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Stolen sweets are best.

quote by Colley Cibber
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Christmas Cards

Every christmas card I write
Every christmas card I write
Has been stolen
Has been stolen
Every christmas card I write has been stolen
Every christmas card I write has been stolen
Every christmas card I write has been stolen
Has been stolen
Has been stolen
Every christmas card I write has been stolen
Stolen
Has been stolen
Every christmas card I write
On the little desk in the corner of my room
I find stolen the next day
I find stolen the next day
All of the christmas cards I write
Become stolen the next day
From my room
In my little desk in the corner of my room
Every christmas card I write
Is stolen
Is stolen
Every christmas card I write
Been stolen
From the little desk in the corner of my room
Its been stolen
Every day
Every christmas card I write
Has been stolen from my desk
I dont know why
Its been stolen
Its been stolen
Stolen
Stolen
Stolen
Stolen
Stolen

song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Judgement of Hercules

While blooming Spring descends from genial skies,
By whose mild influence instant wonders rise;
From whose soft breath Elysian beauties flow;
The sweets of Hagley, or the pride of Stowe;
Will Lyttleton the rural landscape range,
Leave noisy fame, and not regret the change?
Pleased will he tread the garden's early scenes,
And learn a moral from the rising greens?
There, warm'd alike by Sol's enlivening power,
The weed, aspiring, emulates the flower;
The drooping flower, its fairer charms display'd,
Invites, from grateful hands, their generous aid:
Soon, if none check'd the invasive foe's designs,
The lively lustre of these scenes declines!

'Tis thus the spring of youth, the morn of life,
Rears in our minds the rival seeds of strife:
Then passion riots, reason then contends,
And on the conquest every bliss depends:
Life from the nice decision takes its hue,
And blest those judges who decide like you!
On worth like theirs shall every bliss attend,
The world their favourite, and the world their friend.

There are, who, blind to Thought's fatiguing ray,
As Fortune gives examples, urge their way;
Not Virtue's foes, though they her paths decline,
And scarce her friends, though with her friends they join;
In hers or Vice's casual road advance,
Thoughtless, the sinners or the saints of Chance!
Yet some more nobly scorn the vulgar voice,
With judgment fix, with zeal pursue their choice,
When ripen'd thought, when Reason, born to reign,
Checks the wild tumults of the youthful vein;
While passion's lawless tides, at their command,
Glide through more useful tracks, and bless the land.

Happiest of these is he whose matchless mind,
By learning strengthen'd, and by taste refined,
In Virtue's cause essay'd its earliest powers,
Chose Virtue's paths, and strew'd her paths with flowers.
The first alarm'd, if Freedom waves her wings,
The fittest to adorn each art she brings;
Loved by that prince whom every virtue fires,
Praised by that bard whom every Muse inspires;
Blest in the tuneful art, the social flame;
In all that wins, in all that merits, fame!

'Twas youth's perplexing stage his doubts inspired,
When great Alcides to a grove retired:

[...] Read more

poem by William Shenstone
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Stolen

Let truth be told
Until its sold
Silence is golden
Too bad its all been stolen
Stolen! stolen! stolen!
Our defense is your defense
Your defense in some sense
Some sensless way unfolded
Folded cause its all been stolen
Stolen! stolen! stolen!
The gilded scale was burning
Just as your back was turning
Just as our trust was leaving
Youd have us all believing
These truths we hold
Self-evident
Bought and sold
The more you hunt the more I sing
Then quickly rewrite everything
Truth returns bloated, swollen
Then dissapears - its been stolen!
Stolen!
The gilded scale was burning
Just as your back was turning
Just as our trust was leaving
Youd have us all believing
These truths we hold
Self-evident
Bought and sold
Its all been stolen! [x2]

song performed by Ministry
Added by Lucian Velea
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As If It Was A Crime

Your mother had given you
a few coins to buy sweets

and on the way you met Fay
and you said

do you want to come
and buy some sweets?

and she said
I haven't any money

and you said
you can share mine

if you tell me what you like
but she said

my father wouldn't like it
if I had sweets he says

they rot your teeth
but she walked to the shop with you

thinking silently to herself
and outside the shop

you said
are you sure?

she nodded and stood outside
while you went in

and bought sweets
when you came out

she was waiting there
her eyes gazing at you

her tongue running over
her lips

you showed her
what you'd bought

and her eyes widened
here take one

you said
your dad won't know

[...] Read more

poem by Terry Collett
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Charmides

HE was a Grecian lad, who coming home
With pulpy figs and wine from Sicily
Stood at his galley's prow, and let the foam
Blow through his crisp brown curls unconsciously,
And holding wave and wind in boy's despite
Peered from his dripping seat across the wet and stormy night

Till with the dawn he saw a burnished spear
Like a thin thread of gold against the sky,
And hoisted sail, and strained the creaking gear,
And bade the pilot head her lustily
Against the nor'west gale, and all day long
Held on his way, and marked the rowers' time with measured song,

And when the faint Corinthian hills were red
Dropped anchor in a little sandy bay,
And with fresh boughs of olive crowned his head,
And brushed from cheek and throat the hoary spray,
And washed his limbs with oil, and from the hold
Brought out his linen tunic and his sandals brazen-soled,

And a rich robe stained with the fishes' juice
Which of some swarthy trader he had bought
Upon the sunny quay at Syracuse,
And was with Tyrian broideries inwrought,
And by the questioning merchants made his way
Up through the soft and silver woods, and when the labouring day

Had spun its tangled web of crimson cloud,
Clomb the high hill, and with swift silent feet
Crept to the fane unnoticed by the crowd
Of busy priests, and from some dark retreat
Watched the young swains his frolic playmates bring
The firstling of their little flock, and the shy shepherd fling

The crackling salt upon the flame, or hang
His studded crook against the temple wall
To Her who keeps away the ravenous fang
Of the base wolf from homestead and from stall;
And then the clear-voiced maidens 'gan to sing,
And to the altar each man brought some goodly offering,

A beechen cup brimming with milky foam,
A fair cloth wrought with cunning imagery
Of hounds in chase, a waxen honey-comb
Dripping with oozy gold which scarce the bee
Had ceased from building, a black skin of oil
Meet for the wrestlers, a great boar the fierce and white-tusked
spoil

[...] Read more

poem by Oscar Wilde
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Shes My Baby

Maxi jazz:
Mmm, come to papa
I see you working,
Through the beat curtain in the kitchen.
Switchin, leavin me twitchin,
Im itchin to be kissin you
But discipline is the rule,
So I sit my own juicy [? ? ] in that cool sheet
Irresistible
We fool around twice a week, she make me weak
Nice when she put her tongue in my cheek
Not petite, baby got a large physique
She take charge, take me where I dare not repeat
I go ... like a hi-hat, plantin kisses on your back
You like that, mrs. x, reputation intact
Nobody in my block know were like down like that
And the next flat, one down from where I live with my mum
And uncle john, he aint my uncle when its been far too long
But me and she been going strong, almost a year
Wait til the coast is clear, I dont bolt for fear of getting caught
Maybe we ought to start, maybe not
For now, my baby gets all I got
Boom, how come we always trash the room?
Grab your coat cause you know someonell be home soon
And now you see there be a need to explain gently
Why this mother of three is playin games with me
Shes my baby
(yeah)
Shes my baby
Chorus:
Shes my baby (2x), sweets my baby
Shes my baby (2x), sweets my baby
Maxi jazz:
Im a slave to your outrage
Rocket rocks give shocks, and a row cage
Color-coded alloys, much noise, [? ? ] poise
Exalt enough to know the roots of old age
Yes yes. who got the keys to my rs
As we goin on a road test, hit the m4 and head west
Forever impressed, with the sound of my two-liter
We cover ground, engine singin like anita baker
And if I take a corner too quick you get sick, when I do my handbrake
Trick
Watch me ride, me broadsides wide like a battleship
Side slip, push, only hip, stick it in gear and get the gas uplift
It never failed to bring a grin to the limb
Babys equipped
Me and she gone clear
I got quick reduction on my understeer
I been fairly and squarely described as hairy

[...] Read more

song performed by Faithless
Added by Lucian Velea
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Solomon

As thro' the Psalms from theme to theme I chang'd,
Methinks like Eve in Paradice I rang'd;
And ev'ry grace of song I seem'd to see,
As the gay pride of ev'ry season, she.
She gently treading all the walks around,
Admir'd the springing beauties of the ground,
The lilly glist'ring with the morning dew,
The rose in red, the violet in blew,
The pink in pale, the bells in purple rows,
And tulips colour'd in a thousand shows:
Then here and there perhaps she pull'd a flow'r
To strew with moss, and paint her leafy bow'r;
And here and there, like her I went along,
Chose a bright strain, and bid it deck my song.

But now the sacred Singer leaves mine eye,
Crown'd as he was, I think he mounts on high;
Ere this Devotion bore his heav'nly psalms,
And now himself bears up his harp and palms.
Go, saint triumphant, leave the changing sight,
So fitted out, you suit the realms of light;
But let thy glorious robe at parting go,
Those realms have robes of more effulgent show;
It flies, it falls, the flutt'ring silk I see,
Thy son has caught it and he sings like thee,
With such election of a theme divine,
And such sweet grace, as conquers all but thine.

Hence, ev'ry writer o'er the fabled streams,
Where frolick fancies sport with idle dreams,
Or round the sight enchanted clouds dispose,
Whence wanton cupids shoot with gilded bows;
A nobler writer, strains more brightly wrought,
Themes more exulted, fill my wond'ring thought:
The parted skies are track'd with flames above,
As love descends to meet ascending love;
The seasons flourish where the spouses meet,
And earth in gardens spreads beneath their feet.
This fresh-bloom prospect in the bosom throngs,
When Solomon begins his song of songs,
Bids the rap'd soul to Lebanon repair,
And lays the scenes of all his action there,
Where as he wrote, and from the bow'r survey'd
The scenting groves, or answ'ring knots he made,
His sacred art the sights of nature brings,
Beyond their use, to figure heav'nly things.

Great son of God! whose gospel pleas'd to throw
Round thy rich glory, veils of earthly show,
Who made the vineyard oft thy church design,

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Parnell
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Song of Fairies Robbing an Orchard

We, the Fairies, blithe and antic,
Of dimensions not gigantic,
Though the moonshine mostly keep us,
Oft in orchards frisk and peep us.

Stolen sweets are always sweeter,
Stolen kisses much completer,
Stolen looks are nice in chapels,
Stolen, stolen, be your apples.

When to bed the world are bobbing,
Then's the time for orchard-robbing;
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling,
Were it not for stealing, stealing.

poem by James Henry Leigh Hunt
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Fairy Song

We the fairies blithe and antic,
Of Dimensions not gigantic,
Though the moonshine mostly keep us,
Oft in orchards frisk and peep us,

Stolen sweets are always sweeter;
Stolen kisses much completer;
Stolen looks are nice in chapels;
Stolen, stolen be your apples.

When to bed the world are bobbing,
Then's the time to go orchard robbing;
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling
Were it not for stealing, stealing.

poem by Thomas Randolph
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The Farewell

Of A Virginia Slave Mother To Her Daughters Sold Into Southern Bondage

Gone, gone, -- sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings
Where the noisome insect stings
Where the fever demon strews
Poison with the falling dews
Where the sickly sunbeams glare
Through the hot and misty air;
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone, -- sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
There no mother's eye is near them,
There no mother's ear can hear them;
Never, when the torturing lash
Seams their back with many a gash
Shall a mother's kindness bless them
Or a mother's arms caress them.
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
Oh, when weary, sad, and slow,
From the fields at night they go
Faint with toil, and racked with pain
To their cheerless homes again,
There no brother's voice shall greet them
There no father's welcome meet them.
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
From the tree whose shadow lay
On their childhood's place of play;
From the cool sprmg where they drank;
Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank;
From the solemn house of prayer,
And the holy counsels there;
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,

[...] Read more

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The Farewell of a Virginia Slave Mother

Of A Virginia Slave Mother To Her Daughters Sold Into Southern Bondage

Gone, gone, - sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings
Where the noisome insect stings
Where the fever demon strews
Poison with the falling dews
Where the sickly sunbeams glare
Through the hot and misty air;
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone, - sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
There no mother's eye is near them,
There no mother's ear can hear them;
Never, when the torturing lash
Seams their back with many a gash
Shall a mother's kindness bless them
Or a mother's arms caress them.
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
Oh, when weary, sad, and slow,
From the fields at night they go
Faint with toil, and racked with pain
To their cheerless homes again,
There no brother's voice shall greet them
There no father's welcome meet them.
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
From the tree whose shadow lay
On their childhood's place of play;
From the cool spring where they drank;
Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank;
From the solemn house of prayer,
And the holy counsels there;

[...] Read more

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Whos That Girl?

there were places we would go
at midnight
there were secrets that nobody else would know
theres a reason but i dont know why,
i dont know why
dont know why
i thought they all belonged to me
whose that girl
wheres she from?
no she cant be the one
that you want
that has stolen my world
its not real its not right
its my day its my night
by the way whose that girl
livin' my life
oh no
livin' my life
seems like everythings the same around me
then i look again and everything has changed
im not dreamin' so i dont know why
dont know why
shes everywhere i want to be
whose that girl
wheres she from?
no she cant be the one
that you want
that has stolen my world(stolen my world)
its not real its not right
its my day its my night
by the way whose that girl
livin' my life
im the one that made you laugh
i made you feel
i made you sad
im not sorry
for what we did
for who we were
im not sorry
im not her
whose that girl
wheres she from?
no she cant be the one
that you want
that has stolen my world(stolen my world)
its not real its not right
its my day its my night
by the way whose that girl
livin' my life
oh no

[...] Read more

song performed by Hilary Duff
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Sweets Of Liberty

Is there a man that never sighed
To set the prisoner free?
Is there a man that never prized
The sweets of liberty ?
Then let him, let him breathe -unseen,
Or in a dungeon live;
Nor never, never know the sweets
That liberty can give.

Is there a heart so cold in man,
Can galling fetters crave ?
Is there a wretch so truly low,
Can stoop to be a slave?
O, let him, then, in chains be bound,
In chains and bondage live ;
Nor never, never know the sweets
That liberty can give.
Is there a breast so chilled in life,
Can nurse the coward’s sigh ?
Is there a creature so debased,
Would not for freedom die ?
O, let him then be doomed to crawl
Where only reptiles live ;
Nor never, never know the sweets
That liberty can give.

poem by Anonymous Americas
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To the Name above every Name, the Name of Jesus

I sing the Name which None can say
But touch’t with An interiour Ray:
The Name of our New Peace; our Good:
Our Blisse: and Supernaturall Blood:
The Name of All our Lives and Loves.
Hearken, And Help, ye holy Doves!
The high-born Brood of Day; you bright
Candidates of blissefull Light,
The Heirs Elect of Love; whose Names belong
Unto The everlasting life of Song;
All ye wise Soules, who in the wealthy Brest
Of This unbounded Name build your warm Nest.
Awake, My glory. Soul, (if such thou be,
And That fair Word at all referr to Thee)
Awake and sing
And be All Wing;
Bring hither thy whole Self; and let me see
What of thy Parent Heaven yet speakes in thee,
O thou art Poore
Of noble Powres, I see,
And full of nothing else but empty Me,
Narrow, and low, and infinitely lesse
Then this Great mornings mighty Busynes.
One little World or two
(Alas) will never doe.
We must have store.
Goe, Soul, out of thy Self, and seek for More.
Goe and request
Great Nature for the Key of her huge Chest
Of Heavns, the self involving Sett of Sphears
(Which dull mortality more Feeles then heares)
Then rouse the nest
Of nimble, Art, and traverse round
The Aiery Shop of soul-appeasing Sound:
And beat a summons in the Same
All-soveraign Name
To warn each severall kind
And shape of sweetnes, Be they such
As sigh with supple wind
Or answer Artfull Touch,
That they convene and come away
To wait at the love-crowned Doores of
This Illustrious Day.
Shall we dare This, my Soul? we’l doe’t and bring
No Other note for’t, but the Name we sing.
Wake Lute and Harp
And every sweet-lipp’t Thing
That talkes with tunefull string;
Start into life, And leap with me
Into a hasty Fitt-tun’d Harmony.

[...] Read more

poem by Richard Crashaw
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The Task: Book III. -- The Garden

As one who, long in thickets and in brakes
Entangled, winds now this way and now that
His devious course uncertain, seeking home;
Or, having long in miry ways been foil’d,
And sore discomfited, from slough to slough
Plunging, and half despairing of escape;
If chance at length he finds a greensward smooth
And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise,
He chirrups brisk his ear-erecting steed,
And winds his way with pleasure and with ease:
So I, designing other themes, and call’d
To adorn the Sofa with eulogium due,
To tell its slumbers, and to paint its dreams,
Have rambled wide. In country, city, seat
Of academic fame (howe’er deserved),
Long held, and scarcely disengaged at last.
But now with pleasant pace a cleanlier road
I mean to tread. I feel myself at large,
Courageous, and refresh’d for future toil,
If toil awaits me, or if dangers new.

Since pulpits fail, and sounding boards reflect
Most part an empty ineffectual sound,
What chance that I, to fame so little known,
Nor conversant with men or manners much,
Should speak to purpose, or with better hope
Crack the satiric thong? ‘Twere wiser far
For me, enamour’d of sequester’d scenes,
And charm’d with rural beauty, to repose,
Where chance may throw me, beneath elm or vine,
My languid limbs, when summer sears the plains;
Or, when rough winter rages, on the soft
And shelter’d Sofa, while the nitrous air
Feeds a blue flame, and makes a cheerful hearth;
There, undisturb’d by Folly, and apprised
How great the danger of disturbing her,
To muse in silence, or at least confine
Remarks that gall so many to the few,
My partners in retreat. Disgust conceal’d
Is ofttimes proof of wisdom, when the fault
Is obstinate, and cure beyond our reach.

Domestic Happiness, thou only bliss
Of Paradise that has survived the fall!
Though few now taste thee unimpair’d and pure,
Or tasting long enjoy thee! too infirm,
Or too incautious, to preserve thy sweets
Unmix’d with drops of bitter, which neglect
Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup;
Thou art the nurse of Virtue, in thine arms

[...] Read more

poem by William Cowper
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Prayer

LO here a little volume, but great Book
A nest of new-born sweets;
Whose native fires disdaining
To ly thus folded, and complaining
Of these ignoble sheets,
Affect more comly bands
(Fair one) from the kind hands
And confidently look
To find the rest
Of a rich binding in your Brest.
It is, in one choise handfull, heavenn; and all
Heavn’s Royall host; incamp’t thus small
To prove that true schooles use to tell,
Ten thousand Angels in one point can dwell.
It is love’s great artillery
Which here contracts itself, and comes to ly
Close couch’t in their white bosom: and from thence
As from a snowy fortresse of defence,
Against their ghostly foes to take their part,
And fortify the hold of their chast heart.
It is an armory of light
Let constant use but keep it bright,
You’l find it yeilds
To holy hands and humble hearts
More swords and sheilds
Then sin hath snares, or Hell hath darts.
Only be sure
The hands be pure
That hold these weapons; and the eyes
Those of turtles, chast and true;
Wakefull and wise;
Here is a freind shall fight for you,
Hold but this book before their heart;
Let prayer alone to play his part,
But ô the heart
That studyes this high Art
Must be a sure house-keeper
And yet no sleeper.
Dear soul, be strong.
Mercy will come e’re long
And bring his bosom fraught with blessings,
Flowers of never fading graces
To make immortall dressings
For worthy soules, whose wise embraces
Store up themselves for Him, who is alone
The Spouse of Virgins and the Virgin’s son.
But if the noble Bridegroom, when he come
Shall find the loytering Heart from home;
Leaving her chast aboad
To gadde abroad

[...] Read more

poem by Richard Crashaw
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The Devil's Sweets

The Devil’s sweets

This afternoon
I waited too soon
and let you in a secret
I hope you can keep it

I saw you sucking on the devil’s sweets
like a chocolate treat
if Dracula were around
it would make a sound
that would make the transformation complete

Don’t go
Don’t ignite the flame
Don’t spread the blame

Don’t wait
Why don’t you hesitate..
Anymore?

Like a vampire you sucked it in like a drug
don’t even come to give me a hug
because you’ve already left for the devil’s sweets
instead of me, you go to those chocolate treats

You are the spawn of Satan
Hell is your only safe haven
because you’ve tasted the devil’s sweets
your transformation is complete.

poem by Soldier's Wife
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Candy Girl

I like candy, like bubblegum pop,
I like a fizzy sweet on my tongue,
That shocks the senses like a gobstopper,
And is sweet like Turkish Delight,
For candy is the name of the game,
And I enjoy those romantic lovehearts,
For many a romantic teenage love,
Started with the sucking of a special message,
Whether a simple 'I Love You' or 'Hug Me',
And we all treasured our frist love,
In our hearts, never to be forgotten.

Although we don't smoke anymore,
We all remember trying a cigarette,
Behind the bike shed, coughing and choking,
As we inhaled, and we'd suck on mints,
Or Humbugs, to freshen our breath,
And hide what we had been doing,
For we felt wild, free and naughty,
Although, we know these days how bad,
For you smoking is, still it is nostalgic.

I remember eating Honeycomb growing up,
It was always a treat and I loved every bite,
But I couldn't get past liquorish: the taste bitter,
On my tongue, but my dad loved it,
So we'd buy a tin every Christmas for him:
I think it went down a treat, and he'd reciprocate,
The wonderful dad he was,
And I remember him calling me a Candy Girl,
Because I had a sweet nature and loved sweets,
And in the cold, winter months, he'd buy me cough candy,
My throat so raw and rough that I needed relief,
And it worked wonders for me, and the rest of the family,
So much so, that we'd treat him,
To Turkish Delight on his birthday,
And he'd offer me one, saying I was mysterious,
And would never lose with my curiosity and intellect.

He had been such a wonderful dad,
And when he was a gradnparent, he'd offer my son,
Butter toffee and coca-cola lollipops,
Lollipops have always been a firm favourite of mine,
I used to love vanilla, orange and the best: cherry,
I could also taste all the colours of the rainbow with Skittles,
They had been so vibrant and sunny: even in winter,
And - as the advert says - touch the rainbow,
Taste the rainbow. This is not a sweet to be ignored.

All my friends loved bubblegum, whether strawberry,

[...] Read more

poem by Paula Glynn
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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
Added by Poetry Lover
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And My Baby's Gone

We're not in love
Anymore.
I'm like a rich man
Gone poor.
All my treasures are stolen.
Yeah, all my treasures are stolen.
My baby,
My baby,
My baby,
My baby,
Yeah my baby is gone.
Without your heart
Anymore
I'm like a room
With no door.
Now when I walk and crawl,
Now when I walk and crawl,
But my baby,
Yeah, my baby,
But my baby,
My baby,
My baby is gone.
We're not in love
Anymore.
I'm like a rich man
Gone poor.
All my treasures are stolen.
Yeah, all my treasures are stolen.
Oh my baby,
Yeah, my baby
Oh my baby,
Yeah, my baby,
My baby
My baby,
Oh oh, my baby
Oh my baby,
My baby,
My baby is gone
Oh yeah

song performed by Moody Blues
Added by Lucian Velea
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