and the waking or
    sleeping of the lids,
    Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, jaws, and the
    jaw-hinges,
    Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition,
    Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, throat, back of the neck, neck-slue,
    Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula, hind-shoulders, and the
    ample side-round of the chest,
    Upper-arm, armpit, elbow-socket, lower-arm, arm-sinews, arm-bones,
    Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb, forefinger,
    finger-joints, finger-nails,
    Broad breast-front, curling hair of the breast, breast-bone, breast-side,
    Ribs, belly, backbone, joints of the backbone,
    Hips, hip-sockets, hip-strength, inward and outward round, man-balls, man-root,
    Strong set of thighs, well carrying the trunk above,
    Leg-fibres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under-leg,
    Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel;
    All attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your body
    or of any one's body, male or female,
    The lung-sponges, the stomach-sac, the bowels sweet and clean,
    The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame,
    Sympathies, heart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, maternity,
    Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and the man that comes from woman,
    The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping,
    love-looks, love-perturbations and risings,
    The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud,
    Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking, swimming,
    Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and
    tightening,
    The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the eyes,
    The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair,
    The curious sympathy one feels when feeling with the hand the naked
    meat of the body,
    The circling rivers the breath, and breathing it in and out,
    The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward
    toward the knees,
    The thin red jellies within you or within me, the bones and the
    marrow in the bones,
    The exquisite realization of health;
    O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of
    the soul,
    O I say now these are the soul!
    My favorite parts:
    (All is a procession,
    The universe is a procession with measured and perfect motion.)

    Gentlemen look on this wonder,
    Whatever the bids of the bidders they cannot be high enough for it,
    For it the globe lay preparing quintillions of years without one animal or plant,
    For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll'd.




    In this head the all-baffling brain,
    In it and below it the makings of heroes.

    Here's Wallace Stevens talking about "processions":
    She dreams a little, and she feels the dark
    Encroachment of that old catastrophe,
    As a calm darkness among water-lights.
    The pungent oranges and bright, green wings
    Seem things in some procession of the dead,
    Winding across wide water, without sound.

  21. #21
    Queen of the Damned Aylen's Avatar
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    1877
    I WILL FIGHT NO MORE FOREVER

    (Surrender Speech)

    by Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce

    I WILL FIGHT NO MORE FOREVER -

    I am tired of fighting.

    Our chiefs are killed.

    Looking Glass is dead.

    Toohulhulsote is dead.

    The old men are all dead.

    It is the young men who say no and yes.

    He who led the young men is dead.

    It is cold and we have no blankets.

    The little children are freezing to death.

    My people, some of them,

    Have run away to the hills

    And have no blankets, no food.

    No one knows where they are-

    Perhaps they are freezing to death.

    I want to have time to look for my children

    And see how many of them I can find.

    Maybe I shall find them among the dead.

    Hear me, my chiefs, I am tired.

    My heart is sad and sick.

    From where the sun now stands

    I will fight no more forever. - -

    THE END
    Last edited by Aylen; 01-31-2014 at 07:09 PM.

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







  22. #22
    Olduvai's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Aylen View Post


    1877
    I WILL FIGHT NO MORE FOREVER

    (Surrender Speech)

    by Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce

    I WILL FIGHT NO MORE FOREVER -

    I am tired of fighting.

    Our chiefs are killed.

    Looking Glass is dead.

    Toohulhulsote is dead.

    The old men are all dead.

    It is the young men who say no and yes.

    He who led the young men is dead.

    It is cold and we have no blankets.

    The little children are freezing to death.

    My people, some of them,

    Have run away to the hills

    And have no blankets, no food.

    No one knows where they are-

    Perhaps they are freezing to death.

    I want to have time to look for my children

    And see how many of them I can find.

    Maybe I shall find them among the dead.

    Hear me, my chiefs, I am tired.

    My heart is sad and sick.

    From where the sun now stands

    I will fight no more forever. - -

    THE END
    Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
    Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
    Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
    And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
    Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
    But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
    Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
    Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

    GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
    Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
    But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
    And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
    Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
    As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

    In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
    He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

    If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
    Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
    And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
    His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
    If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
    Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
    Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
    Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
    My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
    To children ardent for some desperate glory,
    The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
    Pro patria mori.

  23. #23
    expired Lotus's Avatar
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    I've always loved this poem, but now I finally understand how he feels.




    Robert Browning. 1812–1889


    Porphyria's Lover

    THE rain set early in to-night,
    The sullen wind was soon awake,
    It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
    And did its worst to vex the lake:
    I listen'd with heart fit to break.
    When glided in Porphyria; straight
    She shut the cold out and the storm,
    And kneel'd and made the cheerless grate
    Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
    Which done, she rose, and from her form
    Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
    And laid her soil'd gloves by, untied
    Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
    And, last, she sat down by my side
    And call'd me. When no voice replied,
    She put my arm about her waist,
    And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
    And all her yellow hair displaced,
    And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
    And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
    Murmuring how she loved me—she
    Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,
    To set its struggling passion free
    From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
    And give herself to me for ever.
    But passion sometimes would prevail,
    Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain
    A sudden thought of one so pale
    For love of her, and all in vain:
    So, she was come through wind and rain.
    Be sure I look'd up at her eyes
    Happy and proud; at last I knew
    Porphyria worshipp'd me; surprise
    Made my heart swell, and still it grew
    While I debated what to do.
    That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
    Perfectly pure and good: I found
    A thing to do, and all her hair
    In one long yellow string I wound
    Three times her little throat around,
    And strangled her. No pain felt she;
    I am quite sure she felt no pain.
    As a shut bud that holds a bee,
    I warily oped her lids: again
    Laugh'd the blue eyes without a stain.
    And I untighten'd next the tress
    About her neck; her cheek once more
    Blush'd bright beneath my burning kiss:
    I propp'd her head up as before,
    Only, this time my shoulder bore
    Her head, which droops upon it still:
    The smiling rosy little head,
    So glad it has its utmost will,
    That all it scorn'd at once is fled,
    And I, its love, am gain'd instead!
    Porphyria's love: she guess'd not how
    Her darling one wish would be heard.
    And thus we sit together now,
    And all night long we have not stirr'd,
    And yet God has not said a word!

  24. #24
    Queen of the Damned Aylen's Avatar
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    Super bowl...
    It's not quiet here...

     


    My body urges me to find you
    Your body does the same for you.
    We need. What?
    Do we remember how it was?
    Before?
    When we were US
    Before we became ME and YOU.
    That’s the thing we need again.

    I knew you before.
    I was part of you then,
    You knew me then, as well
    As you know your right hand,
    As I know mine. It’s part of me;
    Part of me I cannot function without.
    That is the need that drives us.
    The thing we need again.


    I am drawn again to the symbol of the TAO.
    Today, to me, it is signifying
    Completion, a return to the normal state,
    Finally, to quiet my Soul.

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







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    3 My Heart Flutters Hastily

    My heart flutters hastily,
    When I think of my love of you;
    It lets me not act sensibly,
    It leaps from its place.
    It lets me not put on a dress,
    Nor wrap my scarf around me;
    I put no paint upon my eyes,
    I'm even not anointed.

    "Don't wait, go there," says it to me,

    As often as I think of him;
    My heart, don't act so stupidly,
    Why do you play the fool?
    Sit still, the brother comes to you,
    And many eyes as well.
    Let not the people say of me:
    "A woman fallen through love!"
    Be steady when you think of him,
    My heart, do not flutter!

    Fourth Stanza, from Papyrus Chester Beatty I

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







  26. #26
    Creepy-male

    Default



    Not a metered poem, but still so good.

    “Immediately when you arrive in Sahara, for the first or the tenth time, you notice the stillness. An incredible, absolute silence prevails outside the towns; and within, even in busy places like the markets, there is a hushed quality in the air, as if the quiet were a conscious force which, resenting the intrusion of sound, minimizes and disperses sound straightaway. Then there is the sky, compared to which all other skies seem fainthearted efforts. Solid and luminous, it is always the focal point of the landscape. At sunset, the precise, curved shadow of the earth rises into it swiftly from the horizon, cutting into light section and dark section. When all daylight is gone, and the space is thick with stars, it is still of an intense and burning blue, darkest directly overhead and paling toward the earth, so that the night never really goes dark.
    You leave the gate of the fort or town behind, pass the camels lying outside, go up into the dunes, or out onto the hard, stony plain and stand awhile alone. Presently, you will either shiver and hurry back inside the walls, or you will go on standing there and let something very peculiar happen to you, something that everyone who lives there has undergone and which the French call 'le bapteme de solitude.' It is a unique sensation, and it has nothing to do with loneliness, for loneliness presupposes memory. Here in this wholly mineral landscape lighted by stars like flares, even memory disappears...A strange, and by no means pleasant, process of reintergration begins inside you, and you have the choice of fighting against it, and insisting on remaining the person you have always been, or letting it take its course. For no one who has stayed in the Sahara for a while is quite the same as when he came.
    ...Perhaps the logical question to ask at this point is: Why go? The answer is that when a man has been there and undergone the baptism of solitude he can't help himself. Once he has been under the spell of the vast luminous, silent country, no other place is quite strong enough for him, no other surroundings can provide the supremely satisfying sensation of existing in the midst of something that is absolute. He will go back, whatever the cost in time or money, for the absolute has no price.”



  27. #27
    Queen of the Damned Aylen's Avatar
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    One of the best but too long to post. Here's an excerpt. Inanna has always been my goddess of choice.

    From the Great Above she opened her ear to the Great Below.
    From the Great Above the goddess opened her ear to the Great Below.
    From the Great Above Inanna opened her ear to the Great Below.

    My Lady abandoned heaven and earth to descend to the underworld.
    Inanna abandoned heaven and earth to descend to the underworld.
    She abandoned her office of holy priestess to descend to the underworld.
    ...more
    Last edited by Aylen; 02-08-2015 at 03:47 PM.

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







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    WilliamBlake’s ‘The Tyger’
    .
    Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
    In the forests of the night,
    What immortal hand or eye
    Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

    .
    In what distant deeps or skies
    Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
    On what wings dare he aspire?
    What the hand, dare sieze the fire?

    .
    And what shoulder, & what art,
    Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
    And when thy heart began to beat,
    What dread hand? & what dread feet?

    .
    What the hammer? what the chain?
    In what furnace was thy brain?
    What the anvil? what dread grasp
    Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

    .
    When the stars threw down their spears,
    And water'd heaven with their tears,
    Did he smile his work to see?
    Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

    .
    Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
    In the forests of the night,
    What immortal hand or eye
    Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
    You seek a great fortune, you three who are now in chains. You will find a fortune, though it will not be the one you seek.
    But first you must travel a long and difficult road, a road fraught with peril.
    You shall see things, wonderful to tell. You shall see a... cow... on the roof of a cotton house. And, oh, so many startlements.
    I cannot tell you how long this road shall be, but fear not the ob-stacles in your path, for fate has vouchsafed your reward.
    Though the road may wind, yea, your hearts grow weary, still shall ye follow them, even unto your salvation
    .


    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pukq_XJmM-k

  29. #29
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    When I Became Fruit

    Author: Joumana Haddad
    Translated by: Issa J. Boullata

    A girl and a boy I was conceived under the shade of the moon
    but Adam was sacrificed at my birth
    immolated to the mercenaries of night.
    And to fill the gap of my other essence
    my mother bathed me in waters of mystery,
    placed me on the edge of each mountain
    and molded me in light and darkness,
    so that I become the center and the spear,
    transfixed and glorious,
    the angel of pleasures that have no name.

    Stranger I grew
    and nobody harvested my fields.
    I drew my life on a white sheet,
    an apple which no tree gave birth to,
    then I split it and got out
    partly dressed in red and partly in white.
    I was not only in time or outside of it
    for I matured in the two forests
    and I remembered before being born
    that I was a multitude of bodies
    and that I slept for a long time
    that I lived for a long time
    and when I became fruit
    I knew what awaited me.

    I asked the wizards to take care of me
    so they took me.
    Sweet was my laughter
    blue my nudity
    and timid my sin.
    I flew on a bird’s feather
    and became pillow at the delirious hour.
    They covered my body with amulets
    and coated my heart with the honey of madness.
    They protected my treasures
    and the thieves of my treasures,
    brought me silences and stories
    and prepared me to live without roots.

    And from that time on I fly.
    I reincarnate in the cloud of each night and I travel.
    I am the only one to tell me good-bye
    and the only one to welcome me.

    Desire is my way and the storm my compass
    and in love I do not drop anchor in any port.

    At night I give up most of me
    then I hug myself passionately when I return.

    Twin of the high tide and the low
    of the wave and its sands
    of the abstinence of the moon and its vices
    of love
    and the death of love.

    During the day my laughter belongs to the others
    and my secret dinner belongs to me.

    Those who understand my rhythm know me,

    Follow me

    But never rejoin me.

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







  30. #30
    Marshmallow Foru-m chriscorey's Avatar
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    If you think that a kiss is all in the lips
    C'mon, you got it all wrong, man
    And if you think that our dance was all in the hips
    Oh well, then do the twist
    If you think holding hands is all in the fingers
    Grab hold of the soul where the memory lingers and
    Make sure to never do it with a singer
    Cause he'll tell everyone in the world

    Whatt he was thinking about the girl
    Ya, whatt he's thinking about the girl, oh

    A lot of people get confused and they bruise
    Real easy when it comes to love
    They start putting on their shoes and walking out
    And singing "boy, I think I had enough"

    Just because she makes you feel wrong
    She don't mean to be mean or hurt you on purpose, boy
    Take a tip and do yourself a little service
    Take a mountain turn it into a mole

    Just by playing a different role
    Ya, by playing a different role, oh

    The boat ya you know she's rockin' it
    And the truth well ya know there's no stoppin' it

    The boat ya you know she's still rockin' it
    The truth well you know there's no stoppin' it

    So what, somebody left you in a rut
    And wants to be the one who's in control
    But the feeling that you're under can really make you wonder
    How the hell she can be so cold

    So now you're left, denying the truth
    And it's hidden in the wisdom in the back of your tooth
    Ya need ta spit it out, in a telephone booth
    While ya call everyone that you know, and ask 'em

    Where do you think she goes
    Oh ya, where d'ya suppose she goes, oh

    The truth well you know there's no stoppin' it
    And the boat well ya know she's still rockin' it

    The boat ya you know she's still rockin' it
    And the truth ya you know there's no stoppin' it

    You recognize the effect and the fact
    That it's comin' when she rocks the boat.
    But it's the cause hittin' on the cardinal laws
    About the proper place to hang her coat.

    So to you, the truth is still hidden
    And the soul plays the role of a lost little kitten but
    You should know that the doctors weren't kiddin'
    She's been singing it all along

    But you were hearin' a different song
    Ya you were hearin' a different song
    But you were hearin' a different song
    Amber casts infinity of shadows, and my Avalon had cast many of its own, because of my presence there. I might be known on many earths that I had never trod, for shadows of myself had walked them, mimicking imperfectly my deeds and my thoughts.

  31. #31
    Queen of the Damned Aylen's Avatar
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    VI.
    70 He advanced to the council-table:
    71 And, ``Please your honours,'' said he, ``I'm able,
    72 ``By means of a secret charm, to draw
    73 ``All creatures living beneath the sun,
    74 ``That creep or swim or fly or run,
    75 ``After me so as you never saw!
    76 ``And I chiefly use my charm
    77 ``On creatures that do people harm,
    78 ``The mole and toad and newt and viper;
    79 ``And people call me the Pied Piper.''
    --Robert Browning

    Full Text

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







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    At 12 o’clock in the afternoon
    in the middle of the street
    -Alexis.
    Summer had all but brought the fruit
    to its perilous end:
    and the summer sun
    and that boy’s look
    did their work on me.
    Night hid the sun.
    Your face consumes my dreams.
    Others feel sleep as feathered rest;
    mine but in flame refigures
    your image lit in me.
    --Meleager

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







  33. #33
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    Get ready to feel sad.

    He looked down at his withering body and saw a hairnear his navel, swaying.

    And now he saw his other hairs rise up.

    He felt a hectic current in his veins.
    Looking within, he saw the bubbling of his blood.

    He cursed his fever, saying:
    “It is the chemistry of prayer.
    It increases in frequency,
    seeding panic to all my being.
    My cells swell with the liquid of guilt they fabricate,
    juices of hatred eat my belly
    my corpuscles make war in me as they devour each other.
    My head heats in the combustion of anxiety,
    I am polluted by the secretions of my soul’s decay,
    while my brain wears away
    with the scratching night and day
    on the encephalograph of prayer.
    I grow monstrous with the leukemia of the world.”

    And he heard the hair say: “Hear me.”
    And he saw it grow gray as it waved.
    All his hairs he saw whiten,
    and, numberless, wilt from their erect electric listening.
    He saw them topple from their roots.
    “How dare you!” he cursed them.
    There surged a brief resuscitation to his body.
    His heart took heart and pounded twice
    with the health of fear
    But then the plague of prayer redoubled and overwhelmed him.

    In his feebleness he raged, and said:
    “I will tear out this evil and free it.”

    With his withered hands he tore the remaining hairs
    from his body and head.
    With his nails he opened his breast,
    and with his fist he exploded his heart,
    which erupted, a black and red volcano.

    As his brain tasted, for the first time,
    the birth of his doom,
    he came a rolling tide, a floating mountain of ecstasy.
    “I see you! I love you!” his eyes cried,
    overflowing with his bright blood.
    “You were the light of the world
    that are now my gushing tears—
    the kind and fiery tears of chaos, that wash my eyes
    with the cure of oblivion.”

    “He hears us!” cried his sick blood
    pouring from his ears.
    “Even as of old he heard our hair before it perished.”

    With his last strength, the chemistry of prayer,
    a few drops of his blood coagulated.
    That clot whirled out, free, in the vortex of the universe.
    I remember the neckcurls, limp and damp as tendrils;
    And her quick look, a sidelong pickerel smile;
    And how, once startled into talk, the light syllables leaped for her,
    And she balanced in the delight of her thought,
    A wren, happy, tail into the wind,
    Her song trembling the twigs and small branches.
    The shade sang with her;
    The leaves, their whispers turned to kissing,
    And the mould sang in the bleached valleys under the rose.

    Oh, when she was sad, she cast herself down into such a pure depth,
    Even a father could not find her:
    Scraping her cheek against straw,
    Stirring the clearest water.

    My sparrow, you are not here,
    Waiting like a fern, making a spiney shadow.
    The sides of wet stones cannot console me,
    Nor the moss, wound with the last light.

    If only I could nudge you from this sleep,
    My maimed darling, my skittery pigeon.
    Over this damp grave I speak the words of my love:
    I, with no rights in this matter,
    Neither father nor lover.

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    Olduvai's Avatar
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    Yet the ash spear heavy with bronze did not sever the windpipe,
    so that Hektor could still make exchange of words spoken.
    But he dropped in the dust, and brilliant Achilleus vaunted above him:
    'Hektor, surely you thought as you killed Patroklos you would be
    safe, and since I was far away you thought nothing of me,
    o fool, for an avenger was left, far greater than he was,
    behind him and away by the hollow ships. And it was I;
    and I have broken your strength; on you the dogs and the vultures
    shall feed and foully rip you; the Achaians will bury Patroklos.'
    In his weakness Hektor of the shining helm spoke to him:
    'I entreat you, by your life, by your knees, by your parents,
    do not let the dogs feed on me by the ships of the Achaians,
    but take yourself the bronze and gold that are there in abundance,
    those gifts that my father and the lady my mother will give you,
    and give my body to be taken home again, so that the Trojans
    and the wives of the Trojans may give me in death my rite of burning.'
    But looking darkly at him swift-footed Achilleus answered:
    'No more entreating of me, you dog, by knees or parents.
    I wish only that my spirit and fury would drive me
    to hack your meat away and eat it raw for the things that
    you have done to me. So there is no one who can hold the dogs off
    from your head, not if they bring here and set before me ten times
    and twenty times the ransom, and promise more in addition,
    not if Priam son of Dardanos should offer to weigh out
    your bulk in gold; not even so shall the lady your mother
    who herself bore you lay you on the death-bed and mourn you:
    no, but the dogs and the birds will have you all for their feasting.'
    Then, dying, Hektor of the shining helmet spoke to him:
    'I know you well as I look upon you, I know that I could not
    persuade you, since indeed in your breast is a heart of iron.
    Be careful now; for I might be made into the gods' curse
    upon you, on that day when Paris and Phoibos Apollo
    destroy you in the Skaian gates, for all your valour.'
    He spoke, and as he spoke the end of death closed in upon him,
    and the soul fluttering free of the limbs went down into Death's house
    mourning her destiny, leaving youth and manhood behind her.
    Now though he was a dead man brilliant Achilleus spoke to him:
    'Die: and I will take my own death at whatever time
    Zeus and the rest of the immortals choose to accomplish it.'

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    THE ANNUNCIATION AND PASSION.
    by John Donne


    TAMELY, frail body, abstain to-day ; to-day
    My soul eats twice, Christ hither and away.
    She sees Him man, so like God made in this,
    That of them both a circle emblem is,
    Whose first and last concur ; this doubtful day
    Of feast or fast, Christ came, and went away ;
    She sees Him nothing, twice at once, who's all ;
    She sees a cedar plant itself, and fall ;
    Her Maker put to making, and the head
    Of life at once not yet alive, yet dead ;
    She sees at once the Virgin Mother stay
    Reclused at home, public at Golgotha ;
    Sad and rejoiced she's seen at once, and seen
    At almost fifty, and at scarce fifteen ;
    At once a son is promised her, and gone ;
    Gabriell gives Christ to her, He her to John ;
    Not fully a mother, she's in orbity ;
    At once receiver and the legacy.
    All this, and all between, this day hath shown,
    Th' abridgement of Christ's story, which makes one—
    As in plain maps, the furthest west is east—
    Of th' angels Ave, and Consummatum est.
    How well the Church, God's Court of Faculties,
    Deals, in sometimes, and seldom joining these.
    As by the self-fix'd Pole we never do
    Direct our course, but the next star thereto,
    Which shows where th'other is, and which we say
    —Because it strays not far—doth never stray,
    So God by His Church, nearest to him, we know,
    And stand firm, if we by her motion go.
    His Spirit, as His fiery pillar, doth
    Lead, and His Church, as cloud ; to one end both.
    This Church by letting those days join, hath shown
    Death and conception in mankind is one ;
    Or 'twas in Him the same humility,
    That He would be a man, and leave to be ;
    Or as creation He hath made, as God,
    With the last judgment but one period,
    His imitating spouse would join in one
    Manhood's extremes ; He shall come, He is gone ;
    Or as though one blood drop, which thence did fall,
    Accepted, would have served, He yet shed all,
    So though the least of His pains, deeds, or words,
    Would busy a life, she all this day affords.
    This treasure then, in gross, my soul, uplay,
    And in my life retail it every day.

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







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    Sappho's Hymn to Aphrodite

    Translation, notes and metrical explanation copyright 1997 Elizabeth Vandiver; all rights reserved.

    Iridescent-throned Aphrodite, deathless
    Child of Zeus, wile-weaver, I now implore you,
    Don't--I beg you, Lady--with pains and torments
    Crush down my spirit,

    But before if ever you've heard my pleadings
    Then return, as once when you left your father's
    Golden house; you yoked to your shining car your
    Wing-whirring sparrows;

    Skimming down the paths of the sky's bright ether
    On they brought you over the earth's black bosom,
    Swiftly--then you stood with a sudden brilliance,
    Goddess, before me;

    Deathless face alight with your smile, you asked me
    What I suffered, who was my cause of anguish,
    What would ease the pain of my frantic mind, and
    Why had I called you

    To my side: "And whom should Persuasion summon
    Here, to soothe the sting of your passion this time?
    Who is now abusing you, Sappho? Who is
    Treating you cruelly?

    Now she runs away, but she'll soon pursue you;
    Gifts she now rejects--soon enough she'll give them;
    Now she doesn't love you, but soon her heart will
    Burn, though unwilling."

    Come to me once more, and abate my torment;
    Take the bitter care from my mind, and give me
    All I long for; Lady, in all my battles
    Fight as my comrade.

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







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    THRONED in splendor, immortal Aphrodite!
    Child of Zeus, Enchantress, I implore thee
    Slay me not in this distress and anguish,
    Lady of beauty.

    Hither come as once before thou camest,
    When from afar thou heard'st my voice lamenting,
    Heard'st and camest, leaving thy glorious father's Palace golden,

    Yoking thy chariot. Fair the doves that bore thee;
    Swift to the darksome earth their course directing,
    Waving their thick wings from the highest heaven
    Down through the ether.

    Quickly they came. Then thou, O blessed goddess,
    All in smiling wreathed thy face immortal,
    Bade me tell thee the cause of all my suffering,
    Why now I called thee;

    What for my maddened heart I most was longing.
    "Whom," thou criest, "dost wish that sweet Persuasion
    Now win over and lead to thy love, my Sappho?
    Who is it wrongs thee?

    "For, though now he flies, he soon shall follow,
    Soon shall be giving gifts who now rejects them.
    Even though now he love not, soon shall he love thee
    Even though thou wouldst not."

    Come then now, dear goddess, and release me
    From my anguish. All my heart's desiring
    Grant thou now. Now too again as aforetime,
    Be thou my ally.

    This English translation, by William Hyde Appleton, of 'Hymn to Aphrodite' is reprinted from Greek Poets in English Verse. Ed. William Hyde Appleton. Cambridge: The Riverside Press, 1893.

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







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    A Death Scene by Emily Brontë

    1. ‘O Day! he cannot die
    When thou so fair art shining!
    O Sun, in such a glorious sky,
    So tranquilly declining;

    2. ‘He cannot leave thee now,
    While fresh west winds are blowing,
    And all around his youthful brow
    Thy cheerful light is glowing!

    3. ‘Edward, awake, awake-
    The golden evening gleams
    Warm and bright on Arden’s lake-
    Arouse thee from thy dreams!

    4. ‘Beside thee, on my knee,
    My dearest friend! I pray
    That thou, to cross the eternal sea,
    Wouldst yet one hour delay:

    5. ‘I hear its billows roar-
    I see them foaming high;
    But no glimpse of a further shore
    Has blest my straining eye.

    6. ‘Believe not what they urge
    Of Eden isles beyond;
    Turn back, from that tempestuous surge,
    To thy own native land.

    7. ‘It is not death, but pain
    That struggles in thy breast-
    Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again;
    I cannot let thee rest!’

    8. One long look, that sore reproved me
    For the woe I could not bear-
    One mute look of suffering moved me
    To repent my useless prayer:

    9. And, with sudden check, the heaving
    Of distraction passed away;
    Not a sign of further grieving
    Stirred my soul that awful day.

    10. Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting;
    Sunk to peace the twilight breeze:
    Summer dews fell softly, wetting
    Glen, and glade, and silent trees.

    11. Then his eyes began to weary,
    Weighed beneath a mortal sleep;
    And their orbs grew strangely dreary,
    Clouded, even as they would weep.

    12. But they wept not, but they changed not,
    Never moved, and never closed;
    Troubled still, and still they ranged not-
    Wandered not, nor yet reposed!

    13. So I knew that he was dying-
    Stooped, and raised his languid head;
    Felt no breath, and heard no sighing,
    So I knew that he was dead.

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    Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind,
    In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined
    On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind.
    For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl’d
    Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curl’d
    Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world;
    Where they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands,
    Blight and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deeps and fiery sands,
    Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, and praying hands.
    But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song
    Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong,
    Like a tale of little meaning tho’ the words are strong;
    Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil,
    Sow the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring toil,
    Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and wine and oil;
    Till they perish and they suffer—some, ’tis whisper’d—down in hell
    Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell,
    Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel.
    Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore
    Than labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar;
    O, rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more. (lines 154–173)

    "When I ought to be thinking of heaven he will nail me to earth"

     







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    To-night the winds begin to rise
    And roar from yonder dropping day:
    The last red leaf is whirl'd away,
    The rooks are blown about the skies;
    The forest crack'd, the waters curl'd,
    The cattle huddled on the lea;
    And wildly dash'd on tower and tree
    The sunbeam strikes along the world:
    And but for fancies, which aver
    That all thy motions gently pass
    Athwart a plane of molten glass,
    I scarce could brook the strain and stir
    That makes the barren branches loud;
    And but for fear it is not so,
    The wild unrest that lives in woe
    Would dote and pore on yonder cloud
    That rises upward always higher,
    And onward drags a labouring breast,
    And topples round the dreary west,
    A looming bastion fringed with fire.

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