True Love Never Dies
True love never dies, true love never dies, true love never dies, true love
Never dies, true love never dies, true love never dies, true love never dies
We look like shadows in the streetlight, only me and u a secret rendevouz after
Midnight, they tried to keep us from each other, they crucify our love, say
Were not good enough to be lovers, I want to hold u in the morning, I want to
Wake up by your side, no reason to hide what were feelin, (give me your
Feelin!), I want to tell the world about it, tell them all the truth, get up on
The rooftops and shout it, true love never dies, true love never dies,true love
Never dies (repeat to fade)
song performed by Kylie Minogue
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Related quotes
Underneath The Streetlight
Yes I do--i love you!
I swear on the stars above I do!
I swear on the streetlight on the corner
Shoving back the shadows!
One shadow cursing
Another shadow laughing
Underneath the streetlight
I dont know where theyre coming from
I just see em passing
Underneath the streetlight . . .
Yes I do--i love you!
I swear on the buildings above I do!
I swear on a billion yellow and t.v. blue windows!
Gayboys with their pants so tight
Out in the neon light
Underneath the street light
A m- m- madman-madman
Kicking over garbage cans
Underneath the streetlight . . .
Yes I do--i love you!
I swear on the blinkin planes above I do!
I swear on the truck at the stoplight
With his airbrakes moaning!
All night the trucks roll
Up to the tunnel-toll
Underneath the streetlight
They come rollin, rollin
Rollin for a living
Underneath the streetlight . . .
Yes I do--i love you!
I swear on the disco sparkle dark I do!
I swear on the be-bop boys
Chasing the black bird
Rock n roll broadcast
Movin up now full blast
Underneath the streetlight
They come dancin, dancin
Really rock n rollin
Underneath the streetlight
Yes I do--i love you
I really love you
Yes I do--yes I do
I love you!
song performed by Joni Mitchell
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- quotes about life
The House Of Dust: Complete
I.
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
II.
[...] Read more
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Midnight Star
I was waiting in the express lane with my twelve items or less
At the checkout counter at the local grocery store
I was only passin by
But a paper caught my eye
And I learend a few things I mever knew before
It said your pet may be an extra terrestrial
It said the ghost of elvis is living in my den
You can learn to cope with stress
You can beat the irs
And the incredible frog boy is on the loose again
Oh, mignight star
Its in the weekly midnight star
Aliens from outer space are sleeping in my car
Midnight star, I wanna know, I wanna know
Eat jelly donuts and lose twenty pounds a day
Hear the story of the man born without a head
And top psychics all agree
That the telephone company
Will have a brand new service that lets you talk to the dead
Oh, midnight star
You can believe it if you read it in the weekly mignight star
Theyre keeping hitlers brain alive inside a jar
Midnight star, I wanna know, I wanna know
Tell me, tell me, tell me how to make my bust-line grow
Midnight star, I wanna know
Oh, midnight star
Well, dont you know that I read it, I read it in the weekly midnight star
The ufos have landed and well tell you where they are
Midnight star, I wanna know, I wanna know
Midnight star
Well, you can read all about in in the weekly midnight star
You can use you esp to learn to play guitar
Midnight star I wanna know, I wanna know
(ah, midnight star) I wanna know, I wanna know
(ah, midnight star) I wanna know, I wanna know
(ah, midnight star) I wanna know, I wanna know
(ah, midnight star) inquiring minds like mine wanna know
(you can read it {x5}, midnight star {x2}) (ah, midnight star) I wanna know, I wanna know
(you can read it {x5}, midnight star {x2}) (ah, midnight star) I wanna know, I wanna know
(you can read it {x5}, midnight star {x2}) (ah, midnight star) I wanna know, I wanna know
(you can read it {x5}, midnight star {x2}) (ah, midnight star) I wanna know, I wanna know
(you can read it {x5}, midnight star {x2}) (ah, midnight star) I wanna know, I wanna know
(you can read it {x5}, midnight star {x2}) (ah, midnight star) I wanna know, I wanna know
song performed by Weird Al Yankovic
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Working The Midnight Shift
Im just a working girl, just earning a living
When the citys waking up, Im going home
Working the midnight shift
While my friends are all out
Theyve all gone out dancing
Theyre out having fun
Working that midnight shift
For that extra little something
The things that are out of my reach
I need so bad
So bad, so bad
Seems like Im always leaving
When all the others arrive
My body still carries on
But Im dying inside
Working the midnight shift
While my friends are all out
Theyve all gone out dancing
Theyre out having fun
Working that midnight shift
For that extra little something
The things that are out of my reach
I need so bad
I need so bad, need so bad
Midnight shift, midnight shift
Midnight shift, midnight shift
Midnight shift, midnight shift
Im just a working girl
Just earning a living
When the citys waking up
Im going home
Working the midnight shift
While my friends are all out
Theyve all gone out dancing
Midnight shift, midnight shift
Midnight shift, midnight shift
Midnight shift, midnight shift
Midnight shift, midnight shift
Midnight shift, midnight shift
Midnight shift, midnight shift
song performed by Donna Summer
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Midnight At The Lost And Found
Hey Ricky, now mine is empty
How about one for you
We could set it out together
Seems tomorrow's overdue
Captain Video, done went home
One pilot laid to rest
And dragon ladies talk that talk
About who loves who - who loves best
Silver bullets in the jukebox
Spin another round
Everybody at the back of the line
It's midnight at the lost and found
Midnight at the lost and found
Lost souls in the hunting ground
A remedy for all your ills
At the lost and found
Midnight at the lost and found
Midnight...
Have a double it's gettin' late
You'll get home home, just rely on fate
Place just finally came alive
Good old boys just arrived
Stools keep changin' faces
And the night just slips away
And like a long distance love affair
Soon you've got to pay
Silver bullets in the jukebox
Spin another round
Everybody at the back of the line
It's midnight at the lost and found
Midnight at the lost and found
Lost souls in the hunting ground
A remedy for all your ills
At the lost and found
Midnight at the lost and found
Midnight...
Hangin' on barely, hitch a ride away
Belly up and bury, boy, all the hurt you feel today
Hangin' on barely, hitch a ride away
Belly up and bury, boy, all the hurt you feel today
Silver bullets in the jukebox
Spin another round
Everybody get back in line
Last call for the lost and found
Midnight at the lost and found
Lost souls in the hunting ground
A remedy for all your ills
At the lost and found
Midnight at the lost and found
Lost souls in the hunting ground
[...] Read more
song performed by Meat Loaf
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The Ballad Of John Yoko
Standing on the dock at southampton
Trying to get to holland or france
The man in the mac
Said, youve gotta go back
You know, they didnt even give us a chance
Christ, you know it aint easy
You know how hard it can be
The way things are going
Theyre gonna crucify me
Finally made the plane into paris
Honeymooning down by the seine
Peter brown called to say
You can make it okay
You can get married in gibraltar, near spain
Christ, you know it aint easy
You know how hard it can be
The way things are going
Theyre gonna crucify me
Drove from paris to the amsterdam hilton
Talking in our beds for a week
The newspeople said
Say, whatre you doing in bed?
I said, were only trying to get us some peace
Christ, you know it aint easy
You know how hard it can be
The way things are going
Theyre gonna crucify me
Made a lightning trip to vienna
Eating chocolate cakes in a bag
The newspapers said
Shes gone to his head
They look just like two gurus in drag
Christ, you know it aint easy
You know how hard it can be
The way things are going
Theyre gonna crucify me
Caught the early plane back to london
Fifty acrons tied in a sack
The men from the press
Said, we wish you success
Its good to have the both of you back
Christ, you know it aint easy
You know how hard it can be
The way things are going
Theyre gonna crucify me
The way things are going
Theyre gonna crucify me
The way things are going
Theyre gonna crucify me
song performed by Lennon John
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The Ballad Of John & Yoko
Standing on the dock at southampton
Trying to get to holland or france
The man in the mac
Said, "you've gotta go back"
You know, they didn't even give us a chance
Christ, you know it ain't easy
You know how hard it can be
The way things are going
They're gonna crucify me
Finally made the plane into paris
Honeymooning down by the seine
Peter brown called to say
"you can make it okay
"you can get married in gibraltar, near spain"
Christ, you know it ain't easy
You know how hard it can be
The way things are going
They're gonna crucify me
Drove from paris to the amsterdam hilton
Talking in our beds for a week
The newspeople said
"say, what're you doing in bed?"
I said, "we're only trying to get us some peace"
Christ, you know it ain't easy
You know how hard it can be
The way things are going
They're gonna crucify me
Made a lightning trip to vienna
Eating chocolate cakes in a bag
The newspapers said
"she's gone to his head
"they look just like two gurus in drag"
Christ, you know it ain't easy
You know how hard it can be
The way things are going
They're gonna crucify me
Caught the early plane back to london
Fifty acrons tied in a sack
The men from the press
Said, "we wish you success
"it's good to have the both of you back"
Christ, you know it ain't easy
You know how hard it can be
The way things are going
They're gonna crucify me
The way things are going
They're gonna crucify me
The way things are going
They're gonna crucify me
song performed by Lennon John
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The Troubadour. Canto 2
THE first, the very first; oh! none
Can feel again as they have done;
In love, in war, in pride, in all
The planets of life's coronal,
However beautiful or bright,--
What can be like their first sweet light?
When will the youth feel as he felt,
When first at beauty's feet he knelt?
As if her least smile could confer
A kingdom on its worshipper;
Or ever care, or ever fear
Had cross'd love's morning hemisphere.
And the young bard, the first time praise
Sheds its spring sunlight o'er his lays,
Though loftier laurel, higher name,
May crown the minstrel's noontide fame,
They will not bring the deep content
Of his lure's first encouragement.
And where the glory that will yield
The flush and glow of his first field
To the young chief? Will RAYMOND ever
Feel as he now is feeling?--Never.
The sun wept down or ere they gain'd
The glen where the chief band remain'd.
It was a lone and secret shade,
As nature form'd an ambuscade
For the bird's nest and the deer's lair,
Though now less quiet guests were there.
On one side like a fortress stood
A mingled pine and chesnut wood;
Autumn was falling, but the pine
Seem'd as it mock'd all change; no sign
Of season on its leaf was seen,
The same dark gloom of changeless green.
But like the gorgeous Persian bands
'Mid the stern race of northern lands,
The chesnut boughs were bright with all
That gilds and mocks the autumn's fall.
Like stragglers from an army's rear
Gradual they grew, near and less near,
Till ample space was left to raise,
Amid the trees, the watch-fire's blaze;
And there, wrapt in their cloaks around,
The soldiers scatter'd o'er the ground.
[...] Read more
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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The Idols
An Ode
Luce intellettual, piena d' amore
Prelude
Lo, the spirit of a pulsing star within a stone
Born of earth, sprung from night!
Prisoned with the profound fires of the light
That lives like all the tongues of eloquence
Locked in a speech unknown!
The crystal, cold and hard as innocence,
Immures the flame; and yet as if it knew
Raptures or pangs it could not but betray,
As if the light could feel changes of blood and breath
And all--but--human quiverings of the sense,
Throbs of a sudden rose, a frosty blue,
Shoot thrilling in its ray,
Like the far longings of the intellect
Restless in clouding clay.
Who has confined the Light? Who has held it a slave,
Sold and bought, bought and sold?
Who has made of it a mystery to be doled,
Or trophy, to awe with legendary fire,
Where regal banners wave?
And still into the dark it sends Desire.
In the heart's darkness it sows cruelties.
The bright jewel becomes a beacon to the vile,
A lodestar to corruption, envy's own:
Soiled with blood, fought for, clutched at; this world's prize,
Captive Authority. Oh, the star is stone
To all that outward sight,
Yet still, like truth that none has ever used,
Lives lost in its own light.
Troubled I fly. O let me wander again at will
(Far from cries, far from these
Hard blindnesses and frozen certainties!)
Where life proceeds in vastness unaware
And stirs profound and still:
Where leafing thoughts at shy touch of the air
Tremble, and gleams come seeking to be mine,
Or dart, like suddenly remembered youth,
Like the ache of love, a light, lost, found, and lost again.
Surely in the dusk some messenger was there!
But, haunted in the heart, I thirst, I pine.--
Oh, how can truth be truth
Except I taste it close and sweet and sharp
As an apple to the tooth?
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Laurence Binyon
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Moanin At Midnight
( recording of july 28 1966, san francisco )
Moanin at midnight
Moanin at midnight, yeah
Moanin at midnight, baby
Moanin at midnight, baby
Moanin at midnight, baby, yeah
Moanin at midnight
Moanin at midnight, baby
Moanin at midnight
Moanin at midnight, baby, whew-ew
Well, well, well, well, well, well
Somebodys knockin on my door
Somebodys knockin
Somebodys knockin
Somebodys knockin on my door
I dont want you to go and tell me to come on, hey come on right out
Well, well, well, well, well, well
Somebody told me Im gonna fall
Somebody told me, somebody told me Im gonna fall
Hey wont someone tell me now whats goin on
Well, well, well, well
Somebody please
Well
Somebody please
Somebody please
Somebody please
Somebody please
Somebody please
Somebody please
Somebody please
Somebody, somebody please
Somebody, somebody please
Tell me please
Somebody please
Somebody please
Somebody please
Somebody please
Moanin at midnight, baby
Moanin at midnight, baby
Moanin at midnight, baby
Moanin at midnight, baby
Moanin at midnight, baby
Moanin, I said moanin
At midnight
I said moanin at midnight
Moanin
Midnight
Moanin
Midnight
Moanin
[...] Read more
song performed by Janis Joplin
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Its Midnight & Im Not Famous Yet
Its midnight and Im not famous yet
By: jimmy buffett, steve goodman
1981
For barry hanah
Catch the elevator from the penthouse suite
And take it down to the casino
The god-almighty sound of money movin round
Can be heard all the way to reno
Chorus:
Well its midnight and Im not famous yet
Tryin to win it all with one more bet
Nothin can stop my thirty-two hop
Or my ten dollar yo yo yo
Its midnight, Im just gettin ready to roll
(midnight)
Now lester polyester signs another marker
Like the high rollers do
Seven come eleven
His brand new baby needs gucci shoes
Chorus:
Well its midnight shes not famous yet
Tryin to break the bank with one more bet
Nothin can stop my thirty-two hop
Or my ten dollar yo yo yo
Its midnight, lesters gettin ready to roll
Midnight (midnight)
Midnight
(instrumental)
(midnight)
Theyre pagin someone we know, lester hits a keno
Hes not leavin yet
Vacuum cleaners hummin lounge act still is strummin
Its their twenty-fourth set
Well its midnight theyre not famous yet
Tryin to win it all with one more bet
Nothin can stop my thirty-two hop
Or my ten dollar yo yo yo
Its midnight, got nowhere to go (oh oh)
Midnight (midnight)
(oh oh oh)
Midnight (midnight)
(oh oh oh, midnight)
(oh oh oh, midnight)
(oh oh oh, midnight)
(oh oh oh)
- notes:
Lead guitar by josh leo
song performed by Jimmy Buffett
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society
Epigraph
Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.
I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.
You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning (1871)
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The Secret Life Of Arabia
The secret life of arabia
Secret secrets never seen
Secret secrets ever green
I was running at the speed of life
Through mornings thoughts and fantasies
Then I saw your eyes at the cross fades
Secret secrets never seen
Secret secrets ever green
The secret life of arabia
Never here never seen
Secret life ever green
The secret life of arabia
You must see the movie the sand in my eyes
I walk through a desert song when the heroine dies
Arabia (secret secret)
Arabia (secret)
Arabia (secret secret)
Arabia
Arabia (secret secret)
Arabia
Arabia (secret secret)
Arabia
Arabia (secret secret)
Arabia
Arabia (secret secret)
The secret life of arabia
Never here never seen
Secret life ever green
song performed by David Bowie
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Canto the First
I
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan—
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.
II
Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,
Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,
Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
And fill'd their sign posts then, like Wellesley now;
Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk,
Followers of fame, "nine farrow" of that sow:
France, too, had Buonaparté and Dumourier
Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.
III
Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau,
Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette,
Were French, and famous people, as we know:
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,
Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Desaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,
Exceedingly remarkable at times,
But not at all adapted to my rhymes.
IV
Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,
And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd;
There's no more to be said of Trafalgar,
'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd;
Because the army's grown more popular,
At which the naval people are concern'd;
Besides, the prince is all for the land-service,
Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.
V
Brave men were living before Agamemnon
And since, exceeding valorous and sage,
A good deal like him too, though quite the same none;
But then they shone not on the poet's page,
And so have been forgotten:—I condemn none,
But can't find any in the present age
Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one);
So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan.
[...] Read more
poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
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Be Good Johnny
Skip de skip, up the road
Off to school we go
Dont you be a bad boy johnny
Dont you slip up
Or play the fool
Oh no ma, oh no da,
Ill be your golden boy
I will obey evry golden rule
Get told by the teacher
Not to day-dream
Told by my mother:
Be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good be good (johnny)
Be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good (johnny)
Be good be good.
Are you going to play football this year, john?
No!
Oh, well you must be going to play cricket this year then,
Are you johnny?
No! no! no!
Boy, you sure are a funny kid, johnny, but I like you! so tell me,
What kind of a boy are you, john?
I only like dreaming
All the day long
Where no one is screaming
Be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good be good (johnny)
Be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Johnny!
song performed by Men At Work
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The Victories Of Love. Book II
I
From Jane To Her Mother
Thank Heaven, the burthens on the heart
Are not half known till they depart!
Although I long'd, for many a year,
To love with love that casts out fear,
My Frederick's kindness frighten'd me,
And heaven seem'd less far off than he;
And in my fancy I would trace
A lady with an angel's face,
That made devotion simply debt,
Till sick with envy and regret,
And wicked grief that God should e'er
Make women, and not make them fair.
That he might love me more because
Another in his memory was,
And that my indigence might be
To him what Baby's was to me,
The chief of charms, who could have thought?
But God's wise way is to give nought
Till we with asking it are tired;
And when, indeed, the change desired
Comes, lest we give ourselves the praise,
It comes by Providence, not Grace;
And mostly our thanks for granted pray'rs
Are groans at unexpected cares.
First Baby went to heaven, you know,
And, five weeks after, Grace went, too.
Then he became more talkative,
And, stooping to my heart, would give
Signs of his love, which pleased me more
Than all the proofs he gave before;
And, in that time of our great grief,
We talk'd religion for relief;
For, though we very seldom name
Religion, we now think the same!
Oh, what a bar is thus removed
To loving and to being loved!
For no agreement really is
In anything when none's in this.
Why, Mother, once, if Frederick press'd
His wife against his hearty breast,
The interior difference seem'd to tear
My own, until I could not bear
The trouble. 'Twas a dreadful strife,
And show'd, indeed, that faith is life.
He never felt this. If he did,
I'm sure it could not have been hid;
For wives, I need not say to you,
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poem by Coventry Patmore
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The Ballad Of John & Yoko
Standing in the dock at southampton,
Trying to get to holland or france.
The man in the mac said, youve got to turn back.
You know they didnt even give us a chance.
Christ you know it aint easy,
You know how hard it can be.
The way things are going
Theyre going to crucify me.
Finally made the plane into paris,
Honey mooning down by the seine.
Peter brown called to say,
You can make it o.k.,
You can get married in gibraltar, near spain.
Christ you know it aint easy,
You know how hard it can be.
The way things are going
Theyre going to crucify me.
Drove from paris to the amsterdam hilton,
Talking in our beds for a week.
The newspapers said, say what you doing in bed?
I said, were only trying to get us some peace.
Christ you know it aint easy,
You know how hard it can be.
The way things are going
Theyre going to crucify me.
Saving up your money for a rainy day,
Giving all your clothes to charity.
Last night the wife said,
Oh boy, when youre dead
You dont take nothing with you
But your soul - think!
Made a lightning trip to vienna,
Eating chocolate cake in a bag.
The newspapers said, shes gone to his head,
They look just like two gurus in drag.
Christ you know it aint easy,
You know how hard it can be.
The way things are going
Theyre going to crucify me.
Caught an early plane back to london.
Fifty acorns tied in a sack.
The men from the press said, we wish you success,
Its good to have the both of you back.
Christ you know it aint easy,
You know how hard it can be.
The way things are going
Theyre going to crucify me.
The way things are going
Theyre going to crucify me.
song performed by Beatles
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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,—
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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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
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Fourth Book
THEY met still sooner. 'Twas a year from thence
When Lucy Gresham, the sick semptress girl,
Who sewed by Marian's chair so still and quick,
And leant her head upon the back to cough
More freely when, the mistress turning round,
The others took occasion to laugh out,–
Gave up a last. Among the workers, spoke
A bold girl with black eyebrows and red lips,–
'You know the news? Who's dying, do you think?
Our Lucy Gresham. I expected it
As little as Nell Hart's wedding. Blush not, Nell,
Thy curls be red enough without thy cheeks;
And, some day, there'll be found a man to dote
On red curls.–Lucy Gresham swooned last night,
Dropped sudden in the street while going home;
And now the baker says, who took her up
And laid her by her grandmother in bed,
He'll give her a week to die in. Pass the silk.
Let's hope he gave her a loaf too, within reach,
For otherwise they'll starve before they die,
That funny pair of bedfellows! Miss Bell,
I'll thank you for the scissors. The old crone
Is paralytic–that's the reason why
Our Lucy's thread went faster than her breath,
Which went too quick, we all know. Marian Erle!
Why, Marian Erle, you're not the fool to cry?
Your tears spoil Lady Waldemar's new dress,
You piece of pity!'
Marian rose up straight,
And, breaking through the talk and through the work,
Went outward, in the face of their surprise,
To Lucy's home, to nurse her back to life
Or down to death. She knew by such an act,
All place and grace were forfeit in the house,
Whose mistress would supply the missing hand
With necessary, not inhuman haste,
And take no blame. But pity, too, had dues:
She could not leave a solitary soul
To founder in the dark, while she sate still
And lavished stitches on a lady's hem
As if no other work were paramount.
'Why, God,' thought Marian, 'has a missing hand
This moment; Lucy wants a drink, perhaps.
Let others miss me! never miss me, God!'
So Marian sat by Lucy's bed, content
With duty, and was strong, for recompense,
To hold the lamp of human love arm-high
To catch the death-strained eyes and comfort them,
Until the angels, on the luminous side
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poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
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