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It is tedious to tell again tales already plainly told.

Homer in The Odyssey
Added by Lucian Velea
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For Me You Are…………

Building the wall of confidence, all around my ribs
Inspiring, when am alone, even in noise
Showing me, the fairy way, when I get confused
Hauling me from, those atrocious affairs, that matters
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
Pursuing illusion, enlightening my life
Reaching, as a shadow at the time of tide
Intimacy, in the dream that comes into my mind
Yielding smile at my labor, creating zeal at my failure
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
At every insult and every admire
Youth mind, mine even if retires
Occupying for me, the seat of mentor
Uprooting all solitary despairs
Aspiring not to be worry, else to fear
Reinforcing skeleton by self-esteem of yours
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
Enriching my each moment, being even so bare
Animating my life, that anyone can't imagine
Nursing me, to special from alone
Grasping me in the midst of up and down
Enlivening those deadly postures of dreams
Lightening by a heavy power as thunderstorm
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Under my heart to hide.)
Forgiving me for each-every mistakes done
Organizing such beautiful ceremonies
Rearranging me, trying to make me genuine
My life you are, I can't remain alone
Eagerly, have awaited for you, oh my feminine!
(Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life
Unable to be mute and those unspoken tales
Now, am feeling proud, to have you like a friend in my life

[...] Read more

poem by Nibedit Nahak
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Horatius

A Lay Made About the Year Of The City CCCLX

I

Lars Porsena of Closium
By the Nine Gods he swore
That the great house of Tarquin
Should suffer wrong no more.
By the Nine Gods he swore it,
And named a trysting day,
And bade his messengers ride forth,
East and west and south and north,
To summon his array.

II

East and west and south and north
The messengers ride fast,
And tower and town and cottage
Have heard the trumpet's blast.
Shame on the false Etruscan
Who lingers in his home,
When Porsena of Clusium
Is on the march for Rome.

III

The horsemen and the footmen
Are pouring in amain
From many a stately market-place,
From many a fruitful plain,
From many a lonely hamlet,
Which, hid by beech and pine,
Like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest
Of purple Apennine;

IV

From lordly Volaterræ,
Where scowls the far-famed hold
Piled by the hands of giants
For godlike kings of old;
From seagirt Populonia,
Whose sentinels descry
Sardinia's snowy mountain-tops
Fringing the southern sky;

V

From the proud mart of Pisæ,

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Babbington Macaulay
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I Thought I Told You That (feat. Faith Evans)

Theres a boy that Im into, hes so fly, so cute
I dreamt of, him every night, he had me, on cloud nine
Thought I could trust him, why?, he said to me when I needed him
He was there for me, then I found out he did the same
For every girl, with a pretty face
I just wanted to believe that
He was so innocent, so sweet
He did everything for me and
People told me all along, he was wrong
But I was so naive
Dont let him do to you what he did to me
Thought I told you that, he would break your heart
He was no good for you, from the start
Thought I told you that, he had another girl
Youre not the only woman in his world
Thought I told you that, he would make you cry
I dont see how you believe his lie
Thought I told you that, I hate to say that I told you so
Take it from me, you better leave him alone
He played me the whole time, thats why Im warning you
Im not the jealous type
cause Ive already been there done that
And nothing that he says will make me want him back
It does matter what he sends me
A dozen flowers or a diamond thats bling bling
Its all good but Im not the one to be staying home while hes having fun
I just wanted to believe that
He was so innocent, so sweet
He did everything for me and
People told me all along, he was wrong
But I was so naive
Dont let him do to you what he did to me
Thought I told you that, he would break your heart
He was no good for you, from the start
Thought I told you that, he had another girl
Youre not the only woman in his world
Thought i told you that, he would make you cry
I dont see how you believe his lie
Thought I told you that, I hate to say that I told you so
Take it from me, you better leave him alone
Girlfriend, Im just trying to make you see
That its not about you, its not about me
You cant let him get the best of you this way
You gotta love yourself and just walk away
Thought I told you that, he would break your heart
He was no good for you, from the start
Thought I told you that, he had another girl
Youre not the only woman in his world
Thought I told you that, he would make you cry
I dont see how you believe his lie

[...] Read more

song performed by Anastacia
Added by Lucian Velea
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VII. Pompilia

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

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

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

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Should Have Never Told Me

You should have never told me
That you love me
You should have never told me, told me, told me
That you care
Ever since that day I saw your lovely face
You were on my mind
I knew that one day I would make you love me
It was just a matter of time
Every night and every day, girl
Im thinking of you
Girl, I cant believe youre mine
Way you kiss, youre right on time
Should have never told me
That you love me
You should have never told me, told me, told me
That you care
If by chance I owned the whole world
Id give it to you
All Im trying to say
Love you through and through
Girl, lets stay together for life
cause you are my sugar and spice
Should have never told me
That you love me
You should have never told me, told me, told me
That you care
Naw, baby
Oh, baby
Should have never told me
That you love me
Should have never told me, told me, told me
That you care
Should have never told me
That you love me
Should have never told me, told me, told me
That you care
Should have never told me
That you love me

song performed by New Edition
Added by Lucian Velea
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Should Never Have Told Me

You should have never told me
That you love me
You should have never told me, told me, told me
That you care
Ever since that day I saw your lovely face
You were on my mind
I knew that one day I would make you love me
It was just a matter of time
Every night and every day, girl
Im thinking of you
Girl, I cant believe youre mine
Way you kiss, youre right on time
Should have never told me
That you love me
You should have never told me, told me, told me
That you care
If by chance I owned the whole world
Id give it to you
All im trying to say
Love you through and through
Girl, lets stay together for life
cause you are my sugar and spice
Should have never told me
That you love me
You should have never told me, told me, told me
That you care
Naw, baby
Oh, baby
Should have never told me
That you love me
Should have never told me, told me, told me
That you care
Should have never told me
That you love me
Should have never told me, told me, told me
That you care
Should have never told me
That you love me

song performed by New Edition
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Wanna Hear It From Your Lips

(eric carmen/dean pitchford)
I hear it from my friends
I hear it on the street
I hear it in the air, here and there, everywhere
And from everyone I meet
And every time I hear you love me
Ooh, my heart skips
But I wanna hear it from your lips
(you never told me, ooh, you never told me)
I wanna hear it from your lips
(you never told me, ooh)
I hear it in my car
I hear it on the phone
I hear it in a crowd, nice and loud, completely now
I hear it when Im all alone
And every time I hear you love me
Ooh, my heart skips
But I wanna hear it from your lips
(you never told me, ooh, you never told me)
I wanna hear it from your lips
(you never told me, ooh)
Everybodys been told, and the whole world knows
Just how good our love is gonna be
But ooh-ee (ooh-ee), baby (baby)
You never told me
You never told me
I see it in your eyes
I feel it in your touch
You even found a way you can say all you mean
But you never say too much
And if youd only say you love me
Ooh, my heartll flip
And I wanna hear it from your lips
(you never told me, ooh, you never told me)
I got to hear it from your lips
(you never told me, ooh you never told me)
Baby, baby, I got to have it from your lips
(you never told me, ooh, you never told me)
I wanna hear it from your lips
(you never told me, ooh, you never told me)
I wanna hear it from your lips
(you never told me, ooh, you never told me)
I wanna hear it from your lips

song performed by Eric Carmen
Added by Lucian Velea
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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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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Mama Told Me Not To Come

Want some whiskey in your water?
Sugar in your tea?
Whats all these crazy questions theyre askin me?
This is the craziest party that could ever be
Dont turn on the lights cause I dont wanna see
Mama told me not to come
Mama told me not to come
She said that aint the way to have fun, son
That aint the way to have fun, son
Open up the window, let some air into this room
I think mommas chocking from the smell of stale perfume
And the cigarette youre smoking about to scare me half to death
Open up the window, let me catch my breath
Some radio is blastin
Someones knockin at the door
Im lookin at my girlfriend
She just passed out on the floor
Ive seen so many things
I aint never seen before
Dont know what it is
I dont wanna see no more
Mama told me not to come
Mama told me not to come (mama told me)
She said that aint the way to have fun, no (no, no)
That aint the way to have fun, son
Mama told me, mama told me
Mana told me, mama told me
Mama told me not to come (mama told me not to come)
That aint the way to have fun, son
That aint the way to have fun, son
That aint the way to have fun, no, son
That aint the way to have fun, son (mama told me)
Mama told me, mama told me
Mama told me, mama told me
Mama told me not to come (mama told me not to come)
That aint the way to have fun, son
That aint the way to have fun, son
That aint the way to have fun (oh no, no)...

song performed by Tom Jones
Added by Lucian Velea
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Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl

To the Memory of the Household It Describes
This Poem is Dedicated by the Author:

"As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good Spirits,which be Angels of Light, are augmented not only by the Divine lightof the Sun, but also by our common Wood Fire: and as the CelestialFire drives away dark spirits, so also this our Fire of Wood doth thesame." -- Cor. Agrippa, Occult Philosophy,

Book I.ch. v.

"Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of Storm." EMERSON, The Snow Storm.

The sun that brief December day
Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.
Slow tracing down the thickening sky
Its mute and ominous prophecy,
A portent seeming less than threat,
It sank from sight before it set.
A chill no coat, however stout,
Of homespun stuff could quite shut out,
A hard, dull bitterness of cold,
That checked, mid-vein, the circling race
Of life-blood in the sharpened face,
The coming of the snow-storm told.
The wind blew east; we heard the roar
Of Ocean on his wintry shore,
And felt the strong pulse throbbing there
Beat with low rhythm our inland air.

Meanwhile we did our nightly chores, --
Brought in the wood from out of doors,
Littered the stalls, and from the mows
Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows;
Heard the horse whinnying for his corn;
And, sharply clashing horn on horn,
Impatient down the stanchion rows
The cattle shake their walnut bows;
While, peering from his early perch
Upon the scaffold's pole of birch,
The cock his crested helmet bent

[...] Read more

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Eighth Book

ONE eve it happened when I sate alone,
Alone upon the terrace of my tower,
A book upon my knees, to counterfeit
The reading that I never read at all,
While Marian, in the garden down below,
Knelt by the fountain (I could just hear thrill
The drowsy silence of the exhausted day)
And peeled a new fig from that purple heap
In the grass beside her,–turning out the red
To feed her eager child, who sucked at it
With vehement lips across a gap of air
As he stood opposite, face and curls a-flame
With that last sun-ray, crying, 'give me, give,'
And stamping with imperious baby-feet,
(We're all born princes)–something startled me,–
The laugh of sad and innocent souls, that breaks
Abruptly, as if frightened at itself;
'Twas Marian laughed. I saw her glance above
In sudden shame that I should hear her laugh,
And straightway dropped my eyes upon my book,
And knew, the first time, 'twas Boccaccio's tales,
The Falcon's,–of the lover who for love
Destroyed the best that loved him. Some of us
Do it still, and then we sit and laugh no more.
Laugh you, sweet Marian! you've the right to laugh,
Since God himself is for you, and a child!
For me there's somewhat less,–and so, I sigh.

The heavens were making room to hold the night,
The sevenfold heavens unfolding all their gates
To let the stars out slowly (prophesied
In close-approaching advent, not discerned),
While still the cue-owls from the cypresses
Of the Poggio called and counted every pulse
Of the skyey palpitation. Gradually
The purple and transparent shadows slow
Had filled up the whole valley to the brim,
And flooded all the city, which you saw
As some drowned city in some enchanted sea,
Cut off from nature,–drawing you who gaze,
With passionate desire, to leap and plunge,
And find a sea-king with a voice of waves,
And treacherous soft eyes, and slippery locks
You cannot kiss but you shall bring away
Their salt upon your lips. The duomo-bell
Strikes ten, as if it struck ten fathoms down,
So deep; and fifty churches answer it
The same, with fifty various instances.
Some gaslights tremble along squares and streets
The Pitti's palace-front is drawn in fire:

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
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A Last Confession

Our Lombard country-girls along the coast
Wear daggers in their garters: for they know
That they might hate another girl to death
Or meet a German lover. Such a knife
I bought her, with a hilt of horn and pearl.
Father, you cannot know of all my thoughts
That day in going to meet her,—that last day
For the last time, she said;—of all the love
And all the hopeless hope that she might change
And go back with me. Ah! and everywhere,
At places we both knew along the road,
Some fresh shape of herself as once she was
Grew present at my side; until it seemed—
So close they gathered round me—they would all
Be with me when I reached the spot at last,
To plead my cause with her against herself
So changed. O Father, if you knew all this
You cannot know, then you would know too, Father,
And only then, if God can pardon me.
What can be told I'll tell, if you will hear.
I passed a village-fair upon my road,
And thought, being empty-handed, I would take
Some little present: such might prove, I said,
Either a pledge between us, or (God help me!)
A parting gift. And there it was I bought
The knife I spoke of, such as women wear.
That day, some three hours afterwards, I found
For certain, it must be a parting gift.
And, standing silent now at last, I looked
Into her scornful face; and heard the sea
Still trying hard to din into my ears
Some speech it knew which still might change her heart,
If only it could make me understand.
One moment thus. Another, and her face
Seemed further off than the last line of sea,
So that I thought, if now she were to speak
I could not hear her. Then again I knew
All, as we stood together on the sand
At Iglio, in the first thin shade o' the hills.
“Take it,” I said, and held it out to her,
While the hilt glanced within my trembling hold;
“Take it and keep it for my sake,” I said.
Her neck unbent not, neither did her eyes
Move, nor her foot left beating of the sand;
Only she put it by from her and laughed.
Father, you hear my speech and not her laugh;
But God heard that. Will God remember all?
It was another laugh than the sweet sound
Which rose from her sweet childish heart, that day
Eleven years before, when first I found her

[...] Read more

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Legend of Mirth

The Four Archangels, so the legends tell,
Raphael, Gabriel, Michael, Azrael,
Being first of those to whom the Power was shown
Stood first of all the Host before The Throne,
And, when the Charges were allotted, burst
Tumultuous-winged from out the assembly first.
Zeal was their spur that bade them strictly heed
Their own high judgment on their lightest deed.
Zeal was their spur that, when relief was given,
Urged them unwearied to new toils in Heaven;
For Honour's sake perfecting every task
Beyond what e 'en Perfection's self could ask. . .
And Allah, Who created Zeal and Pride,
Knows how the twain are perilous-near allied.

It chanced on one of Heaven's long-lighted days,
The Four and all the Host being gone their ways
Each to his Charge, the shining Courts were void
Save for one Seraph whom no charge employed,
With folden wings and slumber-threatened brow,
To whom The Word: "Beloved, what dost thou?"
"By the Permission," came the answer soft,
Little I do nor do that little oft.
As is The Will in Heaven so on Earth
Where by The Will I strive to make men mirth"
He ceased and sped, hearing The Word once more:
" Beloved, go thy way and greet the Four."

Systems and Universes overpast,
The Seraph came upon the Four, at last,
Guiding and guarding with devoted mind
The tedious generations of mankind
Who lent at most unwilling ear and eye
When they could not escape the ministry. . . .
Yet, patient, faithful, firm, persistent, just
Toward all that gross, indifferent, facile dust,
The Archangels laboured to discharge their trust
By precept and example, prayer and law,
Advice, reproof, and rule, but, labouring, saw
Each in his fellows' countenance confessed,
The Doubt that sickens: "Have I done my best?"

Even as they sighed and turned to toil anew,
The Seraph hailed them with observance due;
And, after some fit talk of higher things,
Touched tentative on mundane happenings.
This they permitting, he, emboldened thus,
Prolused of humankind promiscuous,
And, since the large contention less avails

[...] Read more

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Only You

[puff daddy]
I thought i told you that we won't stop,
I thought i told you that we won't stop,
I thought i told you that we won't stop,
I thought i told you that we won't stop,
Eh eh, eh eh,
I thought i told you that we won't stop,
I thought i told you that we won't stop,
Eh eh, eh eh,
I thought i told you that we won't stop,
I thought i told you that we won't stop,
Check it out...
[notorious b.i.g]
Je-sus the notorious just,
Please us with your lyrical thesis,
We just chillin,
Milk'em top billin,
Silk'em and pure linen,
Me and little cease,
Malibu sea breeze,
Dom p's,
Palm trees,
Cats lay in pablo,
In milked out diablos,
The williest,
Bitches be the silliest,
The more i smoke,
The smaller the phillie gets,
Room 112 where the players dwell,
To stash more cash than burn and hale,
Inhale,
Make you feel good like tony toni tone (feels good),
Dig up in your middle like monie (yeah),
Don't know me,
But your settin up to blow me,
Try to style,
Fly up north with a homie (yes),
It's style is dondatta,
Playas stay splurgin',
Game so tight,
They call it virgin...
[112]
Oh i need to know,
Where we stand,
Do we share this special thing called love,
I know i do,
What about you,
I just can't get enough of the time...
I need you in my life,
Where do we go,

[...] Read more

song performed by 112
Added by Lucian Velea
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Only You (feat. 112)

[Puff Daddy]
I thought I told you that we won't stop
I thought I told you that we won't stop
I thought I told you that we won't stop
I thought I told you that we won't stop
Eh eh, eh eh
I thought I told you that we won't stop
I thought I told you that we won't stop
eh eh, eh eh
I thought I told you that we won't stop
I thought I told you that we won't stop
Check it out
[Notorious B.I.G.]
Je-sus the notorious just
Please us with your lyrical thesis
We just chillin milk em top billin
Silk and pure linen, me and little Ceas
Malibu sea breeze, Dom P's, palm trees,
Cats lay low like Paublo in milked out diablos
The Williest, bitches be the silliest
The more I smoke, the smaller the phillie gets
Room 112 where the players dwell
To stash more cash than Burn and Hale
Inhale make you feel godd like Tony Toni Tone (feels good)
dig up in your middle like Monie (yeah)
Don't know but your settin up to blow me
Try to style, Fly up north with a homey (Yes)
It's style is dondatta
Playas stay splurgin' game so tight they call it virgin
[112]
Oh I need to know where we stand
Do we share this special thing called love
I know I do, what about you
I just can't get enough of the time
I need you in my life
Where do we go
What do I do
I can't live without your love
Thinkin' of you, makes me feel
Like I am the only one for you
Girl I want to be with you
No one else, only you
Why can't we just make it happen
Baby, I need you in my life
Every time I'm with you
Never want it to come to an end
(thought I told you that we won't stop)
You always make me so happy
You'll always have a place in my heart
I need you in my life

[...] Read more

song performed by Notorious B.I.G.
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Victories Of Love. Book I

I
From Frederick Graham

Mother, I smile at your alarms!
I own, indeed, my Cousin's charms,
But, like all nursery maladies,
Love is not badly taken twice.
Have you forgotten Charlotte Hayes,
My playmate in the pleasant days
At Knatchley, and her sister, Anne,
The twins, so made on the same plan,
That one wore blue, the other white,
To mark them to their father's sight;
And how, at Knatchley harvesting,
You bade me kiss her in the ring,
Like Anne and all the others? You,
That never of my sickness knew,
Will laugh, yet had I the disease,
And gravely, if the signs are these:

As, ere the Spring has any power,
The almond branch all turns to flower,
Though not a leaf is out, so she
The bloom of life provoked in me;
And, hard till then and selfish, I
Was thenceforth nought but sanctity
And service: life was mere delight
In being wholly good and right,
As she was; just, without a slur;
Honouring myself no less than her;
Obeying, in the loneliest place,
Ev'n to the slightest gesture, grace
Assured that one so fair, so true,
He only served that was so too.
For me, hence weak towards the weak,
No more the unnested blackbird's shriek
Startled the light-leaved wood; on high
Wander'd the gadding butterfly,
Unscared by my flung cap; the bee,
Rifling the hollyhock in glee,
Was no more trapp'd with his own flower,
And for his honey slain. Her power,
From great things even to the grass
Through which the unfenced footways pass,
Was law, and that which keeps the law,
Cherubic gaiety and awe;
Day was her doing, and the lark
Had reason for his song; the dark
In anagram innumerous spelt
Her name with stars that throbb'd and felt;

[...] Read more

poem by Coventry Patmore
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Broken Fairy Tales

Heres a little story that I made up
So let's play make believe
In my castle on the cliff
I look out to sea

I just wanna have some fun
I just wanns have a good time
My party is nothing special
I just can't seem to realize

In my little fairy tale book
That's where my dreams wait for me
In my little own world
My prince waits for me

Broken dreams and fairy tales
One of those things I know so well
My fantasy dreams aren't real anymore
They're just Broken Fairy Tales

The wicked witch dreams in her sleep
She is making green elephants for tea
She cackles and cries
The witch is alive and she's ready for the sun

A white horse rides the waves
His mane is silver and snow
The moon which rides
Along the great tides
Is living his life to the full

In my little fairy tale book
That's where my dreams wait for me
In my little own world
My prince waits for me

Broken dreams and fairy tales
One of those things I know so well
My fantasy dreams aren't real anymore
They're just Broken Fairy Tales

Walking through my winter wonderland
The pine tree's sway, glistened with snow
As we walk along, we hear Santa say
'Welcome to the book of Broken Fairy Tales.'

Broken dreams and fairy tales
One of those things I know so well
My fantasy dreams aren't real anymore
They're just Broken Fairy Tales

[...] Read more

poem by AnneMarie Hewlett
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Tale XVII

RESENTMENT.

Females there are of unsuspicious mind,
Easy and soft and credulous and kind;
Who, when offended for the twentieth time,
Will hear the offender and forgive the crime:
And there are others whom, like these to cheat,
Asks but the humblest efforts of deceit;
But they, once injured, feel a strong disdain,
And, seldom pardoning, never trust again;
Urged by religion, they forgive--but yet
Guard the warm heart, and never more forget:
Those are like wax--apply them to the fire,
Melting, they take th' impressions you desire;
Easy to mould and fashion as you please,
And again moulded with an equal ease:
Like smelted iron these the forms retain,
But once impress'd, will never melt again.
A busy port a serious Merchant made
His chosen place to recommence his trade;
And brought his Lady, who, their children dead,
Their native seat of recent sorrow fled:
The husband duly on the quay was seen,
The wife at home became at length serene;
There in short time the social couple grew
With all acquainted, friendly with a few;
When the good lady, by disease assail'd,
In vain resisted--hope and science fail'd:
Then spoke the female friends, by pity led,
'Poor merchant Paul! what think ye? will he wed?
A quiet, easy, kind, religious man,
Thus can he rest?--I wonder if he can.'
He too, as grief subsided in his mind,
Gave place to notions of congenial kind:
Grave was the man, as we have told before;
His years were forty--he might pass for more;
Composed his features were, his stature low,
His air important, and his motion slow:
His dress became him, it was neat and plain,
The colour purple, and without a stain;
His words were few, and special was his care
In simplest terms his purpose to declare;
A man more civil, sober, and discreet,
More grave and corteous, you could seldom meet:
Though frugal he, yet sumptuous was his board,
As if to prove how much he could afford;
For though reserved himself, he loved to see
His table plenteous, and his neighbours free:
Among these friends he sat in solemn style,
And rarely soften'd to a sober smile:

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poem by George Crabbe
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