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A rut is a grave with the ends knocked out.

quote by Laurence J. Peter
Added by Lucian Velea
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You Have Not Knocked

You've never not...
Come to knock.
Come to knock,
At my door...
With words 'I told you so! '

You've never not...
Come to knock.
Come to knock,
At my door...
With words 'I told you so! '

When I had been in double struggles,
You have not knocked.
Or when I had been on my knees,
You have not knocked.
And when I felt grumpy and crunchy,
You have not knocked.
Or when I've asked you to leave me,
You have not knocked.

You know I can get really moody,
But, you have not knocked.
And carry drama to extremes,
No, you have not knocked.
You've stuck with me when I've been stinky,
And, you have not knocked.
To me you are my 'everything',
And I love you a lot.

You've never not...
Come to knock.
Come to knock,
At my door...
With words 'I told you so! '

You've never not...
Come to knock.
Come to knock,
At my door...
With words 'I told you so! '

Whenever I've been down and dumpy,
You have not knocked.
Or when I've picked my wounds to bleed so,
You have not knocked.
And when I pout with rudeness rooted,
You have not knocked.
Or when I whined consistently,
No, you have not knocked.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Double Helix Abecedarian - Xylophonic Resonance He Licks Enigmatic

XYLOPHONIC RESONANCE HE LICKS ENIGMATIC
Kindly refer to notes. and see Temptations and Poetic Pizza Extravaganza below :)

Xylophonic Resonance
double helix abecedarian

The first line begins with A and ends with Z
the next line begins with Z and ends with A
The next line begins with B and ends with Y
The next line begins with Y and ends with B
The next line begins with C and ends with X
The next line begins with X and ends with C

A to Z top down A to Z bottom up

All fizzle, finish frazzled, launched with fizZ.
Zero dreams teem when spirit seems at seA
Because most adepts of philosophY
Yearn for zenith seldom dwell on ebB,
Carpe diem value, seeking sea, sun, seX.
Xylem tree of life’s cannibalistiC
Desires corrupt deeds most men seW,
With survival’s urge soon lost indeeD.
Events churn causal patterns, AsimoV
Viewed clearly, took as starship journey cuE
Finding worlds which may appeal to yoU,
Unknown reader from beyond Time’s gulF -
Great divide between those past, those lefT -
Time travellers peruse these lines to sinG
High praise of poets who’ll know no more springS.
Spontaneousl prose poem picks pensive patH
In patter pattern, feet dance to empoweR.
Rhythm harmonious, need no alibI,
Joins sense, style versatile, from mind's H.Q.,
Questions seeks, finds answers. Soujourn’s hadJ
Knowledge acquires to share more than to keeP,
Pipes clear to others drifting through the darK.
Lark sings dawn’s welcome song, and each man’s taO
Opens connections, on life’s sea a-saiL
Ma d, sad, glad, bad, for threescore years and teN
Never certain of his mortal aiM,
Nor sure to gain posthumous fame, acclaiM,
Making ends meet in hope to rise agaiN
On judgement day should trust and faith prevaiL.
Life-spans increase but trite hullabaloO
Prepares too few for winding sheet, corpse starK,

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Murrow Turning Over In His Grave

All the sainted sinners
They pay handsomely
And eventually?
They make the weapons
And they run the prisons
And they sell the justice
Cause being guilty is
Just good business
And well be standing on
The borderline
Aint no one there gonna
Stop it now
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna turn wild
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna run wild
Half-closed eyes
And the countrys deadly
Do you feel the ooze as your brain drains out
From your pneumatic drills and sharpening knives
Blood in the sky
Are you dead or alive?
All the restless people and the bitter green
Well it fakes this gold, makes the spirit mean
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna turn wild
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna run wild

song performed by Fleetwood Mac
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sup?

'The usual stuff.
I see the same folks stuck.
Draggin' their butts from rut to rut.
Complaining about their bad luck...
While others do their best,
To pull themselves up.'

I see you struttin'.
Doesn't seem like you much troubled,
'Bout too much or nuthin'!

'I see it and I don't.
Aint got time for misery.
And I'm not 'bout to get on my knees...
Just to see somebody pleased,
I can do it.
I don' been through that mess.
You 'member I was distressed,
And express that to you.
As you pretended to listen to me confess,
From my point of view.
'Sup with you? '

The usual stuff.
I see the same folks stuck.
Draggin' their butts from rut to rut.
Complaining about their bad luck...
While others do their best,
To pull themselves up.

'I see.
Looks like you and me,
Got lots in common? '

Yep!
Which goes to show...
Even though we think 'we' different from the others,
We haven't moved too far...
From where they are.

'Yeah!
But don't it feel good to know sumthin'
'Bout movin' on?
Even if it is going 'round in circles? '

I guess!
They are there and we are here.
But it looks like they've got a better way,
Of avoiding paying more taxes.
And I 'use' to think the gov'ment was helping them out?

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Nun in FRiar Small-Bro's Grave... Yard

The midnight clings to dwarfish kings
While robot drones, adorning thrones,
Kneel, bowing to the Old...Guard.
Arrhythmic clocks and wooden box
Grace FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

The diplohacks, in melting wax,
Are swept along, a thriving throng,
Just dying for a life...guard.
And Nun, alone, has beached their bones
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

Beyond the streams, a raven screams
At loser fish that swarm and swish;
Nun gently drips her dreams...jarred.
There are no thanks along the banks
Of FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

While FRiar smiles and prowls the aisles
The hierarch obeys his bark;
His maw is oozing pure...lard.
He tells you who and what to do
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

Well, FRiar's pets are in a sweat;
He calls the tunes near burning dunes
And taps his cloven feet...charred.
They roast in rooms within the tombs
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

His myrmidons, they drool and fawn
While chanting verse near FRiar's hearse -
Extolling, wild, the van...guard.
Remote controls promote the trolls
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

With faces straight, in bent debate,
They compromise their empty lies
With any passing re...tard.
Grey zombies groom white flies in bloom
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

With ghouls, unlearned, no stone's unturned,
They burnish blame with Nun's proud name
And leave the midnight sky... scarred.
They raise their hats to copy cats
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.

The rumours spread amongst the dead -
Nun marks the place with saving grace,

[...] Read more

poem by Terry O'Leary
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Your Racist Friend

This is where the party ends
I cant stand here listening to you
And your racist friend
I know politics bore you
But I feel like a hypocrite talking to you
And your racist friend
It was the loveliest party that Ive ever attended
If anything was broken Im sure it could be mended
My head cant tolerate this bobbing and pretending
Listen to some bullet-head and the madness that hes saying
This is where the party ends
Ill just sit here wondering how you
Can stand by your racist friend
I know politics bore you
But I feel like a hypocrite talking to you
You and your racist friend
This is where the party ends
I cant stand here listening to you
And your racist friend
I know politics bore you
But I feel like a hypocrite talking to you
And your racist friend
Out from the kitchen to the bedroom to the hallway
Your friend apologizes, he could see it my way
He let the contents of the bottle do the thinking
Cant shake the devils hand and say youre only kidding
This is where the party ends
I cant stand here listening to you
And your racist friend
I know politics bore you
But I feel like a hypocrite talking to you
And your racist friend
Notes
Most alternate versions are very similar. the farthest removed is the extended mix dial-a-song version:
This is where the party ends
I cant stand here wondering how you
Can stand by your racist friend
This is where the party ends
I cant stand here wondering how you
Can stand by your racist friend
It was the loveliest party
That Ive ever attended
If anything got broken
Im sure it could be mended
But my head cant stand this bobbin and pretendin
Tolerate some bullethead and the bullshit that hes sayin
This is where the party ends
I cant stand here listening to your
Your racist friend
This is where the party ends

[...] Read more

song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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Shut The Rut Up

Shut the rut up.
Why stay stuck in it,
As if it is preferred?
Is it deserved?
You dwell on it as if it is.

Shut that rut up.
Leave it to disappear.
Are you that familiar with it?
Has it for you become endeared?

And what is it you wish I do?
Express a contentment in it like you?
I'll give you just a few more moments of my time.
Then without expressing any empathy to leave,
You and that rut you love will instantly be removed...
From my mind to be left behind.
I'm not into the rut loving business.

Shut the rut up.
Why stay stuck in it,
As if it is preferred?
Is it deserved?
You dwell on it as if it is.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Keep looking for loose ends; Keep alive and kicking

Keep looking for loose ends, Keep alive and kicking

The very essence of survival among
All living systems lies in the
Locating of loose ends and fixing them adequately

Making of another million
May be one’s loose end while
Winning the next meal
May be that of some one else
Growth of his industrial empire
May be the loose end of an entrepreneur, while
Moving on to the next stage in the spiritual path
May be that of someone different
Getting a loan for building own accommodation
May be some other’s loose end while
Paying back the availed loan
May be the loose end of a third other person
Keeping in tact his political position and
Getting a suitable placemen
May be other loose ends, which are common
Building a new nest may be a bird’s loose end while
Snatching the next prey may be a tiger’s loose end

Thus all are after loose ends

The fact is that locating a loose end is not really the end
As loose ends by themselves are no issues
Loose ends get entangled and invite
New and unknown complications

Some know their loose ends
They seemingly do not think or act on these
May be they are confident of meeting the resultant
Complications effectively and adequately

Some are lost in worrying over the complications
And they find no time to fix loose ends
Loose ends remain loose anytime to blow up
With unexpected implications

It is indeed, the desire that fix loose ends
This desire leads these people as how to fix them
They act on the knowledge and secure loose ends

Loose ends are really fixed by
Emotion-free and knowledge-based actions

So,

[...] Read more

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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The Ghost - Book IV

Coxcombs, who vainly make pretence
To something of exalted sense
'Bove other men, and, gravely wise,
Affect those pleasures to despise,
Which, merely to the eye confined,
Bring no improvement to the mind,
Rail at all pomp; they would not go
For millions to a puppet-show,
Nor can forgive the mighty crime
Of countenancing pantomime;
No, not at Covent Garden, where,
Without a head for play or player,
Or, could a head be found most fit,
Without one player to second it,
They must, obeying Folly's call,
Thrive by mere show, or not at all
With these grave fops, who, (bless their brains!)
Most cruel to themselves, take pains
For wretchedness, and would be thought
Much wiser than a wise man ought,
For his own happiness, to be;
Who what they hear, and what they see,
And what they smell, and taste, and feel,
Distrust, till Reason sets her seal,
And, by long trains of consequences
Insured, gives sanction to the senses;
Who would not (Heaven forbid it!) waste
One hour in what the world calls Taste,
Nor fondly deign to laugh or cry,
Unless they know some reason why;
With these grave fops, whose system seems
To give up certainty for dreams,
The eye of man is understood
As for no other purpose good
Than as a door, through which, of course,
Their passage crowding, objects force,
A downright usher, to admit
New-comers to the court of Wit:
(Good Gravity! forbear thy spleen;
When I say Wit, I Wisdom mean)
Where (such the practice of the court,
Which legal precedents support)
Not one idea is allow'd
To pass unquestion'd in the crowd,
But ere it can obtain the grace
Of holding in the brain a place,
Before the chief in congregation
Must stand a strict examination.
Not such as those, who physic twirl,
Full fraught with death, from every curl;

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Where The Sidewalk Ends

Where the sidewalk ends
And the road begins
We said good bye
On a cold dark night
Im not afraid to go
You bet Im not
Where the sidewalk ends
You left a lot
Some people leave
And never come back
Some stay in touch
Some loose track
Your mind kept sayin
Come on lets go
You started learnin
What you dont need to know
Where the sidewalk ends
And the road begins
Ill wait for you
In the cold dark night
You might come back
You had to go
Where the sidewalk ends
Ill never know
Hide from the future
Run from the past
I guess Ill stay here
As long as I can last
Whistle still blowin
But the train is gone
Aint no wheels
Gonna take me from my home
Where the sidewalk ends
And the road begins
We said good bye
On a cold dark night
Im not afraid to go
You bet Im not
Where the sidewalk ends
You left a lot
Im not afraid to go
You bet Im not
Where the sidewalk ends
You left a lot
Where the sidewalk ends
And the road begins
We said good bye
On a cold dark night
Im not afraid to go
You bet Im not

[...] Read more

song performed by George Strait
Added by Lucian Velea
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Better Days Are Made For The Ones Who Pay The Price

Falling down to get up,
And determined to get out of a rut...
Is better than a weeping.

Brushing off the dust,
And knowing that you've had enough...
With a strut you're keeping.

Better days are made for the ones who pay the price,
Of...
Knowing what time it is and taking advice,
Without a self defeating.

Some folks like to groan as if moans they own,
As if they live to get a beating.
Some folks like to groan as if moans they own,
As if they live to get a beating.
Better days are made for the ones who pay the price,
Of...
Knowing what time it is and taking advice.

Falling down to get up,
And determined to get out of a rut...
Is better than a weeping.

Some folks like to groan as if moans they own,
And...
Do it as if they are singing in different tones.

Well. Well. Well. Well...
Falling down to get up,
And determined to get out of a rut...
Is better than a weeping.

Brushing off the dust,
And knowing that you've had enough...
With a strut you're keeping.

Better days are made for the ones who pay the price,
Of...
Knowing what time it is and taking advice.

Well. Well. Well. Well...
Falling down to get up,
And determined to get out of a rut...
Is better than a weeping.

Brushing off the dust,
And knowing that you've had enough...
With a strut you're keeping.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It Takes Some Guts By a Mug Stuck

The battle to be won from things done dumb...
Is the one that has one stung,
By a lover on the run!

What does it take to get a mug stuck,
Out of a rut?
It takes guts,
To never give up!

A fight fought to make things right,
Wont shine a brighter light...
To fly a higher kite.
When tears drip drop,
From eyes at night.

What does it take to get a mug stuck,
Out of a rut?
When tears drip drop,
From eyes at night.
It takes guts,
To never give up!

The battle to be won from things done dumb...
Is the one that has one stung,
By a lover on the run!

What does it take to get a mug stuck,
Out of a rut?
It takes guts,
To never give up!

What does it take to get a mug stuck,
Out of a rut?
It takes guts,
To never give up!

A fight fought to make things right,
Wont shine a brighter light...
To fly a higher kite.
When tears drip drop,
From eyes at night.

It takes some guts by a mug stuck,
To never give up!
And get rid of the pity party,
Sipped from a cup.

It takes some guts by a mug stuck,
To never give up!
And get rid of the pity party,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Out Of Mind Travels

If one chooses to venture into the woods,
Without a guide and alone.
Because of pride one hides,
Without admitting a fear felt inside,
Condoned on one's own.
That choice to be made,
Is theirs alone.

And yet,
With a foolishness decides to continue...
By pushing concerned voices aside!
The experience of this,
Will either make one quickly grow.
Or quicken the end...
Of a stubborn mind that goes...bye bye.
Never to be comprehended or understood!
With a communication seen done publicly...
But,
With self throughout one's neighborhood.

Some people observed seem to enjoy,
These out of mind travels by themselves.
And stuck,
In a rut with the walls built up!
In a twilight zone to stay.

And stuck,
In a rut with the walls built up!
In a twilight zone to stay.

And stuck,
In a rut with the walls built up!
In a twilight zone to stay.

In a twilight zone to stay.
In a rut with the walls built up!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Turned Away From The Rough Stuff

a-When I...
Turned away from the rough stuff.
My mind was tainted and a bit corrupt.
I had decided I had had enough,
And if I had any luck...
Only bad would show up.

a-When I...
Turned away from the rough stuff.
My mind was tainted and a bit corrupt.
I had decided I had had enough,
And if I had any luck...
Only bad would show up.

And it seemed like a habit I had,
That kept me attached to bad like that.
Grabbing to attract when I laid on my back...
With a feeling of an itch I had to scratch.

a-When I...
Turned away from the rough stuff.
My mind was tainted and a bit corrupt.
I had decided I had had enough,
And if I had any luck...
Only bad would show up.

Oh-oh-I,
Turned away from the rough stuff.
My mind was tainted and a bit corrupt.
I had decided I had had enough,
And if I had any luck...
Only bad would show up.

And it seemed like a habit I had,
That kept me attached to bad like that.
Grabbing to attract when I laid on my back...
With a feeling of an itch I had to scratch.

Bad luck!
It had me feeling in a deep rut.
Bad luck...
I got stuck but I didn't give up.
Bad luck!
It had me feeling in a deep rut.
Bad luck...
I got stuck but I didn't give up.

And it seemed like a habit I had,
That kept me attached to bad like that.
Grabbing to attract when I laid on my back...

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Miracle

Believe in me for everything i was doing was right for you
and everything here resembles the reasons why i escaped for you.
We are in peace.
They will go and die in peace.
These feelings have knocked me cold,
These feelings have knocked me cold.
But where now?Where to hide?
But where now? Where to hide?
Come leave with me to walk through the desert, soak up all oracle.
And we will combine because you're my one and only miracle.
We are in pieces,
They will go and die in peace.
These feelings have knocked me cold,
These feelings have knocked me cold.
But where now?Where to hide?
but where now?Where to hide?
You will never know.
You will never know how much pain and hurt, there is burning inside my flesh.
You will never know how much pain and hurt, there is burning inside my flesh.
You will never know how much pain and hurt, there is burning inside my flesh.
You will never know how pain pain and hurt, there is burning inside my flesh.
These feelings have knocked me cold,
These feelings have knocked me cold.
But where now?Where to hide?
But where now?Where to hide?
You will never know how much pain and hurt, there is burning inside my flesh.
You will never know how much pain and hurt, there is burning inside my flesh.

song performed by Inme
Added by Lucian Velea
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Got to Knock Those Fences Down

We've got to knock,
Those fences down!
And every opposition,
Creating tensions mentioned.

Those defenses we keep hanging around...
Gotta be knocked knocked knocked to the ground.
Minimizing mistakes once made.
And lay purpose to correct our ways.

They will stand up in dismay,
To say they dislike what is said.
Those feeble beavers.
Munching on foundations.
Degrading with fixations...
To increase their greed,
Feeding sickened mentalities.

While some choose to sniff for floral scents...
Refusing to acknowledge,
The presence of decadence.
Hoping to get as high as possible...
On pretense and attempts,
For meaningless attention.

Those defenses we keep hanging around...
Gotta be knocked knocked knocked to the ground.
Minimizing mistakes once made.
And lay purpose to correct our ways.

We've got to knock,
Those fences down!
And every opposition,
Creating tensions mentioned.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Giaour

No breath of air to break the wave
That rolls below the Athenian's grave,
That tomb which, gleaming o'er the cliff
First greets the homeward-veering skiff
High o'er the land he saved in vain;
When shall such Hero live again?

Fair clime! where every season smiles
Benignant o'er those blesséd isles,
Which, seen from far Colonna's height,
Make glad the heart that hails the sight,
And lend to lonliness delight.
There mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek
Reflects the tints of many a peak
Caught by the laughing tides that lave
These Edens of the Eastern wave:
And if at times a transient breeze
Break the blue crystal of the seas,
Or sweep one blossom from the trees,
How welcome is each gentle air
That waves and wafts the odours there!
For there the Rose, o'er crag or vale,
Sultana of the Nightingale,

The maid for whom his melody,
His thousand songs are heard on high,
Blooms blushing to her lover's tale:
His queen, the garden queen, his Rose,
Unbent by winds, unchilled by snows,
Far from winters of the west,
By every breeze and season blest,
Returns the sweets by Nature given
In soft incense back to Heaven;
And gratefu yields that smiling sky
Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh.
And many a summer flower is there,
And many a shade that Love might share,
And many a grotto, meant by rest,
That holds the pirate for a guest;
Whose bark in sheltering cove below
Lurks for the pasiing peaceful prow,
Till the gay mariner's guitar
Is heard, and seen the Evening Star;

Then stealing with the muffled oar,
Far shaded by the rocky shore,
Rush the night-prowlers on the prey,
And turns to groan his roudelay.
Strande—that where Nature loved to trace,
As if for Gods, a dwelling place,

[...] Read more

poem by Byron (1813)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Giaour: A Fragment Of A Turkish Tale

No breath of air to break the wave
That rolls below the Athenian's grave,
That tomb which, gleaming o'er the cliff
First greets the homeward-veering skiff
High o'er the land he saved in vain;
When shall such Hero live again?

Fair clime! where every season smiles
Benignant o'er those blesséd isles,
Which, seen from far Colonna's height,
Make glad the heart that hails the sight,
And lend to lonliness delight.
There mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek
Reflects the tints of many a peak
Caught by the laughing tides that lave
These Edens of the Eastern wave:
And if at times a transient breeze
Break the blue crystal of the seas,
Or sweep one blossom from the trees,
How welcome is each gentle air
That waves and wafts the odours there!
For there the Rose, o'er crag or vale,
Sultana of the Nightingale,

The maid for whom his melody,
His thousand songs are heard on high,
Blooms blushing to her lover's tale:
His queen, the garden queen, his Rose,
Unbent by winds, unchilled by snows,
Far from winters of the west,
By every breeze and season blest,
Returns the sweets by Nature given
In soft incense back to Heaven;
And gratefu yields that smiling sky
Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh.
And many a summer flower is there,
And many a shade that Love might share,
And many a grotto, meant by rest,
That holds the pirate for a guest;
Whose bark in sheltering cove below
Lurks for the pasiing peaceful prow,
Till the gay mariner's guitar
Is heard, and seen the Evening Star;
Then stealing with the muffled oar,
Far shaded by the rocky shore,
Rush the night-prowlers on the prey,
And turns to groan his roudelay.
Strande-that where Nature loved to trace,
As if for Gods, a dwelling place,
And every charm and grace hath mixed

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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When The World Ends

When the world ends
Collect your things
Youre coming with me
When the world ends
You tuckle up yourself with me
Watch it as the stars disappear to nothing
The day the world is over
Well be lying in bed
Im gonna rock you like a baby when the cities fall
We will rise as the buildings crumble
Float there and watch it all
Amidst the burning, well be churning
You know, love will be our wings
The passion rises up from the ashes
When the world ends
When the world ends
Youre gonna come with me
Were going to be crazy
Like a river bends
Were going to float
Through the criss cross of the mountains
Watch them fade to nothing
When the world ends
You know thats whats happening now
Im going to be there with you somehow, oh...
Im going to tie you up like a baby in a carriage car
Your legs wont work cause you want me so
You just lie spread to the wall
The love you got is surely
All the love that I would ever need
Im going to take you by my side
And love you tall, til the world ends
Oh, but dont you worry about a thing
No, cause I got you here with me
Dont you worry about a
Just you and me
Floating through the empty, empty
Just you and me
Oh, graces
Oh, grace
Oh, when the world ends
Well be burning one
When the world ends
Well be sweet makin love
Oh, you know when the world ends
Im going to take you aside and say
Lets watch it fade away, fade away
And the worlds done
Ours just begun
Its done

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song performed by Dave Matthews Band
Added by Lucian Velea
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Canto the Second

I
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,
I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,
It mends their morals, never mind the pain:
The best of mothers and of educations
In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain,
Since, in a way that's rather of the oddest, he
Became divested of his native modesty.

II
Had he but been placed at a public school,
In the third form, or even in the fourth,
His daily task had kept his fancy cool,
At least, had he been nurtured in the north;
Spain may prove an exception to the rule,
But then exceptions always prove its worth -—
A lad of sixteen causing a divorce
Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.

III
I can't say that it puzzles me at all,
If all things be consider'd: first, there was
His lady-mother, mathematical,
A—never mind; his tutor, an old ass;
A pretty woman (that's quite natural,
Or else the thing had hardly come to pass);
A husband rather old, not much in unity
With his young wife—a time, and opportunity.

IV
Well—well, the world must turn upon its axis,
And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,
And live and die, make love and pay our taxes,
And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails;
The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us,
The priest instructs, and so our life exhales,
A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame,
Fighting, devotion, dust,—perhaps a name.

V
I said that Juan had been sent to Cadiz -—
A pretty town, I recollect it well -—
'T is there the mart of the colonial trade is
(Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel),
And such sweet girls—I mean, such graceful ladies,
Their very walk would make your bosom swell;
I can't describe it, though so much it strike,
Nor liken it—I never saw the like:

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poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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