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When the pear is ripe it falls by itself.

Sicilian proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
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Elite

When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
You like attention
It proof to you youre alive
Stop parading your angles
Confused? youll know when youre ripe
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
youre pregnant
With all this space
Thick with money
But I lost my taste
Youre into depression
Cause it matches your eyes
Stop! the faux to be famous
Confused? youll know when youre ripe
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
youre pregnant
With all this case
Thick with money
But I lost the taste
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
youre pregnant
With all this case
Thick with money
But I lost the taste
Youll bleed out of control (2x)
When youre ripe

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song performed by Deftones
Added by Lucian Velea
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If It All Falls Down

By: matt betton
1986
I never wanted to be
A man of mystery
My lifes an open book
By james joyce and agatha christie
Sometimes I get confused
Somewhere around page two
I live the perfect crime
And crime pays more than it used to
Theyre checkin the evidence
May be some charges pressed
The only one they got me on
Is some misdemeanor craziness
Chorus:
If it all falls down falls down falls down
If they solve my life they find me out
Never thought to keep all I have found
I have had my fun if it all falls down
If it all falls down falls down falls down
I have had my fun I have bought a few rounds
And been out on the town way out on the town
Way way way out if it all falls down
Never wanted to be
A part of history
I have my days in the sun
A beach bum a man for all seasides
Guidance counselor said
Your scores are anti-heroic
Computer recommends
Hard-drinking calypso poet
Studied life at sea
Studied life in bars
Never passed my s.a.t.s
So I thought Id study extra hard
Chorus:
If it all falls down falls down falls down
I have learned my trade from the inside out
I can strum real hard I can play real loud
I can charm a crowd if it all falls down
If it all falls down falls down falls down
I can warm a crowd I can make them shout
I can juggle verbs adverbs and nouns
I can make them dance til they all fall down
We had plenty of doctors
We had plenty of lawyers
We had people to make us things
We had people to sell us those things
Didnt have enough room for those things
We build lots of self storage

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song performed by Jimmy Buffett
Added by Lucian Velea
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.

II.

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poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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The ripe pear

Quartering this ripe pear
- a knife-and-fork job; it gave little away
except a slight softness around the stalk,
yet seems to contain more juice than
any work of man could hold -

quartering this ripe pear,
I'm caught up in wonder:
this is almost too good for human beings -
it should have a religion built around its praise;

as if it wishes to tell us something
that we might have overlooked
about such mouth-worn phrases as
Nature's bounty and God's grace..

or as if, two thousand years ago,
it had leaned, heavy on its branch,
from the wall of Plato's leafy Academy,
saw him writing of ideals,
and smiled;

and now I've written that,
I can eat this pear,
tasting it and what I've written;

this pear, I swear,
now tastes even better;
as if I had submitted
on some altar, to be consumed by praise;
praise that tastes of pear; pear that tastes of praise.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Falls On Me

You see me hanging round
starting to swear about this black hole you've dug for me
and silently within hands touchin skin shock
breaks my disease and i can breath
and all of your weights
all you dream falls on me
it falls on me
and your beautiful sky
the light you breath
falls on me
it falls on me ahha
Your faith like a pain
it draws me in again
she washes all my wounds of me
darkness in my veins
I never could explain
and i wonder if you have ever see
Will you still believe
and all of your weights
and all that you dream
falls on me
it falls on me
and your beautiful sky
the light you breath
falls on me
it falls on me
am I that strong
to carry on
have i changed your life
have i changed my world
could you save me ahhhhha
and all of your weights
all you dream
falls on me
it falls on me
and you beautiful sky
the light you breath
falls on me
it falls on me
and all of your weights
all you dream falls on me
it falls on me
and your beautiful sky
the light you breath
falls on me
it falls on me
ahhhhaha yea ahhhah yea

song performed by Fuel
Added by Lucian Velea
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Echoes

Brothers!....
(That is to say, those of you that are.
For, even in the most altruistic mood, there are some I bar.)
Brothers!
Workers, shirkers, writers, skiters, philosophers and others,
Attend. I address myself only to those
Of the class that habitually looketh even beyond its nose.
To him I speak who shrewdly seeketh for the milk in the cocoanut, while his fellows are repeating the bald assertion that 'The fruit is not yet ripe!'
Him I address who knoweth the sheep from the goats, the chaff from the oats,
the half-quid from the gilded sixpence, and the common sense from common tripe.
To the 'Man in the Street' I speak not, nor to the 'Right-thinking Person,'
nor 'Constant Subscriber,' nor 'Vox Populi,' nor 'The Bloke on the Train,'
nor any of their band.
For of the things I write they wot not, neither may they hope to understand.
But ye whom I, even I, presume to address as brother:-
Journalists, politicians, burglars, company promoters, miners, millers,
navvies, shearers, confidence-men, piano-tuners, paling-splitters,
bookmakers, process-workers, judges, brass-fitters, policemen and others.
Attend. Him who looketh for the hall-mark on every link, and taketh not the say-so of the label, nor the sworn affidavit of the pill advertisement
him who hath it in him to discern the fair thing from that which is over the odds, and shaketh the new-laid egg that he may know what is within it
Him I address. For lo, my brothers, maybe there is one of us born once a week or thereabouts, but we know it is written that one of the others is born every minute.
Wherefore, attend,
And lend
An ear; for I have planned for you a pleasing diversion.
Come with me, my brothers, and let us make a little excursion
Out over the land, through the cities and the country places, even to the farthest limit of Back-o'-beyond. Hearken brothers! What are these sounds we hear?
Say, what is all this babbling and gabbling, this howling and growling, this muttering and spluttering, that smites the ear?
Listen again. Do you hear them, brothers? Lo, they are the Echoes calling.
They are the multitudinous echoes that sound up and down the land; crying and sighing, squalling and bawling.
In all places they sound; in the city and in the country; upon the high mountains and along the plains, wherever man hideth; and at all times, for the night is loud with the sound of them even as is the day.
Listen again, brothers! What is it that they say?
Lo, this one shouteth. 'The Time is Not Yet Ripe!' And another bawleth.
'Capital is fleeing the Land!' And yet another howleth, 'It is
Inimical to Private Enterprise and Thrift!' And yet another screameth.
'It will Bust up the Home and ruin the Marriage Tie!'
Why do they howl these things, my brothers? I ask ye, why?
For lo, even as they shout, still other Echoes take up the cry till it is increased and multiplied even unto 70,000 times seven;
And a howl, as of 1400 she-elephants simultaneously robbed of their young, assaileth Heaven.
What say ye, brothers? What is the inner significance of these Echoes, and why do they make these divers sounds? What say ye, brothers; is it because they think?
Aha! I apprehend ye! I say ye - nay, verily, I heard ye wink.
For the noise of the falling - of the flapping of your collective eyelid was even as the banging of the bar door what time the clock telleth of eleven thirty p.m., and the voice of Hebe murmureth through the night 'Good-bye, ducky.'....But I digress.
Which is a characteristic failing I must confess!
But, nevertheless,
It hath its compensations, as is plain to any noodle,
When matter is paid for at space rates, for it pileth up the boodle....
However, to resume. Let us isolate a case, my brothers. Let us sample an
Echo. Take Brown.
We all are well acquainted with Brown. Mayhap his name is Smith or Timmins, but no matter. He is the Man in the Street. He hath a domicile in the suburbs and an occupation in town.
This Brown riseth in the morning and donneth the garments of civilisation. In hot socks he garbeth his feet, and upon his back he putteth a coat which hath
a little split in the tail for no sane or accountable reason.

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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Falling Stars

SHEPHERD, thou say'st there is a star
Which rules our changeful destinies:
Can mortal vision soar so far,
Or pierce such mighty mysteries?
Shepherd, 'tis said thy mind recals
The lore of grey departed seers:
say, what is yonder star which falls,
Which falls, falls, and disappears?

My son, a child of joy expired,
Yon was his star which glided by,
The friendly feast, by mirth inspired,
Has witnessed his departing sigh;
He sang of wine and beauty's thralls,
Round went his jokes and witty jeers
There is another star which falls.
Which falls, falls, and disappears!

My son, it is a star of light,
Of one beloved, and young and fair,
Preparing for her bridal night,
Wreathing white roses in her hair;
On her her frantic lover calls,
But vain his grief, and vain his tears
There is another star which falls.
Which falls, falls, and disappears!

My son, yon was the rapid star,
The suddenly extinguished gleam,
Of one just born to wealth and power,
One born to bask in fortune's beam;
He has escaped the flatterers' thralls,
The weight of guilt, the load of years
There is another star which falls,
Which falls, falls, and disappears!

My son, did'st see its guileful ray?
A monarch's favourite is no more!
Flattered in life-in death's dark day
No friends or mourners seek his door:
He was the cringing slave who crawls,
And fattens on a people's tears
There is another star which falls,
Which falls, falls, and disappears!

'Twas the last of a race of kings;
But go, my son-for thou hast seen
That wealth and power are empty things,
Which leave no trace that they have been.
Glory and fame the heart enthral,

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poem by Charles Mackay
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The Georgics

GEORGIC I

What makes the cornfield smile; beneath what star
Maecenas, it is meet to turn the sod
Or marry elm with vine; how tend the steer;
What pains for cattle-keeping, or what proof
Of patient trial serves for thrifty bees;-
Such are my themes.
O universal lights
Most glorious! ye that lead the gliding year
Along the sky, Liber and Ceres mild,
If by your bounty holpen earth once changed
Chaonian acorn for the plump wheat-ear,
And mingled with the grape, your new-found gift,
The draughts of Achelous; and ye Fauns
To rustics ever kind, come foot it, Fauns
And Dryad-maids together; your gifts I sing.
And thou, for whose delight the war-horse first
Sprang from earth's womb at thy great trident's stroke,
Neptune; and haunter of the groves, for whom
Three hundred snow-white heifers browse the brakes,
The fertile brakes of Ceos; and clothed in power,
Thy native forest and Lycean lawns,
Pan, shepherd-god, forsaking, as the love
Of thine own Maenalus constrains thee, hear
And help, O lord of Tegea! And thou, too,
Minerva, from whose hand the olive sprung;
And boy-discoverer of the curved plough;
And, bearing a young cypress root-uptorn,
Silvanus, and Gods all and Goddesses,
Who make the fields your care, both ye who nurse
The tender unsown increase, and from heaven
Shed on man's sowing the riches of your rain:
And thou, even thou, of whom we know not yet
What mansion of the skies shall hold thee soon,
Whether to watch o'er cities be thy will,
Great Caesar, and to take the earth in charge,
That so the mighty world may welcome thee
Lord of her increase, master of her times,
Binding thy mother's myrtle round thy brow,
Or as the boundless ocean's God thou come,
Sole dread of seamen, till far Thule bow
Before thee, and Tethys win thee to her son
With all her waves for dower; or as a star
Lend thy fresh beams our lagging months to cheer,
Where 'twixt the Maid and those pursuing Claws
A space is opening; see! red Scorpio's self
His arms draws in, yea, and hath left thee more
Than thy full meed of heaven: be what thou wilt-
For neither Tartarus hopes to call thee king,

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poem by Virgil
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Facade

A little girl trapped in her knowledge and craft
Came tripping to my room last night
I cooked her a steak and I tried not to fake
And still make everything alright
She had dreads in her hair and problems and cares
She tried hard not to let em show
She was decent and sweet and I was sizin up the meat
But doubts fell in my mind like snow
And when the shove comes down to love
The facade falls down
And when the bricks fall from the tricks
The facade falls down
Its a sunny afternoon and Im sitting in my robe
Im dirty and Im here alone
Theres a story on my table that talks about me
And I want to stuff it down the authors throat
And Im sleeping with someone new every night
And in the morning politely saying bye
And Im nowhere and no one
And I only wanna run
And I feel like a hamburger bun
And when you must
Believe or bust
The facade falls down
When youre scared of a brand new care
The facade falls down
I got no reason to believe
I got no reason but Im new york scumbag tough
And Ill keep on truckin
So night is falling
And Im getting tired
And its time to get my slippers and books
Got a sweater and glasses
And something that passes
For a way to get by in this world
And Im getting tired
Of so many different things
I guess Im just plain tired
Or maybe too intelligent to believe
In the obvious side of things
And when voice says make a choice
The facade falls down
When your knees start to concede
The facade falls down
When the shove comes down to love
The facade falls down
And when the bricks fall from the tricks
The facade falls down
The facade falls down
The facade falls down

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song performed by Iggy Pop
Added by Lucian Velea
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The four Seasons of the Year.

Spring.
Another four I've left yet to bring on,
Of four times four the last Quaternion,
The Winter, Summer, Autumn & the Spring,
In season all these Seasons I shall bring:
Sweet Spring like man in his Minority,
At present claim'd, and had priority.
With smiling face and garments somewhat green,
She trim'd her locks, which late had frosted been,
Nor hot nor cold, she spake, but with a breath,
Fit to revive, the nummed earth from death.
Three months (quoth she) are 'lotted to my share
March, April, May of all the rest most fair.
Tenth of the first, Sol into Aries enters,
And bids defiance to all tedious winters,
Crosseth the Line, and equals night and day,
(Stil adds to th'last til after pleasant May)
And now makes glad the darkned northern wights
Who for some months have seen but starry lights.
Now goes the Plow-man to his merry toyle,
He might unloose his winter locked soyl:
The Seeds-man too, doth lavish out his grain,
In hope the more he casts, the more to gain:
The Gardner now superfluous branches lops,
And poles erects for his young clambring hops.
Now digs then sowes his herbs, his flowers & roots
And carefully manures his trees of fruits.
The Pleiades their influence now give,
And all that seem'd as dead afresh doth live.
The croaking frogs, whom nipping winter kil'd
Like birds now chirp, and hop about the field,
The Nightingale, the black-bird and the Thrush
Now tune their layes, on sprayes of every bush.
The wanton frisking Kid, and soft-fleec'd Lambs
Do jump and play before their feeding Dams,
The tender tops of budding grass they crop,
They joy in what they have, but more in hope:
For though the frost hath lost his binding power,
Yet many a fleece of snow and stormy shower
Doth darken Sol's bright eye, makes us remember
The pinching North-west wind of cold December.
My second moneth is April, green and fair,
Of longer dayes, and a more temperate Air:
The Sun in Taurus keeps his residence,
And with his warmer beams glanceth from thence
This is the month whose fruitful showrs produces
All set and sown for all delights and uses:
The Pear, the Plum, and Apple-tree now flourish
The grass grows long the hungry beast to nourish.
The Primrose pale, and azure violet

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poem by Anne Bradstreet
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The Bare Necessities

Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
Old Mother Nature's recipes
That brings the bare necessities of life
Wherever I wander, wherever I roam
I couldn't be fonder of my big home
The bees are buzzin' in the tree
To make some honey just for me
When you look under the rocks and plants
And take a glance at the fancy ants
Then maybe try a few
The bare necessities of life will come to you
They'll come to you!
Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
That's why a bear can rest at ease
With just the bare necessities of life
Now when you pick a pawpaw
Or a prickly pear
And you prick a raw paw
Next time beware
Don't pick the prickly pear by the paw
When you pick a pear
Try to use the claw
But you don't need to use the claw
When you pick a pear of the big pawpaw
Have I given you a clue ?
The bare necessities of life will come to you
They'll come to you!
So just try and relax, yeah cool it
Fall apart in my backyard
'Cause let me tell you something little britches
If you act like that bee acts, uh uh
You're working too hard
And don't spend your time lookin' around
For something you want that can't be found
When you find out you can live without it
And go along not thinkin' about it
I'll tell you something true
The bare necessities of life will come to you
Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
That's why a bear can rest at ease
With just the bare necessities of life

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song performed by Bowling For Soup
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Red Lacquer Music-Stand

A music-stand of crimson lacquer, long since brought
In some fast clipper-ship from China, quaintly wrought
With bossed and carven flowers and fruits in blackening gold,
The slender shaft all twined about and thickly scrolled
With vine leaves and young twisted tendrils, whirling, curling,
Flinging their new shoots over the four wings, and swirling
Out on the three wide feet in golden lumps and streams;
Petals and apples in high relief, and where the seams
Are worn with handling, through the polished crimson sheen,
Long streaks of black, the under lacquer, shine out clean.
Four desks, adjustable, to suit the heights of players
Sitting to viols or standing up to sing, four layers
Of music to serve every instrument, are there,
And on the apex a large flat-topped golden pear.
It burns in red and yellow, dusty, smouldering lights,
When the sun flares the old barn-chamber with its flights
And skips upon the crystal knobs of dim sideboards,
Legless and mouldy, and hops, glint to glint, on hoards
Of scythes, and spades, and dinner-horns, so the old tools
Are little candles throwing brightness round in pools.
With Oriental splendour, red and gold, the dust
Covering its flames like smoke and thinning as a gust
Of brighter sunshine makes the colours leap and range,
The strange old music-stand seems to strike out and change;
To stroke and tear the darkness with sharp golden claws;
To dart a forked, vermilion tongue from open jaws;
To puff out bitter smoke which chokes the sun; and fade
Back to a still, faint outline obliterate in shade.
Creeping up the ladder into the loft, the Boy
Stands watching, very still, prickly and hot with joy.
He sees the dusty sun-mote slit by streaks of red,
He sees it split and stream, and all about his head
Spikes and spears of gold are licking, pricking, flicking,
Scratching against the walls and furniture, and nicking
The darkness into sparks, chipping away the gloom.
The Boy's nose smarts with the pungence in the room.
The wind pushes an elm branch from before the door
And the sun widens out all along the floor,
Filling the barn-chamber with white, straightforward light,
So not one blurred outline can tease the mind to fright.

'O All ye Works of the Lord, Bless ye the Lord; Praise Him, and Magnify Him
for ever.
O let the Earth Bless the Lord; Yea, let it Praise Him, and Magnify Him
for ever.
O ye Mountains and Hills, Bless ye the Lord; Praise Him, and Magnify Him
for ever.
O All ye Green Things upon the Earth, Bless ye the Lord; Praise Him,
and Magnify Him for ever.'

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poem by Amy Lowell
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The Jolly Beggar I

‘THER is a wife in yone toun-end, an she has dothers three,
An I wad be a beager for ony of a’ the three.’
He touk his clouty clok him about, his peakstaff in his hand,
An he is awa to yon toun-end, leak ony peare man.
‘I ha ben about this fish-toun this years tua or three,
Ha ye ony quarters, deam, that ye coud gie me?’
‘Awa, ye pear carl, ye dinne kean my name;
Ye sudd ha caed me mistress fan ye called me bat deam.’
He tuke his hat in his hand an gied her juks three:
‘An ye want manners, misstres, quarters ye’ll gie me.’
‘Awa, ye pear carle, in ayont the fire,
An sing to our Lord Gray’s men to their hearts’ disire.’
Some lowked to his goudie lowks, some to his milk-whit skine,
Some to his ruffled shirt, the gued read gold hang in.
Out spak our madin, an she was ay shay,
Fatt will the jolly beager gett afore he gaa to lay?
Out spak our goudwife, an she was not sae shay,
He’se gett a dish of lang kell, besids a puss pay.
Out spak the jolly beager, That dish I dou denay;
I canne sup yer lang kell nor yet yer puss pay.
Bat ye gett to my supper a capon of the best,
Tuo or three bottels of yer wine, an bear, an we sall ha a merry feast.
‘Ha ye ony siler, carll, to bint the bear an wine?’
‘O never a peney, misstress, had I lang sine.’
The beager wadne lay in the barn, nor yett in the bayr,
Bat in ahind the haa-dor, or att the kitchen-fire.
The beager’s bed was well [made] of gued clean stray an hay,
. . . . . . . . .
The madin she rose up to bar the dor,
An ther she spayed a naked man, was rinen throu the flour.
He tuke her in his arms an to his bed he ran;
‘Hollie we me, sir,’ she says, ’or ye’ll waken our pear man.’
The begger was a cuning carle, an never a word he spake
Till he got his turn dean, an sayn began to crak.
‘Is ther ony dogs about this toun? madin, tell me nou:’
‘Fatt wad ye dee we them, my hony an my dou?’
‘They wad ravie a’ my meall-poks an die me mukell wrang:’
‘O doll for the deaing o it! are ye the pear man?
‘I thought ye had ben some gentelman, just leak the leard of Brody!
I am sorry for the doing o itt! are ye the pore boddie?’
She tuke the meall-poks by the strings an thrue them our the waa!
‘Doll gaa we meall-poks, madinhead an a’!’
She tuke him to her press, gave him a glass of wine;
He tuke her in his arms, says, Honey, ye’ss be mine.
He tuke a horn fra his side an he blue loud an shill,
An four-an-tuenty belted knights came att the beager’s will.
He tuke out a pean-kniff, lute a’ his dudes faa,
An he was the braest gentelman that was among them a’.
He patt his hand in his poket an gaa her ginnes three,
An four-an-tuenty hunder mark, to pay the nires feea.

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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When It Falls, It Falls All Over You

Selling papers on the corner,
I saw a man yesterday.
I asked him if hed wanna
Tell me what made him this way.
He said, when its born, its warm,
Then it gathers strength in lies,
When it falls, it falls all over you.
He used to pick his friends.
They left him in the end.
An easy thing to lose,
The right to pick and choose.
When its born, its warm,
Then it gathers strength in lies,
When it falls, it falls all over you.
He said he left his wife,
The back-bone of his life.
Another came along,
But now I guess shes gone.
When its born, its warm,
Then it gathers strength in lies,
When it falls, it falls all over you.
I think I used to see
That old man on tv,
Can you be the same?
It seems like such a shame.
When its born, its warm,
Then it gathers strength in lies,
When it falls, it falls all over you.
The world he thought he knew,
Has better things to do.
As I went on my way
I thought I heard him say:
When its born, its warm,
Then it gathers strength in lies,
When it falls, it falls all over you.

song performed by Neil Young
Added by Lucian Velea
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Endymion: Book III

There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men
With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen
Their baaing vanities, to browse away
The comfortable green and juicy hay
From human pastures; or, O torturing fact!
Who, through an idiot blink, will see unpack'd
Fire-branded foxes to sear up and singe
Our gold and ripe-ear'd hopes. With not one tinge
Of sanctuary splendour, not a sight
Able to face an owl's, they still are dight
By the blear-eyed nations in empurpled vests,
And crowns, and turbans. With unladen breasts,
Save of blown self-applause, they proudly mount
To their spirit's perch, their being's high account,
Their tiptop nothings, their dull skies, their thrones--
Amid the fierce intoxicating tones
Of trumpets, shoutings, and belabour'd drums,
And sudden cannon. Ah! how all this hums,
In wakeful ears, like uproar past and gone--
Like thunder clouds that spake to Babylon,
And set those old Chaldeans to their tasks.--
Are then regalities all gilded masks?
No, there are throned seats unscalable
But by a patient wing, a constant spell,
Or by ethereal things that, unconfin'd,
Can make a ladder of the eternal wind,
And poise about in cloudy thunder-tents
To watch the abysm-birth of elements.
Aye, 'bove the withering of old-lipp'd Fate
A thousand Powers keep religious state,
In water, fiery realm, and airy bourne;
And, silent as a consecrated urn,
Hold sphery sessions for a season due.
Yet few of these far majesties, ah, few!
Have bared their operations to this globe--
Few, who with gorgeous pageantry enrobe
Our piece of heaven--whose benevolence
Shakes hand with our own Ceres; every sense
Filling with spiritual sweets to plenitude,
As bees gorge full their cells. And, by the feud
'Twixt Nothing and Creation, I here swear,
Eterne Apollo! that thy Sister fair
Is of all these the gentlier-mightiest.
When thy gold breath is misting in the west,
She unobserved steals unto her throne,
And there she sits most meek and most alone;
As if she had not pomp subservient;
As if thine eye, high Poet! was not bent
Towards her with the Muses in thine heart;
As if the ministring stars kept not apart,

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poem by John Keats
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When The Rain Falls Down

when the rain falls down it awakes my dream
when the rain falls down it washes me clean
when the rain falls down it screams my scream
when the rain falls down it follows me
when the rain falls down it carrys me
when the rain falls down it unties me
when the rain falls down it talks to me
when the rain falls down im comin clean
when the rain falls down. down on me.

poem by Alyssa Swensen
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Dreaming As The Tears Fall.

Dreaming of happy days.
Dreaming of that longing gaze.
Dreaming of that perfect embrace.
I'm dreaming of love always.
The greatest gift one could give.

Loneliness speaks of my weakness.
Vulnerabilities open like a wound so sore.
A tear dropp falls forevermore.

Dreaming of happy days.
Dreaming of that longing gaze.
Dreaming of that perfect embrace.
I'm dreaming of love always.
The greatest gift one could give.

I feel so abandon by everyone.
I feel like no one cares.
I feel, I feel, I feel so much pain.
Please tell me why I am still here.
A purpose should never disappear.

Dreaming of happy days.
Dreaming of that longing gaze.
Dreaming of that perfect embrace.
I'm dreaming of love always.
The greatest gift one could give.

Loneliness speaks of my weakness.
Vulnerabilities open like a wound so sore.
A tear dropp falls forevermore.

Loneliness speaks of my weakness.
Vulnerabilities open like a wound so sore.
A tear dropp falls forevermore.

Dreaming of happy days.
Dreaming of that longing gaze.
Dreaming of that perfect embrace.
I'm dreaming of love always.
The greatest gift one could give.

I remember the past so vividly.
But still it isn't now.
A singled out cloud.
The sun is burning him out.
Oh how he wishes darkness would surround.

Dreaming of happy days.
Dreaming of that longing gaze.

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poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Hermann And Dorothea - IV. Euterpe

MOTHER AND SON.

THUS the men discoursed together; and meanwhile the mother
Went in search of her son,--at first in front of the dwelling
On the bench of stone, for he was accustom'd to sit there.
When she found him not there, she went to look in the stable,
Thinking perchance he was feeding his splendid horses, the stallions
Which he had bought when foals, and which he entrusted to no one.
But the servant inform'd her that he had gone to the garden.
Then she nimbly strode across the long double courtyard,
Left the stables behind, and the barns all made of good timber,
Enter'd the garden which stretch'd far away to the walls of the borough,
Walk'd across it, rejoicing to see how all things were growing,
Carefully straighten'd the props, on which the apple-tree's branches,
Heavily loaded, reposed, and the weighty boughs of the pear-tree,
Took a few caterpillars from off the strong-sprouting cabbage;
For a bustling woman is never idle one moment.
In this manner she came to the end of the long-reaching garden,
Where was the arbour all cover'd with woodbine: she found not her son there,
Nor was he to be seen in any part of the garden.
But she found on the latch the door which out of the arbour
Through the wall of the town had been made by special permission
During their ancestor's time, the worthy old burgomaster.
So she easily stepp'd across the dry ditch at the spot where
On the highway abutted their well-inclosed excellent vineyard.
Rising steeply upwards, its face tow'rd the sun turn'd directly.
Up the hill she proceeded, rejoicing, as farther she mounted,
At the size of the grapes, which scarcely were hid by the foliage.
Shady and well-cover'd in, the middle walk at the top was,
Which was ascended by steps of rough flat pieces constructed.
And within it were hanging fine chasselas and muscatels also,
And a reddish-blue grape, of quite an exceptional bigness,
All with carefulness planted, to give to their guests after dinner.
But with separate stems the rest of the vineyard was planted,
Smaller grapes producing, from which the finest wine made is.
So she constantly mounted, enjoying in prospect the autumn.
And the festal day, when the neighbourhood met with rejoicing,
Picking and treading the grapes, and putting the must in the wine-vats,
Every corner and nook resounding at night with the fireworks,
Blazing and cracking away, due honour to pay to the harvest.
But she uneasy became, when she in vain had been calling
Twice and three times her son, and when the sole answer that reach'd her
Came from the garrulous echo which out of the town towers issued.
Strange it appear'd to have to seek him; he never went far off,
(As he before had told her) in order to ward off all sorrow
From his dear mother, and her forebodings of coming disaster.
But she still was expecting upon the highway to find him,
For the doors at the bottom, like those at the top, of the vineyard
Stood wide open; and so at length she enter'd the broad field
Which, with its spreading expanse, o'er the whole of the hill's back extended.

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poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Kiwi

Fruit without a stone, its shiny
pulp is clear green. Inside, tiny
black microdot seeds. Skin
the color of khakiImagine
a shaggy brown-green pelt
that feels like felt.
It's oval, full-rounded, kind
of egg-shaped. The rind
comes off in strips
when peeled with the lips.
If ripe, full of juice,
melon-sweet, yet tart as goose-
berry almost. A translucent ring
of seed dots looks something
like a coin-slice of banana. Grown
in the tropics, some stone
fruits, overlarge, are queerly
formed. A slablike pit nearly
fills the mango. I
scrape the fibrous pulp off with my
teeth. That slick round ball
in avocado (fruit without juice) we call
alligator pear:
Plant this seedpit with care
on three toothpicks over a glass
of water. It can come to pass
in time, that you'll see
an entire avocado tree.
Some fruits have stones, some seeds.
Papaya's loaded with slimy black beads.
Some seem seedlesslike quince
(that makes your tastebuds wince.)
Persimmon will
be sour, astringent 'until
dead ripe,' they say. Behind
pomegranate's leathery rind,
is a sackful of moist rubies. Pear,
cantaloupe, grapefruit, guava keep their
seeds hidden, as do raspberry, strawberry,
pineapple. Plum, peach and cherry
we know as fruits with big
seedstones. And fig?
Its graininess is seed. Hard to believe
is prickly durian. It's custard
sweetand smells nasty.
But there's no fruit as tasty,
as odd, or as funny
none
as fresh-off-the-vine New Zea-
land kiwi.

poem by May Swenson
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Georgic 2

Thus far the tilth of fields and stars of heaven;
Now will I sing thee, Bacchus, and, with thee,
The forest's young plantations and the fruit
Of slow-maturing olive. Hither haste,
O Father of the wine-press; all things here
Teem with the bounties of thy hand; for thee
With viny autumn laden blooms the field,
And foams the vintage high with brimming vats;
Hither, O Father of the wine-press, come,
And stripped of buskin stain thy bared limbs
In the new must with me.
First, nature's law
For generating trees is manifold;
For some of their own force spontaneous spring,
No hand of man compelling, and possess
The plains and river-windings far and wide,
As pliant osier and the bending broom,
Poplar, and willows in wan companies
With green leaf glimmering gray; and some there be
From chance-dropped seed that rear them, as the tall
Chestnuts, and, mightiest of the branching wood,
Jove's Aesculus, and oaks, oracular
Deemed by the Greeks of old. With some sprouts forth
A forest of dense suckers from the root,
As elms and cherries; so, too, a pigmy plant,
Beneath its mother's mighty shade upshoots
The bay-tree of Parnassus. Such the modes
Nature imparted first; hence all the race
Of forest-trees and shrubs and sacred groves
Springs into verdure.
Other means there are,
Which use by method for itself acquired.
One, sliving suckers from the tender frame
Of the tree-mother, plants them in the trench;
One buries the bare stumps within his field,
Truncheons cleft four-wise, or sharp-pointed stakes;
Some forest-trees the layer's bent arch await,
And slips yet quick within the parent-soil;
No root need others, nor doth the pruner's hand
Shrink to restore the topmost shoot to earth
That gave it being. Nay, marvellous to tell,
Lopped of its limbs, the olive, a mere stock,
Still thrusts its root out from the sapless wood,
And oft the branches of one kind we see
Change to another's with no loss to rue,
Pear-tree transformed the ingrafted apple yield,
And stony cornels on the plum-tree blush.
Come then, and learn what tilth to each belongs
According to their kinds, ye husbandmen,
And tame with culture the wild fruits, lest earth

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poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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