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A beard once washed is half shaven.

Portuguese proverbs
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Hudibras: Part 2 - Canto I

THE ARGUMENT

The Knight by damnable Magician,
Being cast illegally in prison,
Love brings his Action on the Case.
And lays it upon Hudibras.
How he receives the Lady's Visit,
And cunningly solicits his Suite,
Which she defers; yet on Parole
Redeems him from th' inchanted Hole.

But now, t'observe a romantic method,
Let bloody steel a while be sheathed,
And all those harsh and rugged sounds
Of bastinadoes, cuts, and wounds,
Exchang'd to Love's more gentle stile,
To let our reader breathe a while;
In which, that we may be as brief as
Is possible, by way of preface,
Is't not enough to make one strange,
That some men's fancies should ne'er change,
But make all people do and say
The same things still the self-same way
Some writers make all ladies purloin'd,
And knights pursuing like a whirlwind
Others make all their knights, in fits
Of jealousy, to lose their wits;
Till drawing blood o'th' dames, like witches,
Th' are forthwith cur'd of their capriches.
Some always thrive in their amours
By pulling plaisters off their sores;
As cripples do to get an alms,
Just so do they, and win their dames.
Some force whole regions, in despight
O' geography, to change their site;
Make former times shake hands with latter,
And that which was before, come after.
But those that write in rhime, still make
The one verse for the other's sake;
For, one for sense, and one for rhime,
I think's sufficient at one time.

But we forget in what sad plight
We whilom left the captiv'd Knight
And pensive Squire, both bruis'd in body,
And conjur'd into safe custody.
Tir'd with dispute and speaking Latin,
As well as basting and bear-baiting,
And desperate of any course,
To free himself by wit or force,

[...] Read more

poem by Samuel Butler
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Captain Teach alias Black Beard

Edward Teach was a native of Bristol, and sailed from that port
On board a privateer, in search of sport,
As one of the crew, during the French War in that station,
And for personal courage he soon gained his Captain's approbation.

'Twas in the spring of 1717, Captajn Harnigold and Teach sailed from Providence
For the continent of America, and no further hence;
And in their way captured a vessel laden with flour,
Which they put on board their own vessels in the space of an hour.

They also seized two other vessels snd took some gallons of wine,
Besides plunder to a considerable value, and most of it most costly design;
And after that they made a prize of a large French Guinea-man,
Then to act an independent part Teach now began.

But the news spread throughout America, far and near,
And filled many of the inhabitants' hearts with fear;
But Lieutenant Maynard with his sloops of war directly steered,
And left James River on the 17th November in quest of Black Beard,
And on the evening of the 21st came in sight of the pirate;
And when Black Beard spied his sloops he felt elate.

When he saw the sloops sent to apprehend him,
He didn't lose his courage, but fiendishly did grin;
And told his men to cease from drinking and their tittle-tattle,
Although he had only twenty men on board, and prepare for battle.

In case anything should happen to him during the engagement,
One of his men asked him, who felt rather discontent,
Whether his wife knew where he had buried his pelf,
When he impiously replied that nobody knew but the devil and himself.

In the Morning Maynard weighed and sent his boat to sound,
Which, coming near the pirate, unfortunately ran aground;
But Maynard lightened his vessel of the ballast and water,
Whilst from the pirates' ship small shot loudly did clatter.

But the pirates' small shot or slugs didn't Maynard appal,
He told his men to take their cutlasses and be ready upon his call;
And to conceal themselves every man below,
While he would remain at the helm and face the foe.

Then Black Beard cried, "They're all knocked on the head,"
When he saw no hand upon deck he thought they were dead;
Then Black Beard boarded Maynard'a sloop without dismay,
But Maynard's men rushed upon deck, then began the deadly fray.
Then Black Beard and Maynard engaged sword in hand,
And the pirate fought manfully and made a bold stand;
And Maynard with twelve men, and Black Beard with fourteen,
Made the most desperate and bloody conflict that ever was seen.

[...] Read more

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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General William Booth Enters into Heaven

[To be sung to the tune of The Blood of the Lamb with indicated instrument]

I

[Bass drum beaten loudly.]

Booth led boldly with his big bass drum --
(Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?)
The Saints smiled gravely and they said: "He's come."
(Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?)
Walking lepers followed, rank on rank,
Lurching bravoes from the ditches dank,
Drabs from the alleyways and drug fiends pale --
Minds still passion-ridden, soul-powers frail: --
Vermin-eaten saints with mouldy breath,
Unwashed legions with the ways of Death --
(Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?)

[Banjos.]

Every slum had sent its half-a-score
The round world over. (Booth had groaned for more.)
Every banner that the wide world flies
Bloomed with glory and transcendent dyes.
Big-voiced lasses made their banjos bang,
Tranced, fanatical they shrieked and sang: --
"Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?"
Hallelujah! It was queer to see
Bull-necked convicts with that land make free.
Loons with trumpets blowed a blare, blare, blare
On, on upward thro' the golden air!
(Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?)

II

[Bass drum slower and softer.]

Booth died blind and still by Faith he trod,
Eyes still dazzled by the ways of God.
Booth led boldly, and he looked the chief
Eagle countenance in sharp relief,
Beard a-flying, air of high command
Unabated in that holy land.

[Sweet flute music.]

Jesus came from out the court-house door,
Stretched his hands above the passing poor.
Booth saw not, but led his queer ones there

[...] Read more

song, lyrics by Vachel Lindsay
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Santas Beard

Once a year my friend puts on a red suit
And hangs around with me and my wife
Now I cant help but feeling jealous each time she climbs on his knee
And she stands beneath the mistletoe screaming
For him to stand beneath the mistletoe screaming
Now I cant help but feeling jealous each time she climbs on his knee
Why must she climb on his knee?
I saw my baby wearing santas beard
She kissed him once and whispered in his ear
I saw my baby wearing santas beard
I wish he would go
Hes breaking up my home
She always had this twisted side to her*
But shed never drag my name around town
But lately shes been humming cheating songs
And I dont like that fat guy around
No, I dont like that fat guy around
I saw my baby wearing santas beard
She kissed him once and whispered in his ear
I saw my baby wearing santas beard
I wish he would go
Hes breaking up my home
I saw my baby wearing santas beard
Thrilling christmas, trembling fear
I saw my baby wearing santas beard
I wish he would go
Hes breaking up my home

song performed by They Might Be Giants
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Shelter For A Rainy Day

Key:-a - anita r - ray
A: oh....
R: shelter on a rainy day
A: you may need me like I need you
A: I see the clouds gathing in the sky
When my worries, fill my mind
What to call us, begins to fade
I wanna be with you when its starts to rain
cause I can hide in your arms
So safe and one
With you as my protection
To help me through the storm
A: you give me shelter on a rainy day
You are all that Im needed
When clouds are turning grey
You give me shelter on a rainy day
My tears have lost they meaning
Love have washed them all away
A: youve washed my tears away yeah!
Yeah yeah
A: if inside your heart, it starts to rain
Just call me up, I ease the pain
You dont even need to be alone
When the wind, begins to mour
cause whenever you may need me, like I need you
Then let me be right by your side
If love will see it through
A: you give me shelter on a rainy day
You are all that Im needed
When clouds are turning grey
You give me shelter on a rainy day
My tears have lost they meaning
Love have washed them all away
A: you give me shelter on a rainy day
On a rainy day
You are all that Im needed
When clouds are turning grey
You give me shelter
You give me shelter on a rainy day
My tears have lost they meaning
Love have washed them all away
R: a shelter on a rainy day
A lucky warm place, for you and I to stay
Hum, what youre thinking
No tell me no lies cause your eyes are blinking
Theres a place girl, down deep in my heart
You know the feeling, a relationship to star
I send my love without delay
cause you know I got a shelter on a rain day
A: you give me shelter

[...] Read more

song performed by 2 Unlimited
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Va Va Voom

Some men have shaven their heads full of hair.
To keep some thinking it's a style to shave them.
But thinning hair attracts some folks to stare.
And vanity is mainly known for women,
Who groom!

With nails they manicure and shoes that shine.
Colognes expensive are picked for the scents sent!
High maintenance is now the bottom line,
For men groomed.
To be swooned.

Some men have shaven their heads full of hair.
Va va voom.
To keep some thinking it's a style to shave them.
But thinning hair attracts some folks to stare.
Va va voom.
And vanity is mainly known for women,
Who groom!

With intent to be swooned.

Ooooohhh...
Va va voom.
Groom to swoon.
Both...
Groom to swoon.
Va va voom.
Groom to swoon.
Both...
Groom to swoon.

Some men have shaven their heads full of hair.
To keep some thinking it's a style to shave them.
But thinning hair attracts some folks to stare.
And vanity is mainly known for women,
Who groom!

Although there are high maintenanced men there too...
Seeking to be swooned!

Oh? Oh? Oh? Ooooohhh...
Va va voom.
Groom to swoon.
Both...
Groom to swoon.
Va va voom.
Groom to swoon.
Both...
Groom to swoon.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The King’s Beard

There lived a king with beard so long
And scalp with scarcely hair!
He used a comb and sang a song
And groomed it with great care.

The king was proud of his long beard
That made him look so wise!
The queen, his wife knew he looked weird
And cursed him for its size!

The queen was therefore always sad;
His lip got hid by hair!
But one day, she was rather glad;
She told him, she couldn’t bear!

One day, the king slept while he read
A book that was folklore!
He had a dream asleep in bed;
“His beard had grown some more! ”

A burning candle-stick fell down
And lit the curtain-blind;
His beard had caught the fire sown!
The king was off his mind!

His nose smelt smoke: he woke in fright;
His beard was all aflame!
He shaved the stubs of hair by night
And took on him all blame!

The next day when the people saw
The king, they couldn’t believe
Their eyes and gazed at him with awe!
“Could eyes of dawn deceive? ”

poem by John Celes
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Hudibras: Part 1 - Canto III

THE ARGUMENT

The scatter'd rout return and rally,
Surround the place; the Knight does sally,
And is made pris'ner: Then they seize
Th' inchanted fort by storm; release
Crowdero, and put the Squire in's place;
I should have first said Hudibras.

Ah me! what perils do environ
The man that meddles with cold iron!
What plaguy mischiefs and mishaps
Do dog him still with after-claps!
For though dame Fortune seem to smile
And leer upon him for a while,
She'll after shew him, in the nick
Of all his glories, a dog-trick.
This any man may sing or say,
I' th' ditty call'd, What if a Day?
For HUDIBRAS, who thought h' had won
The field, as certain as a gun;
And having routed the whole troop,
With victory was cock a-hoop;
Thinking h' had done enough to purchase
Thanksgiving-day among the Churches,
Wherein his mettle, and brave worth,
Might be explain'd by Holder-forth,
And register'd, by fame eternal,
In deathless pages of diurnal;
Found in few minutes, to his cost,
He did but count without his host;
And that a turn-stile is more certain
Than, in events of war, dame Fortune.

For now the late faint-hearted rout,
O'erthrown, and scatter'd round about,
Chas'd by the horror of their fear
From bloody fray of Knight and Bear,
(All but the dogs, who, in pursuit
Of the Knight's victory, stood to't,
And most ignobly fought to get
The honour of his blood and sweat,)
Seeing the coast was free and clear
O' th' conquer'd and the conqueror,
Took heart again, and fac'd about,
As if they meant to stand it out:
For by this time the routed Bear,
Attack'd by th' enemy i' th' rear,
Finding their number grew too great
For him to make a safe retreat,

[...] Read more

poem by Samuel Butler
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Who

(berry blue/rob bowkett)
Who left my lover in the rain
Who washed away the colors in my life again
Who left my lover in the rain
Who washed away the colors in my life
Theres no use crying, trying hard
What else can I do
But he becomes another man
Another case of fool
Why go on living and giving up
Much more than I receive
Its taken time to realize
But now Ive opened my eyes to you
Who left my lover in the rain
Who washed away the colors in my life again
Who left my lover in the rain
Who washed away the colors in my life
But who is right, who was wrong
When love just fades away
It couldve been me, it couldve been you
But now I never find out who
Who left my lover in the rain
Who washed away the colors in my life again
Who left my lover in the rain
Who washed away the colors in my life again
Who left my lover in the rain

song performed by Diana Ross
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I Washed My Hands In Muddy Water

(words & music by joe babcock)
I was born in macon georgia
They kept my daddy over in macon jail
He told me if you keep your hands clean
You wont hear them bloodhounds on your trail
Well I fell in with bad companions
Robbed a man, oh up in tennessee
They caught me way up in nashville
They locked me up and threw away the key
I washed my hands in muddy water
Washed my hands, but they didnt come clean
Tried to do what my daddy told me
But I must have washed my hands in a muddy stream
Well I asked the judge now whens my time up
He said son, oh you know we wont forget
If you try just to keep your hands clean
We might just make a good man of you yet
Oh I couldnt wait to get my time up
I broke out, broke out of nashville jail
I just crossed the state-line of georgia
Well I can hear those bloodhounds on my trail
I washed my hands in muddy water
Washed my hands, but they didnt come clean
Tried to do what my daddy told me
But I must have washed my hands in a muddy stream

song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Washed My Hands In Muddy Water (Rehearsal 07-29-70)

I was born in Macon Georgia
They kept my daddy over in Macon jail
He told me if you keep your hands clean
You won't hear them bloodhounds on your trail
Well I fell in with bad companions
Robbed a man, oh up in Tennessee
They caught me way up in Nashville
They locked me up and threw away the key
I washed my hands in muddy water
Washed my hands, but they didn't come clean
Tried to do what my daddy told me
But I must have washed my hands in a muddy stream
Well I asked the judge now when's my time up
He said son, oh you know we won't forget
If you try just to keep your hands clean
We might just make a good man of you yet
Oh I couldn't wait to get my time up
I broke out, broke out of Nashville jail
I just crossed the state-line of Georgia
Well I can hear those bloodhounds on my trail
I washed my hands in muddy water
Washed my hands, but they didn't come clean
Tried to do what my daddy told me
But I must have washed my hands in a muddy stream

song performed by Elvis Presley
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Fish In A Bowl

Everywhere I go
A thousand faces stare at me
Eating from the palm
A date from hand to mouth
Break a leg!
The shoes are on the bottom
On your way
But the wardrobe always stays wide open
All washed up
Stood on the shore
The wave is over
But Im all washed up
Fish in a bowl
Everywhere I go
All bob and weave
Or sew it seams
Aiming low in life
They keep their noses clean
All washed up
Stood on the shore
The wave is over
But Im all washed up
Fish in a bowl
An ordered life from start to finish
And my timing is out
All washed up
Stood on the shore
The wave is over
But Im all washed up...fish!

song performed by Haircut 100
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The White-Washed Sea

White bread and white maids,
Marmalade and sugar tarts: stick me
High atop the citrus tree,
Like a paper airplane, paper nose pointing
The way to the white-washed sea:
Pretty dolls and forget-me-nots,
Ivory beavers slapping dams,
Lover-boys in snowy trams making their
Procession to the white-washed sea:
Tourists there, Mickey-Mouse, and fricassee,
Conquistadors jounced on vanilla poles,
Saints and crosses like Spanish scarecrows on
Concrete atolls, bleed anemically towards
The white-washed sea: Hills of windmills are
Picaresque, lovely cherries on her white washed-
Breasts, bones of birds and pica ninnies;
Aunts sing cantos at their nieces nurseries,
Pale and freckled and on their knees,
Girls who’d been roller-skating as if on foam,
Stop and pray to the white-washed sea;
Pick themselves up, adjusting their silky delicates,
Before rolling home, to sit cross-legged smoking
Candied cigarettes and gossiping underneath the
Sky’s crenulated dome, eyes so lost and hopeless,
All fair and so lonely, yet well-perceived,
Searching for some solutions across the white-washed sea.

poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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Spring Day

Bath

The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and narcissus
in the air.

The sunshine pours in at the bath-room window and bores through the water
in the bath-tub in lathes and planes of greenish-white. It cleaves the water
into flaws like a jewel, and cracks it to bright light.

Little spots of sunshine lie on the surface of the water and dance, dance,
and their reflections wobble deliciously over the ceiling; a stir of my finger
sets them whirring, reeling. I move a foot, and the planes of light
in the water jar. I lie back and laugh, and let the green-white water,
the sun-flawed beryl water, flow over me. The day is almost
too bright to bear, the green water covers me from the too bright day.
I will lie here awhile and play with the water and the sun spots.

The sky is blue and high. A crow flaps by the window, and there is
a whiff of tulips and narcissus in the air.

Breakfast Table

In the fresh-washed sunlight, the breakfast table is decked and white.
It offers itself in flat surrender, tendering tastes, and smells,
and colours, and metals, and grains, and the white cloth falls over its side,
draped and wide. Wheels of white glitter in the silver coffee-pot,
hot and spinning like catherine-wheels, they whirl, and twirl - and my eyes
begin to smart, the little white, dazzling wheels prick them like darts.
Placid and peaceful, the rolls of bread spread themselves in the sun to bask.
A stack of butter-pats, pyramidal, shout orange through the white, scream,
flutter, call: 'Yellow! Yellow! Yellow!' Coffee steam rises in a stream,
clouds the silver tea-service with mist, and twists up into the sunlight,
revolved, involuted, suspiring higher and higher, fluting in a thin spiral
up the high blue sky. A crow flies by and croaks at the coffee steam.
The day is new and fair with good smells in the air.

Walk

Over the street the white clouds meet, and sheer away without touching.

On the sidewalks, boys are playing marbles. Glass marbles,
with amber and blue hearts, roll together and part with a sweet
clashing noise. The boys strike them with black and red striped agates.
The glass marbles spit crimson when they are hit, and slip into the gutters
under rushing brown water. I smell tulips and narcissus in the air,
but there are no flowers anywhere, only white dust whipping up the street,
and a girl with a gay Spring hat and blowing skirts. The dust and the wind
flirt at her ankles and her neat, high-heeled patent leather shoes. Tap, tap,

[...] Read more

poem by Amy Lowell
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Narrative And Dramatic The Wanderings Of Oisin

BOOK I

S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.

Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with years,
The swift innumerable spears,
The horsemen with their floating hair,
And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,
Those merry couples dancing in tune,
And the white body that lay by mine;
But the tale, though words be lighter than air.
Must live to be old like the wandering moon.

Caoilte, and Conan, and Finn were there,
When we followed a deer with our baying hounds.
With Bran, Sceolan, and Lomair,
And passing the Firbolgs' burial-motmds,
Came to the cairn-heaped grassy hill
Where passionate Maeve is stony-still;
And found On the dove-grey edge of the sea
A pearl-pale, high-born lady, who rode
On a horse with bridle of findrinny;
And like a sunset were her lips,
A stormy sunset on doomed ships;
A citron colour gloomed in her hair,

But down to her feet white vesture flowed,
And with the glimmering crimson glowed
Of many a figured embroidery;
And it was bound with a pearl-pale shell
That wavered like the summer streams,
As her soft bosom rose and fell.

S. Patrick. You are still wrecked among heathen dreams.

Oisin. 'Why do you wind no horn?' she said
'And every hero droop his head?
The hornless deer is not more sad
That many a peaceful moment had,
More sleek than any granary mouse,
In his own leafy forest house
Among the waving fields of fern:
The hunting of heroes should be glad.'

'O pleasant woman,' answered Finn,
'We think on Oscar's pencilled urn,
And on the heroes lying slain

[...] Read more

poem by William Butler Yeats
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The Ballad of the White Horse

DEDICATION

Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?

Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?

In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.

Gored on the Norman gonfalon
The Golden Dragon died:
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
Ride down by Severn side.

Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
Too English to be true.

Of a good king on an island
That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
And tracks of opal slime.

Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
That is the head of a man.

But who shall look from Alfred's hood

[...] Read more

poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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The Battle Of The Lake Regillus

A Lay Sung at the Feast of Castor and Pollux on the Ides of Quintilis in the year of the City CCCCLI.

I.
Ho, trumpets, sound a war-note!
Ho, lictors, clear the way!
The Knights will ride, in all their pride,
Along the streets to-day.
To-day the doors and windows
Are hung with garlands all,
From Castor in the Forum,
To Mars without the wall.
Each Knight is robed in purple,
With olive each is crowned;
A gallant war-horse under each
Paws haughtily the ground.
While flows the Yellow River,
While stands the Sacred Hill,
The proud Ides of Quintilis
Shall have such honor still.
Gay are the Martian Kalends,
December's Nones are gay,
But the proud Ides, when the squadron rides,
Shall be Rome's whitest day.

II.
Unto the Great Twin Brethren
We keep this solemn feast.
Swift, swift, the Great Twin Brethren
Came spurring from the east.
They came o'er wild Parthenius
Tossing in waves of pine,
O'er Cirrha's dome, o'er Adria's foam,
O'er purple Apennine,
From where with flutes and dances
Their ancient mansion rings,
In lordly Lacedaemon,
The City of two kings,
To where, by Lake Regillus,
Under the Porcian height,
All in the lands of Tusculum,
Was fought the glorious fight.

III.
Now on the place of slaughter
Are cots and sheepfolds seen,
And rows of vines, and fields of wheat,
And apple-orchards green;
The swine crush the big acorns
That fall from Corne's oaks.

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Babbington Macaulay
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Car Wash

Y'all small tuna fish, I'm one big catch
(This is a Shark Tale exclusive)
Y'all small tuna fish, I'm one big catch
(Here we go again) (2004)
Y'all small tuna fish, I'm one big catch
(Say what, say what) (phenomenal hit)
Y'all small tuna fish, I'm one big catch
(Yeah)
Ooh, do do do do do do do
Car wash, car wash
Ooh, do do do do do do do
Car wash, car wash
(Yeah, let's drop it on 'em like this)
Ooh, do do do do do do, na na na ah, ooh
Ooh, do do do do do do, na na na ah, ooh
You might not ever get rich, ha
Let me tell you it's better than digging a ditch
There ain't no telling who you might meet
A movie star or maybe a common thief
Working at the car wash (oh oh, yeah yeah)
At the car wash, yeah (ooh, yeah yeah)
At the car wash (sing it with me now)
Working at the car wash, yeah
(Oh, oh)
Come summer the work gets kind of hard
This ain't no place to be if you're planning on being a star
Let me tell you it's always cool
And the boss don't mind sometimes if you're acting like a fool
Working at the car wash (oh oh, yeah yeah)
At the car wash, yeah (ooh ooh ooh)
At the car wash (ow said, now come and work it with me now, yeah)
Working at the car wash, yeah
Said, said, said, sing
(Work and work)
Well those cars never stop coming
(Work and work)
Keep those rags and machines humming
(Work and work)
My fingers to the bone
(Work and work)
Keep on and can't wait till it's time to go home
(Ooh ooh ooh)
Hey, get your car washed today
(Ooh ooh ooh)
Fill up and you don't have to pay
(Ooh ooh ooh)
Hey, get your car washed today
Give it up, right away
Missy Elliott:
Work at the, car wash

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song performed by Christina Aguilera
Added by Lucian Velea
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Santas Beard

I wanna meet santa claus, the real real santa
I wanna meet santa claus, the real real santa
I wanna see santa claus, the real real santa
He wants to meet ol santa claus
I took my brother to the department store
He wanted to show santa his christmas list
He stood in line and he shook like a leaf
Hes only five and a half goin on six
He said, is that (that santa) really santa claus,
Really really (the real santa) santa claus?
Is that (that santa) really santa claus, really really santa?
(I hope he doesnt pull santas beard)
Is that (that santa) really santa claus,
Really really (the real santa) santa?
Hope he thinks thats santa claus
I picked him up and put him on santas lap
And then he pulled the pillow out of his shirt
He yanked the beard right on off of his chin
And in his eyes I could see he was hurt
He said, youre not (not santa) really santa claus,
Youre really not (the real santa) santa claus
Youre not (not santa) really santa claus,
Youre really not santa (he shouldnta pulled santas beard)
Youre not (not santa) santa claus,
Youre really not (the real santa) santa
Hes just helpin santa claus
Hes just helpin (helpin santa) santa claus,
The real (the real santa) real santa
Hes helpin (helpin santa) santa claus,
The real (the real santa) real santa
Hes just helpin (helpin santa) santa claus,
The real (the real santa) real santa
Hes just helpin santa claus
Hes just helpin (helpin santa) santa claus,
The real (the real santa) real santa
Hes just helpin (helpin santa) santa claus,
The real (he shouldnta pulled santas beard) real santa
Hes just helpin (helpin santa) santa claus,
The real (the real santa) real santa
Hes just helpin santa claus

song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dante At Verona

Behold, even I, even I am Beatrice.
(Div. Com. Purg. xxx.)
OF Florence and of Beatrice
Servant and singer from of old,
O'er Dante's heart in youth had toll'd
The knell that gave his Lady peace;
And now in manhood flew the dart
Wherewith his City pierced his heart.
Yet if his Lady's home above
Was Heaven, on earth she filled his soul;
And if his City held control
To cast the body forth to rove,
The soul could soar from earth's vain throng,
And Heaven and Hell fulfil the song.
Follow his feet's appointed way;—
But little light we find that clears
The darkness of the exiled years.
Follow his spirit's journey:—nay,
What fires are blent, what winds are blown
On paths his feet may tread alone?
Yet of the twofold life he led
In chainless thought and fettered will
Some glimpses reach us,—somewhat still
Of the steep stairs and bitter bread,—
Of the soul's quest whose stern avow
For years had made him haggard now.
Alas! the Sacred Song whereto
Both heaven and earth had set their hand
Not only at Fame's gate did stand
Knocking to claim the passage through,
But toiled to ope that heavier door
Which Florence shut for evermore.
Shall not his birth's baptismal Town
One last high presage yet fulfil,
And at that font in Florence still
His forehead take the laurel-crown?
O God! or shall dead souls deny
The undying soul its prophecy?
Aye, 'tis their hour. Not yet forgot
The bitter words he spoke that day
When for some great charge far away
Her rulers his acceptance sought.
“And if I go, who stays?”—so rose
His scorn:—“and if I stay, who goes?”
“Lo! thou art gone now, and we stay”
(The curled lips mutter): “and no star
Is from thy mortal path so far
As streets where childhood knew the way.
To Heaven and Hell thy feet may win,
But thine own house they come not in.”

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poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Added by Poetry Lover
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