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Tonight

blew, blew away
but i don't wanna fade
blew, blew, oooh
and if you love her
you know it will come true
and if you need her
you know that she'll be there
stay awake, i lie here
with her and i fall
and when i wake inside you
i know you know i'm yours
blew, blew away
but I don't wanna fade
blew, blew, oooh
and if you're sad, too
until the angel sings and touches you
don't confuse my only life
i said blew, and please don't ever leave
And i will greive, and (re)member thee
Hope to meet you there

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song performed by Smashing Pumpkins
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Assembly Of Ladies

In Septembre, at the falling of the leef,
The fressh sesoun was al-togider doon,
And of the corn was gadered in the sheef;
In a gardyn, about twayn after noon,
Ther were ladyes walking, as was her wone,
Foure in nombre, as to my mynd doth falle,
And I the fifte, the simplest of hem alle.

Of gentilwomen fayre ther were also,
Disporting hem, everiche after her gyse,
In crosse-aleys walking, by two and two,
And some alone, after her fantasyes.
Thus occupyed we were in dyvers wyse;
And yet, in trouthe, we were not al alone;
Ther were knightës and squyers many one.

'Wherof I served?' oon of hem asked me;
I sayde ayein, as it fel in my thought,

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Granny

Through every nook and every cranny
The wind blew in on poor old Granny
Around her knees, into each ear
(And up nose as well, I fear)

All through the night the wind grew worse
It nearly made the vicar curse
The top had fallen off the steeple
Just missing him (and other people)

It blew on man, it blew on beast
It blew on nun, it blew on priest
It blew the wig off Auntie Fanny-
But most of all, it blew on Granny!

poem by Spike Milligan
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The Defence of Lucknow

I
BANNER of England, not for a season, O banner of Britain, hast thou
Floated in conquering battle or flapt to the battle-cry!
Never with mightier glory than when we had rear’d thee on high
Flying at top of the roofs in the ghastly siege of Lucknow—
Shot thro’ the staff or the halyard, but ever we raised thee anew,
And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew.

II.
Frail were the works that defended the hold that we held with our lives—
Women and children among us, God help them, our children and wives!
Hold it we might—and for fifteen days or for twenty at most.
‘Never surrender, I charge you, but every man die at his post!’
Voice of the dead whom we loved, our Lawrence the best of the brave:
Cold were his brows when we kiss’d him—we laid him that night in his grave.
‘Every man die at his post!’ and there hail’d on our houses and halls
Death from their rifle-bullets, and death from their cannon-balls,
Death in our innermost chamber, and death at our slight barricade,
Death while we stood with the musket, and death while we stoopt to the spade,
Death to the dying, and wounds to the wounded, for often there fell,

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poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Look What The Wind Blew In

In the dismal darkness
I have sat and gazed, amazed
At the blazing factories
Like the lonely man
Who stands on the seashore
And I am afraid
As weary as I am
I try
I seem to see that things look ok
Run, run in your skin
Look what the wind just blew in
Many lovely ladies
I have felt, touched
And I was not afraid
I took them out dancing
Out romancing
And I was not afriad
Then somewhere from the north
This gale I knew just flew in
And I am afraid

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song performed by Thin Lizzy
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Blew A Kiss

My heart is filled with so much love
Suddenly, there is heaven in my heart
The bells are ringing in the sky
Sounds like a symphony

So I blew a kiss on a wind
Scattered into the fields of love
That sways together with the four leaf clover
And flew into the petals of rose
Just close your eyes,
Feel the love that dances to the music of sunrise

I hear laughter at the morning skies
On were the morning sun has begun to rise
As a golden fire scattered at the meadow
Like this love arose as a morning glow
That is woven from thin air
Embroidered by the sunshine and rain

I blew a kiss in the rain

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poem by Cheryl Aldea
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Don Juan: Canto the Second

XXIV

The ship, call'd the most holy "Trinidada,"
Was steering duly for the port Leghorn;
For there the Spanish family Moncada
Were settled long ere Juan's sire was born:
They were relations, and for them he had a
Letter of introduction, which the morn
Of his departure had been sent him by
His Spanish friends for those in Italy.XXV

His suite consisted of three servants and
A tutor, the licentiate Pedrillo,
Who several languages did understand,
But now lay sick and speechless on his pillow,
And, rocking in his hammock, long'd for land,
His headache being increas'd by every billow;
And the waves oozing through the port-hole made

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poem by Byron
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Canto the Second

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

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

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poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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4. Blow me down

The North wind blew on Monday
As the East wind got the flu
The West wind blew on Tuesday
As the South wind never knew

The North East wind had Wednesday
As the South West wasn’t chuffed
The North West blew on Thursday
As the South East hardly puffed

The East and West blew Friday
As the others had a rest
The North and South blew Saturday
As the weekends were the best

The lot of them had Sunday
As the winds turned into storm
The whole of them had Monday off
As the week got back to norm

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poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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The Bour-Tree Den

CLINKUM-CLANK in the rain they ride,
Down by the braes and the grey sea-side;
Clinkum-clank by stane and cairn,
Weary fa' their horse-shoe-airn!

Loud on the causey, saft on the sand,
Round they rade by the tail of the land;
Round and up by the Bour-Tree Den,
Weary fa' the red-coat men!

Aft hae I gane where they hae rade
And straigled in the gowden brooms -
Aft hae I gane, a saikless maid,
And O! sae bonny as the bour-tree blooms!

Wi' swords and guns they wanton there,
Wi' red, red coats and braw, braw plumes.
But I gaed wi' my gowden hair,
And O! sae bonny as the bour-tree blooms!

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poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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