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Motorcycle Landscape

On a hanging garden ------
----------- [babylon seat]
------------- [baby batters]
----------------------- [weak]
---------- [hope you be great]
And the children have said their backbones
Will hurt you if you think
For there is a dolls arm
Floating in the scum
And its calling you over
While its calling you a bum
And it beckons you to frown
And it beckons you to brown
And it thinks its found a
Chance to build another real
Motorcycle landscape
The only thing that watches there
-----------[nails] are bloody red
On a -------------------------
[come to] ----------- are dead
All that we can read while
---------- are girlie magazines
For their [jest] theyre save your wrapper
Girls arent in their teens
[billions can sleep while hold to]
[fields of meanless wire]
Do the kids in----------------------
------------- on the fire]
[though ------ to marriage
[stabbed of broken bliss]
[shade ---------------------
[some them were] like this
For there is a dolls arm floating in the scum
And its calling you over while its calling you a bum
Motorcycle landscape

song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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Smile Please

A smiling face is on earth like star
A frown cant bring out the beauty that you are
Love within and youll begin smiling...
Therere brighter days ahead
Dont mess your face up with better tears
cause life is gonna be what it is
Its okay, please dont delay from smiling...
Therere brighter days ahead
Bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
A smiling face you dont have to see
cause its as joyful as a christmas tree
Love within and youll begin smiling...
Therere brighter days ahead
Loves not competing its on your side
Youre in life picture so why must you cry
So for a friend please begin to smile - please
Therere brighter days ahead
Bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Please smile for me
Bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Please smile for me
Bum - smile
Bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum
Bum bum di ti bum

song performed by Stevie Wonder
Added by Lucian Velea
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Best Man

I was getting fed up
With all your dipping out with every girl around town
You know what I'm talking 'bout
Cause you've been caught
And I forgave you many times
But now I slipped up
And while your friend was around
I gave him a taste of my love
I know that I broke your trust for a night of lust
But don't let that break us up
1 - Charge it to the game baby
I know what's going on when you say your alone
And you won't pick up the phone
Charge it to the game baby
You can't even hate
Don't get up in my face
Cause your boy got a taste
2 - He is your best man, your best friend
I guess you didn't know that I had him
I know that you hate that
It's like that
You were the best but yet he ain't so bad
Repeat 2
I needed a shoulder to cry on
But I got more than a shoulder that night
I know that you're mad and you're angry
Who gives a damn?
You didn't treat me right
You know that I love you
More than anything, you are the center of my life
It was just tit for tat, a little pay back
Let it go and leave it like that
Repeat 1
Repeat 2 (2x)
So many times you broke my heart
I never thought that it would heal
So I decided to return the pain
You always make me feel
Now I won't try to justify
What I did but I'll tell you why
If you think someone else is in my life
Then maybe you'll treat me right, yeah
Bum, bum, bum
Bum, bum, bum
Bum, bum, bum, bum
Bum, bum, bum
Bum, bum, bum
Bum, bum, bum, bum, bum
Bum, bum, bum
Bum, bum, bum

[...] Read more

song performed by Faith Evans
Added by Lucian Velea
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Many People Hate To Make A Ripple

Not many people beating on their own drum.
Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.
Not many people making music they hum.
Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.

Cause many people hate to make a ripple.

Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.

Many people hate to make a ripple.

Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.

Clinging on a moan and a whine all the time.
Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.

Complaining to their neighbors and their neighbors don't mind.
Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.

Cause many people hate to make a ripple.

Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.

Many people hate to make a ripple.

Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.

Not many people beating on their own drum.
Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.
Not many people making music they hum.
Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.

Cause many people hate to make a ripple.

Bumma dum bum.
Bumma dum bum.

Cause many people hate to make a ripple.

Bumma dum bum.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Little Drummer Boy

Rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
Come they told me
Pa rum pum pum pum (ba bum)
A new born king to see (ba bum)
Pa rum pum pum pum (ba bum)
Our finest gifts we bring
Pa rum pum pum pum (ba bum)
Rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum (ba bum)
Little (little) baby
Pa rum pum pum pum (ba bum)
I am a poor boy too
Pa rum pum pum pum (ba bum)
I have no gift to bring
Pa rum pum pum pum (ba bum)
(ooohh)
Thats fit to give our king
Pa rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
Then he smiled
Smiled at me!
Mary nodded
Pa rum pum pum pum (ba bum)
The ox and lamb kept time
Pa rum pum pum pum
I played my drum for him
Pa rum pum pum pum
I played my best for him
Pa rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum
Rum pum pum pum (ba bum)
Me and my drum...
Rum bum bum bum
Rum bum bum bum
Rum bum bum bum
Me and my drum (oh)
Rum bum bum bum
Rum bum bum bum
Rum bum bum bum
Me and my (me and my, me and my...)
Drum...

song performed by Vanessa Williams
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Prodigal Son

Young man—
Young man—
Your arm’s too short to box with God.

But Jesus spake in a parable, and he said:
A certain man had two sons.
Jesus didn’t give this man a name,
But his name is God Almighty.
And Jesus didn’t call these sons by name,
But ev’ry young man,
Ev’rywhere,
Is one of these two sons.

And the younger son said to his father,
He said: Father, divide up the property,
And give me my portion now.

And the father with tears in his eyes said: Son,
Don’t leave your father’s house.
But the boy was stubborn in his head,
And haughty in his heart,
And he took his share of his father’s goods,
And went into a far-off country.

There comes a time,
There comes a time
When ev’ry young man looks out from his father’s house,
Longing for that far-off country.

And the young man journeyed on his way,
And he said to himself as he travelled along:
This sure is an easy road,
Nothing like the rough furrows behind my father’s plow.

Young man—
Young man—
Smooth and easy is the road
That leads to hell and destruction.
Down grade all the way,
The further you travel, the faster you go.
No need to trudge and sweat and toil,
Just slip and slide and slip and slide
Till you bang up against hell’s iron gate.

[...] Read more

poem by James Weldon Johnson
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Soul Survivor

(Intro)
Come on, yo come on (survivor, survivor)
Come on, come on, come on, come on (survivor, survivor)
Come on, come on (soul survivor)
Come on, come on, come on, come on
(LL Cool J)
They said I wasn't rough, too much dough, he got an old flow
Everytime you open your mouth you feel your elbow
I'll catch a felony on top of a melody
brought a family, and dough woulda been so happily
I'll beat the Laker off of a clown and chop him down to size
Sick of all these wanna-be bad guys
Made loot, many g's, bought a crib where I live
told my kids - "yo, damn, that I'm a fugitive"
Runnin' from the streets and our beats - the sad sheets, uh
A sunny beach, video hoes within reach
Farmers Boulevard - liberty and forty is gone
And E ain't put nobody on
When I came back to smack and give 'em a welt
like belts makin' them strip and all of that
Punks better run for they guns
I'm not the one and can't nobody rule until L's done
(Chorus)
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart (soul survivor)
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart (soul survivor)
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart (soul survivor)
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart (soul survivor)
(LL Cool J)
I worked the Murphy on the mix
What's wrong with these stupid lunatics playin' "Joint" for a drag-bit?
I'm harder than-?find in a jar?
People wasn't rippin' these records, all of y'all would get robbed
I'm comin' straight out the barrel with your name on my arm
blowin' the hoody of your head like a home-made bomb (BOOM!!)
I'm big and so you figured I would relax (nah!)
Don't ever sleep I'll wake ya up with an axe
The Boulevard ain't safe for my beats - drop the herb
Twenty times harder without a curse
Makin' rats flee, hardcore - and that's me!!
The baddest soloist in hip-hop history
L-L-C-to-the-O-to-the-O-L-J, so what'cha wanna know?
Throw ya in the MVP on your knees G
A crowbar in your mouth - now ask me...
(Chorus)
It's the L baby, baby, the L baby, baby
It's the L baby, baby, the heart (soul survivor)

[...] Read more

song performed by LL Cool J
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Third Monarchy, being the Grecian, beginning under Alexander the Great in the 112. Olympiad.

Great Alexander was wise Philips son,
He to Amyntas, Kings of Macedon;
The cruel proud Olympias was his Mother,
She to Epirus warlike King was daughter.
This Prince (his father by Pausanias slain)
The twenty first of's age began to reign.
Great were the Gifts of nature which he had,
His education much to those did adde:
By art and nature both he was made fit,
To 'complish that which long before was writ.
The very day of his Nativity
To ground was burnt Dianaes Temple high:
An Omen to their near approaching woe,
Whose glory to the earth this king did throw.
His Rule to Greece he scorn'd should be confin'd,
The Universe scarce bound his proud vast mind.
This is the He-Goat which from Grecia came,
That ran in Choler on the Persian Ram,
That brake his horns, that threw him on the ground
To save him from his might no man was found:
Philip on this great Conquest had an eye,
But death did terminate those thoughts so high.
The Greeks had chose him Captain General,
Which honour to his Son did now befall.
(For as Worlds Monarch now we speak not on,
But as the King of little Macedon)
Restless both day and night his heart then was,
His high resolves which way to bring to pass;
Yet for a while in Greece is forc'd to stay,
Which makes each moment seem more then a day.
Thebes and stiff Athens both 'gainst him rebel,
Their mutinies by valour doth he quell.
This done against both right and natures Laws,
His kinsmen put to death, who gave no cause;
That no rebellion in in his absence be,
Nor making Title unto Sovereignty.
And all whom he suspects or fears will climbe,
Now taste of death least they deserv'd in time,
Nor wonder is t if he in blood begin,
For Cruelty was his parental sin,
Thus eased now of troubles and of fears,
Next spring his course to Asia he steers;
Leavs Sage Antipater, at home to sway,
And through the Hellispont his Ships made way.
Coming to Land, his dart on shore he throws,
Then with alacrity he after goes;
And with a bount'ous heart and courage brave,
His little wealth among his Souldiers gave.
And being ask'd what for himself was left,
Reply'd, enough, sith only hope he kept.

[...] Read more

poem by Anne Bradstreet
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Whatever

Im liking you too much
Dont take advantage of
My tender heart and everything about me
In giving you my trust
Im giving you my love
So do take care, please be gentle with my heart
cause everything I do is bout you, baby
Baby, I dont wanna be apart, ooh
Ive been loving you from the start
Heres my heart, heres my heart
Everything I do is all about you, baby
Whatever you do, whatever you think
I look in your eyes
You dont know how my heart aches
Whatever you say, whatever could mean
Youre breaking my heart
I want it all the time, I want it every night
I cant stop thinking, cant stop thinking about you
Im burning with desire, my heart and soul on fire
So do take care, please be careful with my heart
(bum, bum, bum) anything you do, I crave it, baby, baby, baby
(bum, bum, bum) I cant get you out a my mind
(bum, bum, bum) loving you I cant deny youre in my heart
(bum, bum, bum) deep inside, everything I do is all about you, baby
Whatever you do, whatever you think
I look in your eyes
You dont know how my heart aches
Whatever you say, whatever could mean
Youre breaking my heart
I maybe a fool for you, baby
Well, I cant help myself
Maybe Im too in love
What else can I do but go crazy
For your love, boy, Id give anything
(bum, bum, bum)
(bum, bum, bum)
(ho?h?h
Whatever you do, whatever you think
I look in your eyes
You dont know how my heart aches
Whatever you say, whatever could mean
Youre breaking my heart
Whatever you do, whatever you think
I look in your eyes
You dont know how my heart aches
Whatever you say, whatever could mean
Youre breaking my heart
Whatever you do, whatever you think
I look in your eyes
You dont know how my heart aches

[...] Read more

song performed by En Vogue
Added by Lucian Velea
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Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,--
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.

PART THE FIRST

I

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting
Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway.
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighted the village street and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Come Back To Me My Love

Orbison/melson
Bum bum bum da de da oh oh oh yeah yeah
Bum bum bum da de da ah come back to me my love
Come back to me
16 years ago today early one sunday morn
Just before the break of day a cute little girl was born
From that very moment on her lifes been gay and free
Laughing eyes and loving ways as sweet as she could be
Bum bum bum da de da oh oh oh yeah yeah
Bum bum bum da de da ah come back to me my love
Come back to me
We had a quarrel I cant forget the night I made her cry
Her tender heart just fell apart as she said good-bye
Now today is her birthday my babys sweet 16
But someone else is in my place to hold my every dream
Bum bum bum da de da oh oh oh yeah yeah
Bum bum bum da de da ah come back to me my love
Come back to me

song performed by Roy Orbison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Were There Hope

I was never in a league of noble gentlemen
To whom she'd cast polite and flitting smiles,
Only distant hope and dying dreams for me!
Or perhaps descent into a game of wiles

To give a chance of sipping wine on heady nights
With her angelic presence to declare;
Above, an aura playing out hypnotic hues,
And I in awe of blonde cascades of hair.

But no! my tiring soul is sinking in a mire
To haunt me for an age and evermore, for
How could I expect to hold her silken hand
When I am but a soulless ghost of yore?

Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009

Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope hope hope hope hope?
Hope, hope?
Hope?

[...] Read more

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Paradise Lost: Book X

Thus they in lowliest plight repentant stood
Praying, for from the Mercie-seat above
Prevenient Grace descending had remov'd
The stonie from thir hearts, and made new flesh
Regenerat grow instead, that sighs now breath'd
Unutterable, which the Spirit of prayer
Inspir'd, and wing'd for Heav'n with speedier flight
Then loudest Oratorie: yet thir port
Not of mean suiters, nor important less
Seem'd thir Petition, then when th' ancient Pair
In Fables old, less ancient yet then these,
Deucalion and chaste Pyrrha to restore
The Race of Mankind drownd, before the Shrine
Of Themis stood devout. To Heav'n thir prayers
Flew up, nor missed the way, by envious windes
Blow'n vagabond or frustrate: in they passd
Dimentionless through Heav'nly dores; then clad
With incense, where the Golden Altar fum'd,
By thir great Intercessor, came in sight
Before the Fathers Throne: Them the glad Son
Presenting, thus to intercede began.
See Father, what first fruits on Earth are sprung
From thy implanted Grace in Man, these Sighs
And Prayers, which in this Golden Censer, mixt
With Incense, I thy Priest before thee bring,
Fruits of more pleasing savour from thy seed
Sow'n with contrition in his heart, then those
Which his own hand manuring all the Trees
Of Paradise could have produc't, ere fall'n
From innocence. Now therefore bend thine eare
To supplication, heare his sighs though mute;
Unskilful with what words to pray, let mee
Interpret for him, mee his Advocate
And propitiation, all his works on mee
Good or not good ingraft, my Merit those
Shall perfet, and for these my Death shall pay.
Accept me, and in mee from these receave
The smell of peace toward Mankinde, let him live
Before thee reconcil'd, at least his days
Numberd, though sad, till Death, his doom (which I
To mitigate thus plead, not to reverse)
To better life shall yeeld him, where with mee
All my redeemd may dwell in joy and bliss,
Made one with me as I with thee am one.
To whom the Father, without Cloud, serene.
All thy request for Man, accepted Son,
Obtain, all thy request was my Decree:
But longer in that Paradise to dwell,
The Law I gave to Nature him forbids:
Those pure immortal Elements that know

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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Father O. S. A.

Written by dennis deyoung
Lead vocals by dennis deyoung
Father
Youre a sad old man
Your tawdry vest is gray
Memories
Of a former man
Are all your words convey
Father
Oh cant you see
The tarnished robe you wear
A crown
For fools
The people laugh
You never seem to hear
Father
Youre lifes a ship
Thats never been to sea
The bottle
That surrounds your life
Youll sail eternally
[keyboard solo]
Children
Please understand
A man must stand alone
And face a world
Hell never know
And never call his own
Ba ba bum bum
Ba ba bum bum
Ba ba bum bum
Ba ba bum bum
Ba ba bum bum
Ba ba bum bum
Ba ba bum bum
Ba ba bum bum
[continue echo]
Father
Father
Father
Father
Father
Father
[continue echo]

song performed by Styx
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Victories Of Love. Book II

I
From Jane To Her Mother

Thank Heaven, the burthens on the heart
Are not half known till they depart!
Although I long'd, for many a year,
To love with love that casts out fear,
My Frederick's kindness frighten'd me,
And heaven seem'd less far off than he;
And in my fancy I would trace
A lady with an angel's face,
That made devotion simply debt,
Till sick with envy and regret,
And wicked grief that God should e'er
Make women, and not make them fair.
That he might love me more because
Another in his memory was,
And that my indigence might be
To him what Baby's was to me,
The chief of charms, who could have thought?
But God's wise way is to give nought
Till we with asking it are tired;
And when, indeed, the change desired
Comes, lest we give ourselves the praise,
It comes by Providence, not Grace;
And mostly our thanks for granted pray'rs
Are groans at unexpected cares.
First Baby went to heaven, you know,
And, five weeks after, Grace went, too.
Then he became more talkative,
And, stooping to my heart, would give
Signs of his love, which pleased me more
Than all the proofs he gave before;
And, in that time of our great grief,
We talk'd religion for relief;
For, though we very seldom name
Religion, we now think the same!
Oh, what a bar is thus removed
To loving and to being loved!
For no agreement really is
In anything when none's in this.
Why, Mother, once, if Frederick press'd
His wife against his hearty breast,
The interior difference seem'd to tear
My own, until I could not bear
The trouble. 'Twas a dreadful strife,
And show'd, indeed, that faith is life.
He never felt this. If he did,
I'm sure it could not have been hid;
For wives, I need not say to you,

[...] Read more

poem by Coventry Patmore
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Healthy Back Bag

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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
Added by Poetry Lover
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VII. Pompilia

I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.

All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.

Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sixth Book

THE English have a scornful insular way
Of calling the French light. The levity
Is in the judgment only, which yet stands;
For say a foolish thing but oft enough,
(And here's the secret of a hundred creeds,–
Men get opinions as boys learn to spell,
By re-iteration chiefly) the same thing
Shall pass at least for absolutely wise,
And not with fools exclusively. And so,
We say the French are light, as if we said
The cat mews, or the milch-cow gives us milk:
Say rather, cats are milked, and milch cows mew,
For what is lightness but inconsequence,
Vague fluctuation 'twixt effect and cause,
Compelled by neither? Is a bullet light,
That dashes from the gun-mouth, while the eye
Winks, and the heart beats one, to flatten itself
To a wafer on the white speck on a wall
A hundred paces off? Even so direct,
So sternly undivertible of aim,
Is this French people.
All idealists
Too absolute and earnest, with them all
The idea of a knife cuts real flesh;
And still, devouring the safe interval
Which Nature placed between the thought and act,
They threaten conflagration to the world
And rush with most unscrupulous logic on
Impossible practice. Set your orators
To blow upon them with loud windy mouths
Through watchword phrases, jest or sentiment,
Which drive our burley brutal English mobs
Like so much chaff, whichever way they blow,–
This light French people will not thus be driven.
They turn indeed; but then they turn upon
Some central pivot of their thought and choice,
And veer out by the force of holding fast.
–That's hard to understand, for Englishmen
Unused to abstract questions, and untrained
To trace the involutions, valve by valve,
In each orbed bulb-root of a general truth,
And mark what subtly fine integument
Divides opposed compartments. Freedom's self
Comes concrete to us, to be understood,
Fixed in a feudal form incarnately
To suit our ways of thought and reverence,
The special form, with us, being still the thing.
With us, I say, though I'm of Italy
My mother's birth and grave, by father's grave
And memory; let it be,–a poet's heart

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poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Rosalind and Helen: a Modern Eclogue

ROSALIND, HELEN, and her Child.

SCENE. The Shore of the Lake of Como.

HELEN
Come hither, my sweet Rosalind.
'T is long since thou and I have met;
And yet methinks it were unkind
Those moments to forget.
Come, sit by me. I see thee stand
By this lone lake, in this far land,
Thy loose hair in the light wind flying,
Thy sweet voice to each tone of even
United, and thine eyes replying
To the hues of yon fair heaven.
Come, gentle friend! wilt sit by me?
And be as thou wert wont to be
Ere we were disunited?
None doth behold us now; the power
That led us forth at this lone hour
Will be but ill requited
If thou depart in scorn. Oh, come,
And talk of our abandoned home!
Remember, this is Italy,
And we are exiles. Talk with me
Of that our land, whose wilds and floods,
Barren and dark although they be,
Were dearer than these chestnut woods;
Those heathy paths, that inland stream,
And the blue mountains, shapes which seem
Like wrecks of childhood's sunny dream;
Which that we have abandoned now,
Weighs on the heart like that remorse
Which altered friendship leaves. I seek
No more our youthful intercourse.
That cannot be! Rosalind, speak,
Speak to me! Leave me not! When morn did come,
When evening fell upon our common home,
When for one hour we parted,--do not frown;
I would not chide thee, though thy faith is broken;
But turn to me. Oh! by this cherished token
Of woven hair, which thou wilt not disown,
Turn, as 't were but the memory of me,
And not my scornèd self who prayed to thee!

ROSALIND
Is it a dream, or do I see
And hear frail Helen? I would flee
Thy tainting touch; but former years
Arise, and bring forbidden tears;

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poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Added by Poetry Lover
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Girls Get The Bass In The Back (feat. Bounty Killer) (Hey Baby Remix)

Hey baby, baby (4x)
All the boys say
Hey, hey... (2x)
All the boys say (3x)
Hey, hey... (2x)
Hey baby, hey baby, hey
Hey baby, hey baby, hey
I'm the kind of girl
That hangs with the guys
Like a fly in the wall
With my secret eyes
Taking it in
Try to be feminine
With my make-up bag
Watching all the sin
Misfit, I sit
Lit up, wicked
Everybody is surrounded by the girls
With the tank tops and the flirty words
I'm just sipping on chamomile
I'm watching boys and girls and their sex appeal
With a stranger in my face who says he knows my mom
And went to my high school
All the boys say
Hey baby, hey baby
Girls say, girls say
Hey baby, baby
All the boys say
Hey baby, hey baby
Girls say, girls say
Hey baby, baby
Hey baby, hey baby, hey
Girls say, girls say
Hey baby, hey baby, hey
Hey baby, baby
Hey baby, hey baby, hey
Boys say, boys say
Hey baby, hey baby, hey
All the boys get the girls in the back
I'm the one they feed upon
Give a bit a star is born
And if you have enough you'll get the pass
And you can tell your friends how you made it back
No matter what they say I'm still the same
Somehow everybody knows my name
And all the girls wanna get with the boys
And the boys really like it
All the boys say
Hey baby, hey baby
Girls say, girls say

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song performed by No Doubt
Added by Lucian Velea
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