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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:17:58 GMT -5
The Seafarer, part II And who could believe, knowing but The passion of cities, swelled proud with wine And no taste of misfortune, how often, how wearily, I put myself back on the paths of the sea. Night would blacken; it would snow from the north; Frost bound the earth and hail would fall, The coldest seeds. And how my heart Would begin to beat, knowing once more The salt waves tossing and the towering sea! The time for journeys would come and my soul Called me eagerly out, sent me over The horizon, seeking foreigners' homes.
But there isn't a man on earth so proud, So born in greatness, so bold with his youth, Grown so grave, or so graced by God, That he feels no fear as the sails unfurl, Wondering what Fate has willed and will do. No harps ring in his heart, no rewards, No passion for women, no worldly pleasures, Nothing, only the ocean's heave; But longing wraps itself around him. Orchards blossom, the towns bloom, Fields grow lovely as the world springs fresh, And all these admonish that willing mind Leaping to journeys, always set In thoughts traveling on a quickening tide. So summer's sentinel, the cuckoo, sings In his murmuring voice, and our hearts mourn As he urges. Who could understand, In ignorant ease, what we others suffer As the paths of exile stretch endlessly on?
And yet my heart wanders away, My soul roams with the sea, the whales' Home, wandering to the wildest corners Of the world, returning ravenous with desire, Flying solitary, screaming, exciting me To the open ocean, breaking oaths On the curve of a wave.
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:18:18 GMT -5
The Seafarer, part III Thus the joys of God Are fervent with life, where life itself Fades quickly into the earth. The wealth Of the world neither reaches to Heaven nor remains. No man has ever faced the dawn Certain which of Fate's three threats Would fall: illness, or age, or an enemy's Sword, snatching the life form his soul. The praise the living pour on the dead Flowers from reputation: plant An earthly life of profit reaped Even from hatred and rancor, of bravery Flung in the devil's face, and death Can only bring you earthly praise And a song to celebrate a place With the angels, life eternally blessed In the hosts of Heaven.
The days are gone When the kingdoms of earth flourished in glory; Now there are no rulers, no emperors, No givers of gold, as once there were, When wonderful things were worked among them And they lived in lordly magnificence. Those powers have vanished, those pleasures are dead. The weakest survives and the world continues, Kept spinning by toil. All glory is tarnished. The world's honor ages and shrinks, Bent like the men who mold it. Their faces Blanch as time advances, their beards Wither and they mourn the memory of friends, The sons of princes, sown in the dust. The soul stripped of its flesh knows nothing Of sweetness or sour, feels no pain, Bends neither its hand nor its brain. A brother Opens his palms and pours down gold On his kinsman's grave, strewing his coffin With treasures intended for Heaven, but nothing Golden shakes the wrath of God For a soul overflowing with sin, and nothing Hidden on earth rises to Heaven.
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:20:23 GMT -5
The Seafarer, part IV We all fear God. He turns the earth, He set it swinging firmly in space, Gave life to the world and light to the sky. Death leaps at the fools who forget their God. He who lives humbly has angels from Heaven To carry him courage and strength and belief. A man must conquer pride, not kill it, Be firm with his fellows, chaste for himself, Treat all the world as the world deserves, With love or with hate but never with harm, Though an enemy seek to scorch him in hell, Or set the flames of a funeral pyre Under his lord. Fate is stronger And God mightier than any man's mind. Our thoughts should turn to where our home is, Consider the ways of coming there, Then strive for sure permission for us To rise to that eternal joy, That life born in the love of God And the hope of Heaven. Praise the Holy Grace of Him who honored us, Eternal, unchanging creator of earth. Amen.
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:20:53 GMT -5
Politics by William Butler Yeats
"In our time the destiny of man presents its meaning in political terms." --Thomas Mann
How can I, that girl standing there, My attention fix On Roman or on Russian Or on Spanish politics? Yet here's a traveled man that knows What he talks about, And there's a politician That has read and thought, And maybe what they say is true Of war and war's alarms, But O that I were young again And held her in my arms!
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:21:23 GMT -5
The Leaden Echo and the Golden Echo by Gerard Manley Hopkins
(Maidens’ song from St. Winefred’s Well)
THE LEADEN ECHO
HOW to kéep—is there ány any, is there none such, nowhere known some, bow or brooch or braid or brace, láce, latch or catch or key to keep Back beauty, keep it, beauty, beauty, beauty, … from vanishing away? Ó is there no frowning of these wrinkles, rankéd wrinkles deep, Dówn? no waving off of these most mournful messengers, still messengers, sad and stealing messengers of grey? No there ’s none, there ’s none, O no there ’s none, Nor can you long be, what you now are, called fair, Do what you may do, what, do what you may, And wisdom is early to despair: Be beginning; since, no, nothing can be done To keep at bay Age and age’s evils, hoar hair, Ruck and wrinkle, drooping, dying, death’s worst, winding sheets, tombs and worms and tumbling to decay; So be beginning, be beginning to despair. O there ’s none; no no no there ’s none: Be beginning to despair, to despair, Despair, despair, despair, despair.
THE GOLDEN ECHO
Spare! There ís one, yes I have one (Hush there!); Only not within seeing of the sun, Not within the singeing of the strong sun, Tall sun’s tingeing, or treacherous the tainting of the earth’s air, Somewhere elsewhere there is ah well where! one, Oné. Yes I can tell such a key, I do know such a place, Where whatever’s prized and passes of us, everything that ’s fresh and fast flying of us, seems to us sweet of us and swiftly away with, done away with, undone, Undone, done with, soon done with, and yet dearly and dangerously sweet Of us, the wimpled-water-dimpled, not-by-morning-matchèd face, The flower of beauty, fleece of beauty, too too apt to, ah! to fleet, Never fleets móre, fastened with the tenderest truth To its own best being and its loveliness of youth: it is an everlastingness of, O it is an all youth! Come then, your ways and airs and looks, locks, maiden gear, gallantry and gaiety and grace, Winning ways, airs innocent, maiden manners, sweet looks, loose locks, long locks, lovelocks, gaygear, going gallant, girlgrace— Resign them, sign them, seal them, send them, motion them with breath, And with sighs soaring, soaring síghs deliver Them; beauty-in-the-ghost, deliver it, early now, long before death Give beauty back, beauty, beauty, beauty, back to God, beauty’s self and beauty’s giver. See; not a hair is, not an eyelash, not the least lash lost; every hair Is, hair of the head, numbered. Nay, what we had lighthanded left in surly the mere mould Will have waked and have waxed and have walked with the wind what while we slept, This side, that side hurling a heavyheaded hundredfold What while we, while we slumbered. O then, weary then why When the thing we freely fórfeit is kept with fonder a care, Fonder a care kept than we could have kept it, kept Far with fonder a care (and we, we should have lost it) finer, fonder A care kept.—Where kept? Do but tell us where kept, where.— Yonder.—What high as that! We follow, now we follow.—Yonder, yes yonder, yonder, Yonder.
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:21:59 GMT -5
Jenny White and Johnny Black by Eleanor Farjeon
Jenny White and Johnny Black Went out for a walk. Jenny found wild strawberries, And John a lump of chalk.
Jenny White and Johnny Black Clambered up a hill. Jenny heard a willow-wren And John a workman’s drill.
Jenny White and Johnny Black Wandered by the dyke. Jenny smelt the meadow-sweet, And John a motor-bike.
Jenny White and Johnny Black Turned into a lane. Jenny saw the moon by day And Johnny saw a train.
Jenny White and Johnny Black Walked into a storm. Each felt for the other’s hand And found it nice and warm.
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:23:00 GMT -5
Prospice by Robert Browning
Fear death? -- to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face, When the snows begin, and the blasts denote I am nearing the place, The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe; Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go: For the journey is done and the summit attained, And the barriers fall, Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, The reward of it all. I was ever a fighter, so -- one fight more, The best and the last! I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, And bade me creep past. No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness and cold. For sudden the worse turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end, And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest! --
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:23:41 GMT -5
Isaiah 54 Give praise, O thou barren, that bearest not: sing forth praise, and make a joyful noise, thou that didst not travail with child: for many are the children of the desolate, more than of her that hath a husband, saith the Lord.
Enlarge the place of thy tent, and stretch out the skins of thy tabernacles, spare not: lengthen thy cords, and strengthen thy stakes.
For thou shalt pass on to the right hand, and to the left: and thy seed shall inherit the Gentiles, and shall inhabit the desolate cities.
Fear not, for thou shalt not be confounded, nor blush: for thou shalt not be put to shame, because thou shalt forget the shame of thy youth, and shalt remember no more the reproach of thy widowhood.
For he that made thee shall rule over thee, the Lord of hosts is his name: and thy Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel, shall be called the God of all the earth.
For the Lord hath called thee as woman forsaken and mourning in spirit, end se a wife cast off from her youth, said thy God.
For a small moment have I forsaken thee, but with great mercies will I gather thee.
In a moment of indignation have I hid my face a little while from thee, but with everlasting kindness have I had mercy on thee, said the Lord thy Redeemer.
This thing is to me as in the days of Noe, to whom I swore, that I would no more bring in the waters of Noe upon the earth: so have I sworn not to be angry with thee, and not to rebuke thee.
For the mountains shall be moved, and the hills shall tremble; but my mercy shall not depart from thee, and the covenant of my peace shall not be moved: said the Lord that hath mercy on thee.
O poor little one, tossed with tempest, without all comfort, behold I will lay thy stones in order, and will lay thy foundations with sapphires,
And I will make thy bulwarks of jasper: and thy gates of graven stones, and all thy borders of desirable stones.
All thy children shall be taught of the Lord: and great shall be the peace of thy children.
And thou shalt be founded in justice: depart far from oppression, for thou shalt not fear; and from terror, for it shall not come near thee.
Behold, an inhabitant shall come, who was not with me, he that was a stranger to thee before, shall be joined to thee.
Behold, I have created the smith that bloweth the coals in the fire, and bringeth forth an instrument for his work, and I have created the killer to destroy.
No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper: and every tongue that resisteth thee in judgment, thou shalt condemn. This is the inheritance of the servants of the Lord, and their justice with me, saith the Lord.
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:24:03 GMT -5
From "In Memoriam" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Dark house, by which once more I stand Here in the long unlovely street, Doors, where my heart was used to beat So quickly, waiting for a hand,
A hand that can be clasp'd no more — Behold me, for I cannot sleep, And like a guilty thing I creep At earliest morning to the door.
He is not here; but far away The noise of life begins again, And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day.
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:24:51 GMT -5
The Lady of Shalott by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Part I.
On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd Camelot; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below, The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow-veil'd Slide the heavy barges trail'd By slow horses; and unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd Skimming down to Camelot: But who hath seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand? Or is she known in all the land, The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to tower'd Camelot: And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott."
Part II.
There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.
And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot: There the river eddy whirls, And there the surly village-churls, And the red cloaks of market girls, Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, Goes by to tower'd Camelot; And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, went to Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed; "I am half-sick of shadows," said The Lady of Shalott.
Part III.
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A redcross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle-bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung, Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together, As he rode down to Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flash'd into the crystal mirror, "Tirra lirra," by the river Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott.
Part IV.
In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale-yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining, Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And round about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse-- Like some bold seër in a trance, Seeing all his own mischance-- With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right-- The leaves upon her falling light-- Thro' the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot: And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darken'd wholly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot; For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, A corse between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and burgher, lord and dame, And round the prow they read her name, The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? and what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they cross'd themselves for fear, All the knights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little space; He said, "She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott."
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:25:19 GMT -5
Epithalmium Argentum by G.K. Chesterton
I need not say I love you yet: You know how doth my heart oppress The intolerable tenderness That broke my body when we met. I need not say I love you yet.
But let my say I fear you yet: You the long years not vulgarise, You open your immortal eyes And we for the first time have met. Cover your face, I fear you yet.
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:25:36 GMT -5
Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold
The sea is calm to-night. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits; on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. Come to the window, sweet is the night-air! Only, from the long line of spray Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land, Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, At their return, up the high strand, Begin, and cease, and then again begin, With tremulous cadence slow, and bring The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago Heard it on the Aegaean, and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery; we Find also in the sound a thought, Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The Sea of Faith Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night.
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:25:59 GMT -5
The Three Realities by G.K. Chesterton
We tattered rhymers of the trade Work with weak symbols for great power; We paint a flower and call it Spring, But Spring is more than any flower.
But ‘mid the feeble names of things The pallid types of tree and star, God made three symbols on the earth That truly mean the thing they are.
The first the circle—endlessness, God’s compass traced in sun and flower; The next the cross, the eternal twain Cross-purposes that make a power.
The third—your face—that single face, Had I but seen it pictured well On frescoes older than the gods, It might have saved my soul from hell.
God made three signs in that mean and are Alone in all the world, these three; God made two signs that mean the world, And one that means the world to me.
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:26:25 GMT -5
Joseph by G.K. Chesterton
If the stars fell; night's nameless dreams Of bliss and blasphemy came true, If skies were green and snow were gold, And you loved me as I love you;
O long light hands and curled brown hair, And eyes where sits a naked soul; Dare I even then draw near and burn My fingers in the aureole?
Yes, in the one wise foolish hour God gives this strange strength to a man. He can demand, though not deserve, Where ask he cannot, seize he can.
But once the blood's wedding o'er, Were not dread his, half dark desire, To see the Christ-child by the cot, The Virgin Mary by the fire?
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:27:35 GMT -5
From "Ode to the West Wind"
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
I
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With living hues and odours plain and hill:
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh hear!
IV If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share
The impulse of thy strength, only less free Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even I were as in my boyhood, and could be
The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven, As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed Scarce seem'd a vision; I would ne'er have striven
As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.
V Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth! And, by the incantation of this verse,
Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:27:56 GMT -5
Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white; Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font: The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me.
Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost, And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.
Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars, And all thy heart lies open unto me.
Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.
Now folds the lily all her sweetness up, And slips into the bosom of the lake: So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip Into my bosom and be lost in me.
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:36:41 GMT -5
God's World by Edna St. Vincent Millay
O world, I cannot hold thee close enough! Thy winds, thy wide grey skies! Thy mists, that roll and rise! Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff! World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!
Long have I known a glory in it all, But never knew I this: Here such a passion is As stretcheth me apart,—Lord, I do fear Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year; My soul is all but out of me,—let fall No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:37:19 GMT -5
In the Balance by G.K. Chesterton
A poet scrawled upon a page of verse Wherein a priest and king battled: whose bones Are grown to grass for eight dead centuries The words that through the dark and through the day Rang in my ears.
Even as Becket, graced By perilous pleasure of the Angevin -- Cried out "Am I the man for the cross of Christ?" In the vast fane filled with one presence dark That spoke and shook the stars . . . "Thou art the Man." So do I stand.
A mitre and a cross! God's blood! A cross is but a pair of sticks, A mitre is a fool's cap out of school, Candles are fireworks -- fling them in the street -- Why should he fear to fill so poor a place? When I stand up 'neath seven staring heavens, Naked and arrogant and insolent And ask for the crown jewels of the Lord
Lord I have been a Waster of the sun A sleeper on the highways of the world A garnerer of thistles and of weeds A hewer of waste wood that no man buys A lover of things violent, things perverse, Grotesque and grinning and inscrutable A savage and a clown -- and there she stands Straight as the living lily of the Lord. O thy world-wisdom speak -- am I the man?
Lo: I am man, even the son of man Thou knowest these things: in my blood's heritage Is every sin that shrieked in Babylon, All tales untold and lost that reddened Heaven In falling fire above the monstrous domes Of cities damned and done with . . . there she goes White in the living sunlight on the lawn, Alive and bearing flowers . . . My God . . . my God, Am I the man?
Strong keeper of the world, O King thou knowest man of woman born, How weak as water and how strong as fire, Judge Thou O Lord for I am sick of love And may not judge. . . .
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:40:53 GMT -5
Sonnet XXX by William Shakespeare
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste; Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long-since-cancelled woe, And moan th' expense of many a vanished sight; Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end.
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:42:43 GMT -5
She Walks in Beauty by George Gordon, Lord Byron
She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that 's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:44:19 GMT -5
From "In Memoriam" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;
That nothing walks with aimless feet; That not one life will be destroy’d, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete;
That not a worm is cloven in vain; That not a moth with vain desire Is shrivell’d in a fruitless fire, Or but subserves another gain.
Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last – far off – at last to all, And every winter change to spring.
So runs my dream; but what am I? An infant crying in the night; An infant crying for the light, And with no language, but a cry.
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:45:57 GMT -5
Robert Frost – Fire & Ice
Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favour fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice.
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:46:37 GMT -5
Emily Dickinson – I heard a fly buzz – when I died
I heard a Fly buzz – when I died – The Stillness in the Room Was like the Stillness in the Air – Between the Heaves of Storm –
The Eyes around – had wrung them dry – And Breaths were gathering firm For that last Onset – when the King Be witnessed – in the Room –
I willed my Keepsakes – Signed away What portion of me be Assignable – and then it was There interposed a Fly –
With Blue – uncertain – stumbling Buzz – Between the light – and me – And then the Windows failed – and then I could not see to see –
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:47:19 GMT -5
William Shakespeare – Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer’s Day?
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimmed; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st, Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade, When in eternal lines to Time thou grow’st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:47:55 GMT -5
Langston Hughes – So Tired Blues
With the sun in my hand Gonna throw the sun Way across the land- Cause I’m tired, Tired as I can be
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:48:30 GMT -5
Edgar Allan Poe – A Dream Within A Dream
Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow- You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand- How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep- while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:49:02 GMT -5
Ogden Nash – A Word To Husbands
To keep your marriage brimming With love in the loving cup, Whenever you’re wrong, admit it; Whenever you’re right, shut up.
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:49:31 GMT -5
Natasha Tretheway – Housekeeping
We mourn the broken things, chair legs wrenched from their seats, chipped plates, the threadbare clothes. We work the magic of glue, drive the nails, mend the holes. We save what we can, melt small pieces of soap, gather fallen pecans, keep neck bones for soup. Beating rugs against the house, we watch dust, lit like stars, spreading across the yard. Late afternoon, we draw the blinds to cool the rooms, drive the bugs out. My mother irons, singing, lost in reverie. I mark the pages of a mail-order catalog, listen for passing cars. All-day we watch for the mail, some news from a distant place.
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:51:15 GMT -5
Strickland Gillilan – Lines on the Antiquity of Microbes (also known as Fleas)
Adam. Had ’em
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Post by The Perilous Dreamer on Apr 17, 2024 13:52:42 GMT -5
William Carlos Williams – This Is Just To Say
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox
and which you were probably saving for breakfast
Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold
A simple and pecu
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