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When You Solicit My Opinion

When you solicit my opinion...
Do not become surprised,
If I do not respond!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Clarion Call

O! My Motherland,
Respond! Speak!
Why are you so down cast?
Why have your beats of heart become still?
Why is your fate bound with negritude?
Why does silence prevails on your lips?
Where are the guardians of motherland?
Why are your cities so plight ridden?
O! My Motherland,
Respond! Speak!

Somewhere glimmer all lamps,
Somewhere dance enchanting scenes,
Somewhere toss starving children,
Somewhere wheezes miserable life,
Why is it difficult to enkindle the lamps?
This is the dilemma of my motherland
O! My Motherland,
Respond! Speak!

Why are illuminated their houses?
Why are dark our dwellings?
In front of them the Life dances,
And our fate is inscribed with adorations,
Who has devised all these divisions?
Who has enmeshed us all?
O! My Motherland,
Respond! Speak!

Death dances all around,
Life is enfolded with smokes,
Somewhere toss the injured human beings,
Somewhere lie dead-bodies coffinless,
Where are the sentinels of peace?
Why has decay overshadowed the garden?
O! My Motherland,
Respond! Speak!

We shall have to up lift the eyes,
We shall have to enkindle the extinguished lamps,
We shall have to wipe out contents hatred,
We shall have to revitalize this garden,
We shall have to hold up the flag of righteousness,
This is the last part of all oppressions.
O! My Motherland,
Respond! Speak!

The heads will never stoop henceforth
Tough they are cut off,
Those who are on the way will never stop,

[...] Read more

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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When You Are Not Surprised

When you are not surprised, not surprised,
nor leap in imagination from sunlight into shadow
or from shadow into sunlight
suiting the color of fright or delight
to the bewildering circumstance
when you are no longer surprised
by the quiet or fury of daybreak
the stormy uprush of the sun’s rage
over the edges of torn trees
torrents of living and dying flung
upward and outward inward and downward to space
or else
peace peace peace peace
the wood-thrush speaking his holy holy
far hidden in the forest of the mind
while slowly
the limbs of light unwind
and the world’s surface dreams again of night
as the center dreams of light
when you are not surprised
by breath and breath and breath
the first unconscious morning breath
the tap of the bird’s beak on the pane
and do not cry out come again
blest blest that you are come again
o light o sound o voice of bird o light
and memory too o memory blest
and curst with the debts of yesterday
that would not stay, or stay

when you are not surprised
by death and death and death
death of the bee in the daffodil
death of color in the child’s cheek
on the young mother’s breast
death of sense of touch of sight
death of delight
and the inward death the inward turning night
when the heart hardens itself with hate and indifference
for hated self and beloved not-self
when you are not surprised
by wheel’s turn or turn of season
the winged and orbed chariot tilt of time
the halcyon pause, the blue caesura of spring
and solar rhyme
woven into the divinely remembered nest
by the dark-eyed love in the oriole’s breast
and the tides of space that ring the heart
while still, while still, the wave of the invisible world

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Mr. Grieves

Hope everything is alright hope everything is alright
What's that floating in the water
Oh neptune's only daughter
I believe
In mr. grieves
Pray for a man in the middle
One that talks like doolittle
I believe
In mr. grieves
Do you have another opinion
Do you have another opinion
La la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la
Got bombed got frozen
Got finally off to a finally dozing
I believe
In mr. grieves
Do you have another opinion
Opinion
Do you have another opinion
Do you have another opinion
You can cry you can mope
But can you swing from a good rope
Oh i believe
In mr. grieves
Hope everything is alright
Hope everything is alright

song performed by Pixies
Added by Lucian Velea
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Part Of Life, That is

Few get to sit in the midst of it.
Part of life that is.
With the giving of opinion and the giving of lip.
Part of life that is.
Few get to sit in the midst of it.
Part of life that is.
With the giving of opinion and the giving of lip.
Part of life that is.

Stuck with sticking emotions felt in my gut...
Unable to abandon them.
Or give them up...
Had been a place I'd been,
Back then.
With no one but myself...
And faith,
To help me slowly break away...
Of a hold I had on them to mend.

Few get to sit in the midst of it.
Part of life that is.
With the giving of opinion and the giving of lip.
Part of life that is.

I have learned to feel grief deeply,
Where it is felt.
Let it visit.
And then from it to leave!
Not to forget the process...
But to breathe!

Remembering...
With an agony upon my letting go,
Knowing what I felt was painful...
It was also,
Part of life!

A part of life,
That is!

Few get to sit in the midst of it.
Part of life that is.
With the giving of opinion and the giving of lip.
Part of life that is.
Few get to sit in the midst of it.
Part of life that is.
With the giving of opinion and the giving of lip.
Part of life that is.

Few get to sit in the midst of it.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ch 01 Manner of Kings Story 31

The veziers of Nushirvan happened to discuss an important affair of state, each giving his opinion according to his knowledge. The king likewise gave his opinion and Barzachumihr concurred with it. Afterwards the veziers secretly asked him: "What superiority hast thou discovered in the opinion of the king above so many other reflections of wise men?" The philosopher replied: "Since the termination of the affair is unknown and it depends upon the will of God whether the opinion of the others will turn out right or wrong, it was better to agree with the opinion of the king so that, if it should turn out to have been wrong, we may, on account of having followed it, remain free from blame."

To proffer an opinion contrary to the king’s
Means to wash the hands in one’s own blood.
Should he in plain day say it is night,
It is meet to shout: "Lo, the moon and the pleiads!"

poem by Sa di
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Let Go Of Those Woes You Hold

If you can't see it.
You've been too distant,
From love.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

And if you can't feel it...
It isn't love you wish,
Or want to think of.

Let go of those woes you hold.

It's there to solicit.
Love.
You can't resist it.
Love.
To say you're not within its grip,
Is to admit you can't handle it.

If you can't see it.
You've been too distant,
From love.

It's there to solicit.
Love.
You can't resist it.
Love.
To say you're not within its grip,
Is to admit you can't handle it.

Let go of those woes you hold.
You've got to know love is powerful.

It's there to solicit.
Love.
You can't resist it.
Love.
To say you're not within its grip,
Is to admit you can't handle it.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

And if you can't feel it...
It isn't love you wish,
Or want to think of.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Opinions From Them Sent

Don't let that flight in sight needed to catch,
Miss you wishing for a ride...
To clear your eyes from others tripping.
As you are kept mesmerized,
Within their grip.

Don't be afraid to tell some people quickly...
To stay out of of your business.
Since that business that you're in...
Does not accept opinions given.

Don't let that flight in sight needed to catch,
Miss you wishing for a ride...
To clear your eyes from others tripping.
As you are kept mesmerized,
Within their grip.

People always give them...
Those opinions from them sent.
People always give them...
Those opinions from them sent.
People always give them...
Those opinions from them sent.
And loving this they do...
To solicit arguments.

People are fuss-budgets,
Stirring up conflicts to vent.

People always give them,
Those opinions from them sent.
People always give them,
Those opinions from them sent.
People always give them,
Those opinions from them sent.
And loving this they do,
To solicit arguments.

Don't let that flight in sight needed to catch,
Miss you wishing for a ride...
To clear your eyes from others tripping.
People are fuss-budgets,
Stirring up conflicts to vent.

And...
People always give them,
Those opinions from them sent.
People always give them,
Those opinions from them sent.
People always give them,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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Why Is My Heart Surprised?

for my dad, the quiet captain of life

Why is my heart surprised?
I can break gravity
Skipping that happy child dance
Then I remember that blue tag
Hanging from my windshield mirror...

Why is my heart surprised?
Walking hand and hand with my dad
Delighting in those wondrous aero-antics...
Then I recall that those Blue Angels
Gave way to flights on the Wings of Eagles...

Why is my heart surprised?
Walking together each afternoon
On those Castaway docks
A strawberried toddler reciting,
Hammerhead, Bull Dolphin, Weakfish, Grouper
Then I remember my Captain sold his vessels
No more are those rocking tuna towers
Seen from those Sandy Shores of Miami..
Farewell, Spindle beak, Farewell Noble Shark...

Why is my heart surprised?
Flying in that squirrelly little tail-dragger
No more Luscombe tales, no more Eastern Flights
No more shouting in that noisy sky...
Piper Cub two o'clock!
Then I remember Carcinoid
Grounded my dear pilot..

Why is my heart surprised?
Suddenly, my heart caught my mind..
Today I recall...sadly,
My head informed my heart
I am no longer skipping that happy child dance
Instead...suddenly my heart
Is turkey ~ necked, old and tired...
Farewell, dear captain, Farewell, dear daddy...

(May 3,2005 ~ Bell's Island, North Carolina)

poem by Debora Short
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What Makes You Happy

But dont worry, mom, I met him in a restaurant
And all this time Ive been getting to know him
Hes got an ex-wife in pasadena
And sometimes shes a mess to deal with
But mostly weve been living here uninjured
Theres a silence, and she says:
Listen here young lady
All that matter is what makes you happy
But you leave this house knowing my opinion
Wont make you love me if you dont care to.
But mom, Im sending you this photograph,
I swear this one is going to last
And all those other bastards were only practice
I feel the sun on my back
I smell the earth in my skin
I see the sky above me like a full recovery
Listen here young lady
All that matters is what makes you happy
But you leave this house knowing my opinion
Wont make you love me if you dont care.
Listen here young lady
All that matters is what makes you happy
But you leave this house knowing my opinion
Wont make a difference if youre not ready
Listen here young lady
All that matters is what makes you happy
But you leave this house knowing my opinion
Wont make you love me if you dont care.
Listen here young lady
All that matters is what makes you happy
But you leave this house knowing my opinion
Wont make you love me if you dont care.
Make you love me if you dont care

song performed by Liz Phair
Added by Lucian Velea
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Crazy Love, Vol. Ii

Fat charlie the archangel
Slped into the room
He said i have no opinion about this
And i have no opinion about that
Sad as a lonely little wrinkled balloon
He said well i don't claim to be happy about this, boys
And i don't seem to be happy about that
I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of your love
I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of your love
I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of your love
I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of this crazy love
She says she knows about jokes
This time the joke is on me
Well, i have no opinion about that
And i have no opinion about me
Somebody could walk into this room
And say your life is on fire
It's all over the evening news
All about the fire in your life
On the evening news
I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of your love
I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of your love
Fat charlie the archangel
Files for divorce
He says well this will eat up a year of my life
And then there's all that weight to be lost
She says the joke is on me
I say the joke is on her
I said i have no opinion about that
Well, we'll just have to wait and confer
I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of your love
I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of your love
I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of your love
I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of this crazy love

song performed by Paul Simon
Added by Lucian Velea
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Remonstrance.

'Opinion, let me alone: I am not thine.
Prim Creed, with categoric point, forbear
To feature me my Lord by rule and line.
Thou canst not measure Mistress Nature's hair,
Not one sweet inch: nay, if thy sight is sharp,
Would'st count the strings upon an angel's harp?
Forbear, forbear.

'Oh let me love my Lord more fathom deep
Than there is line to sound with: let me love
My fellow not as men that mandates keep:
Yea, all that's lovable, below, above,
That let me love by heart, by heart, because
(Free from the penal pressure of the laws)
I find it fair.

'The tears I weep by day and bitter night,
Opinion! for thy sole salt vintage fall.
-- As morn by morn I rise with fresh delight,
Time through my casement cheerily doth call
`Nature is new, 'tis birthday every day,
Come feast with me, let no man say me nay,
Whate'er befall.'

'So fare I forth to feast: I sit beside
Some brother bright: but, ere good-morrow's passed,
Burly Opinion wedging in hath cried
`Thou shalt not sit by us, to break thy fast,
Save to our Rubric thou subscribe and swear --
`Religion hath blue eyes and yellow hair:'
She's Saxon, all.'

'Then, hard a-hungered for my brother's grace
Till well-nigh fain to swear his folly's true,
In sad dissent I turn my longing face
To him that sits on the left: `Brother, -- with you?'
-- `Nay, not with me, save thou subscribe and swear
`Religion hath black eyes and raven hair:'
Nought else is true.'

'Debarred of banquets that my heart could make
With every man on every day of life,
I homeward turn, my fires of pain to slake
In deep endearments of a worshipped wife.
`I love thee well, dear Love,' quoth she, `and yet
Would that thy creed with mine completely met,
As one, not two.'

'Assassin! Thief! Opinion, 'tis thy work.
By Church, by throne, by hearth, by every good

[...] Read more

poem by Sidney Lanier
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Choice Of Tone and Arrogant Demeanor

Why is it,
People solicit to get opinions...
Then wish them to be edited,
To appease their expectatons.

And those who refuse to honor their requests
Are thought to be stand-offish...
With an angering of those that stir up protests,
Against someone who attempts not to get them upset.

And yet it does,
And they do...
By trying to protect their sensitivities.
But the depth of them had not been explored,
To make known.

Why is it,
People solicit to get opinions...
Then wish them to be edited,
To appease their expectatons?

And that one who 'is' direct,
With a giving of an opinion to suggest and recommend...
Is seldom left to leave them without being disrespected.
To anger those...
Yep!
You've guessed it.
By trying to protect their sensitivities.

'It wasn't what you said that offended.
It was your choice of tone and arrogant demeanor.
And we are not accustomed,
To anyone who disregards what we accept.'

~What do you prefer?
Deception? ~

'YES!
We thought to 'you' this would be obvious.
Aren't we charading with the best of our pretentions?
How are you ever going to be one of 'us'? '

~Uh...
I'm clueless.~

'And apparently raw, out of the box and not trained, either! '

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Solomon on the Vanity of the World, A Poem. In Three Books. - Pleasure. Book II.

The Argument

Solomon, again seeking happiness, inquires if wealth and greatness can produce it: begins with the magnificence of gardens and buildings; the luxury of music and feasting; and proceeds to the hopes and desires of love. In two episodes are shown the follies and troubles of that passion. Solomon, still disappointed, falls under the temptations of libertinism and idolatry; recovers his thought; reasons aright; and concludes that, as to the pursuit of pleasure and sensual delight, All Is Vanity and Vexation of Spirit.

Try then, O man, the moments to deceive
That from the womb attend thee to the grave:
For wearied Nature find some apter scheme;
Health be thy hope, and pleasure be thy theme;
From the perplexing and unequal ways
Where Study brings thee from the endless maze
Which Doubt persuades o run, forewarn'd, recede
To the gay field, and flowery path, that lead
To jocund mirth, soft joy, and careless ease:
Forsake what my instruct for what may please:
Essay amusing art and proud expense,
And make thy reason subject to thy sense.

I communed thus: the power of wealth I tried,
And all the various luxe of costly pride;
Artists and plans relieved my solemn hours:
I founded palaces and planted bowers,
Birds, fishes, beasts, of exotic kind
I to the limits of my court confined,
To trees transferr'd I gave a second birth,
And bade a foreign shade grace Judah's earth.
Fish-ponds were made where former forests grew
And hills were levell'd to extend the view.
Rivers, diverted from their native course,
And bound with chains of artificial force,
From large cascades in pleasing tumult roll'd,
Or rose through figured stone or breathing gold.
From furthest Africa's tormented womb
The marble brought, erects the spacious dome,
Or forms the pillars' long-extended rows,
On which the planted grove and pensile garden grows.

The workmen here obey the master's call,
To gild the turret and to paint the wall;
To mark the pavement there with various stone,
And on the jasper steps to rear the throne:
The spreading cedar, that an age had stood,
Supreme of trees, and mistress of the wood,
Cut down and carved, my shining roof adorns,
And Lebanon his ruin'd honour mourns.

A thousand artists show their cunning powers
To raise the wonders of the ivory towers:
A thousand maidens ply the purple loom

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Prior
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Sick & Tired

I feel it, there's tension inside of me
Pressure is presently pushing down on me
The first time it starts with just you and I'm
Repeating myself but you don't hear me
I can see what you see
But is it worth it to me?
The same old conversation
Over and over and over
I'm just sick and tired
Of all those lies you tell me
You say those same things to me
Over and over and over
It's safe to say you're surprised
I see right through you this time
But I keep telling you
It's over, it's over, it's over
You've taken these things that belong to me
Twisted so tightly and torn so carefully
The last time it ends with just you and I
Alone in a room with these torn bed sheets
I can see what you see
And it ain't worth it to me
The same old conversation
Over and over and over
I'm just sick and tired
Of all those lies you tell me
You say those same things to me
Over and over and over
It's safe to say you're surprised
I see right through you this time
But I keep telling you
It's over, it's over, it's over
You swore that I'd regret it
Now thanks to you I can't forget it
Cost of this constant battle
Won't even miss you at all
Free from those lies that you call...
I'm just sick and tired
Of all those lies you tell me
You say those same things to me
Over and over and over
It's safe to say you're surprised
I see right through you this time
But I keep telling you
It's over, it's over, It's over
I'm just sick and tired
Of all those lies you tell me
You say those same things to me
Over and over and over
It's safe to say you're surprised

[...] Read more

song performed by Default
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I Go Sailing

I took a worthless trip
Down lifes avenue
Just to try to find a way to smile again
While I was on my way
I met a wise man who said
That happiness you only find within
I learned my lesson then
So I go sailing
Through the rivers of my mind
I go sailing
Be surprised what you can find
I go sailing
Through the rivers of my mind
Take a chance on your mind
Be surprised what youll find
I took a friends advice
Who said go up and away
Take the magic of a mystery tour
But I felt so all alone
Though I could almost touch the stars
I started missing things I touched before
The tour was such a bore
So I go sailing
Through the rivers of my mind
I go sailing
Be surprised what you can find
I go sailing
Through the rivers of my mind
Take a chance on your mind
Be surprised what youll find
(repeat)

song performed by Stevie Wonder
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cézanne

The Irish lady can say, that to-day is every day. Caesar can say that
every day is to-day and they say that every day is as they say.
In this way we have a place to stay and he was not met because
he was settled to stay. When I said settled I meant settled to stay.
When I said settled to stay I meant settled to stay Saturday. In this
way a mouth is a mouth. In this way if in as a mouth if in as a
mouth where, if in as a mouth where and there. Believe they have
water too. Believe they have that water too and blue when you see
blue, is all blue precious too, is all that that is precious too is all
that and they meant to absolve you. In this way Cézanne nearly did
nearly in this way. Cézanne nearly did nearly did and nearly did.
And was I surprised. Was I very surprised. Was I surprised. I was
surprised and in that patient, are you patient when you find bees.
Bees in a garden make a specialty of honey and so does honey. Honey
and prayer. Honey and there. There where the grass can grow nearly
four times yearly.

poem by Gertrude Stein
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Canto the Third

I
Hail, Muse! et cetera.—We left Juan sleeping,
Pillow'd upon a fair and happy breast,
And watch'd by eyes that never yet knew weeping,
And loved by a young heart, too deeply blest
To feel the poison through her spirit creeping,
Or know who rested there, a foe to rest,
Had soil'd the current of her sinless years,
And turn'd her pure heart's purest blood to tears!

II
Oh, Love! what is it in this world of ours
Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah, why
With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers,
And made thy best interpreter a sigh?
As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers,
And place them on their breast—but place to die—
Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish
Are laid within our bosoms but to perish.

III
In her first passion woman loves her lover,
In all the others all she loves is love,
Which grows a habit she can ne'er get over,
And fits her loosely—like an easy glove,
As you may find, whene'er you like to prove her:
One man alone at first her heart can move;
She then prefers him in the plural number,
Not finding that the additions much encumber.

IV
I know not if the fault be men's or theirs;
But one thing's pretty sure; a woman planted
(Unless at once she plunge for life in prayers)
After a decent time must be gallanted;
Although, no doubt, her first of love affairs
Is that to which her heart is wholly granted;
Yet there are some, they say, who have had none,
But those who have ne'er end with only one.

V
'T is melancholy, and a fearful sign
Of human frailty, folly, also crime,
That love and marriage rarely can combine,
Although they both are born in the same clime;
Marriage from love, like vinegar from wine—
A sad, sour, sober beverage—by time
Is sharpen'd from its high celestial flavour
Down to a very homely household savour.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
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Don Juan: Canto The Third

Hail, Muse! et cetera.--We left Juan sleeping,
Pillow'd upon a fair and happy breast,
And watch'd by eyes that never yet knew weeping,
And loved by a young heart, too deeply blest
To feel the poison through her spirit creeping,
Or know who rested there, a foe to rest,
Had soil'd the current of her sinless years,
And turn'd her pure heart's purest blood to tears!

Oh, Love! what is it in this world of ours
Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah, why
With cypress branches hast thou Wreathed thy bowers,
And made thy best interpreter a sigh?
As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers,
And place them on their breast- but place to die-
Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish
Are laid within our bosoms but to perish.

In her first passion woman loves her lover,
In all the others all she loves is love,
Which grows a habit she can ne'er get over,
And fits her loosely- like an easy glove,
As you may find, whene'er you like to prove her:
One man alone at first her heart can move;
She then prefers him in the plural number,
Not finding that the additions much encumber.

I know not if the fault be men's or theirs;
But one thing 's pretty sure; a woman planted
(Unless at once she plunge for life in prayers)
After a decent time must be gallanted;
Although, no doubt, her first of love affairs
Is that to which her heart is wholly granted;
Yet there are some, they say, who have had none,
But those who have ne'er end with only one.

'T is melancholy, and a fearful sign
Of human frailty, folly, also crime,
That love and marriage rarely can combine,
Although they both are born in the same clime;
Marriage from love, like vinegar from wine-
A sad, sour, sober beverage- by time
Is sharpen'd from its high celestial flavour
Down to a very homely household savour.

There 's something of antipathy, as 't were,
Between their present and their future state;
A kind of flattery that 's hardly fair
Is used until the truth arrives too late-
Yet what can people do, except despair?

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poem by Byron
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Sigismond And Guiscardo. From Boccace

While Norman Tancred in Salerno reigned,
The title of a gracious Prince he gained;
Till turned a tyrant in his latter days,
He lost the lustre of his former praise,
And from the bright meridian where he stood
Descending dipped his hands in lovers' blood.

This Prince, of Fortune's favour long possessed,
Yet was with one fair daughter only blessed;
And blessed he might have been with her alone,
But oh! how much more happy had he none!
She was his care, his hope, and his delight,
Most in his thought, and ever in his sight:
Next, nay beyond his life, he held her dear;
She lived by him, and now he lived in her.
For this, when ripe for marriage, he delayed
Her nuptial bands, and kept her long a maid,
As envying any else should share a part
Of what was his, and claiming all her heart.
At length, as public decency required,
And all his vassals eagerly desired,
With mind averse, he rather underwent
His people's will than gave his own consent.
So was she torn, as from a lover's side,
And made, almost in his despite, a bride.

Short were her marriage joys; for in the prime
Of youth, her lord expired before his time;
And to her father's court in little space
Restored anew, she held a higher place;
More loved, and more exalted into grace.
This Princess, fresh and young, and fair and wise,
The worshipped idol of her father's eyes,
Did all her sex in every grace exceed,
And had more wit beside than women need.

Youth, health, and ease, and most an amorous mind,
To second nuptials had her thoughts inclined;
And former joys had left a secret string behind.
But, prodigal in every other grant,
Her sire left unsupplied her only want,
And she, betwixt her modesty and pride,
Her wishes, which she could not help, would hide.

Resolved at last to lose no longer time,
And yet to please her self without a crime,
She cast her eyes around the court, to find
A worthy subject suiting to her mind,
To him in holy nuptials to be tied,
A seeming widow, and a secret bride.

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poem by John Dryden
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