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The nineteenth century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass. The nineteenth century dislike of romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.

Oscar Wilde in The Picture of Dorian Gray, Preface (1890)
Added by Dan Costinaş
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In The 21st Century

When the river runs dry, what will we say
Na na na na na na na na hey hey
In the 21st century
Oh when the river runs dry, what will we do
Na na na na na na na na oh-hoo
In the 21st century
When the river runs dry, what will we wear
Na na na na na na na na where?
To the 21st century
Now some people sing, some people say
Na na na na na na na na hey hey
Get up off your knees and pray
Pray that the earth dont tire, of the way that were puttin her down
Hope that the universe dont say Im still expanding but your time is up
Some people sing, some people sigh
Na na na na na na na na why?
Why cant we live in peace
Some people sing, some people say
Na na na na na na na na hey hey
In the 21st century
Hope that the earth dont tire, of the way that were puttin her down
Hope the universe dont say - stop spinning around
Hope the world dont say that weve got no place to go
Hope the universe dont say Ill be expanding for a while, you? no!
In the 21st century
In the 21st century
In the 21st century
In the 21st century
In the 21st century
21st century
21st century
21st century
21st century
21st century
In the 21st century
21st century
When the river runs dry, what will we say
Na na na na na na na na hey hey
21st century
The 21st century
The 21st century
The 21st century
Oh when the river runs dry, what will we do
Na na na na na na na na oh-hoo

song performed by Men Without Hats
Added by Lucian Velea
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Rage Hard

(gill/johnson/nash/otoole)
Rage! rage! rage! rage!
Rage hard!
Laugh like the head of apollo
Young and strong on the wings of tomorrow
Rise up in millions get off your knees
Dispelling the demons
In the valley of danger
We all work together, sculptures in sorrow
With love light to follow, on
Sweet head of apollo
Rage hard, into the light
Rage hard, doing it right, doing it right
Rage hard, against the dark
Rage hard, make your mark
Let the tournament begin
Dont give up and dont give in
Strength to rise up, strength to win
Strength to save the wor(l)d from losing
Rage hard, into the light
Rage hard, doing it right
Rage hard, against the dark
Rage hard
Rage!
Rage hard
Though blue eyes of children
They shine without fear
Hope is the future, with oceans of cheer
Nothing to fear
Theres nothing to fear
Though laughter of angels resounding
From heaven keep fighting the favours
Of charlatan saviours, charlatan saviours
Rage hard, into the light
Rage hard, doing it right, doing it right
Rage hard, against the dark
Rage hard, make your mark
Let the tournament begin
Dont give up and dont give in
Rage hard, into the light
Rage hard, doing it right
Rage hard, against the dark
Rage hard, make your mark
I dont know which way to go
My loves like driven snow
When we past the test of time
My love you shall be mine
And if only, lost and lonely
Is all thats wrong with me, we ll be free
Be free, be free

[...] Read more

song performed by Frankie Goes To Hollywood
Added by Lucian Velea
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Glass War

Glass war, glass war, glass war, glass war, it's a glass war
Glass war, glass war, it's a glass war
Glass war, glass war
It's a glass war
Cause you can see right through the poisen
It's a glass war
Cause we all know the activeties
It's a glass war
Cause it's made of smoke and mirrors
It's a glass war
It's a glass war
It's a glass war
Cause only poor men are dyin in the
Gas war
Cause we know why it was started
It's an ass war
Cause the president's an asshole
It's an ass war
It's a glass war
It's a gas war
Cause the starters are all victims of the
Glass war
The slogan men were starters of the
Last war
Now the southern men are starters of the
Glass war
It's a Glass War
It's a Glass war
And the shards are gunna start another glass war
And the shards are gunna start another glass war
And the shards are gunna start another glass war
And the shards are gunna start another glass war
And the shards are gunna start another glass war
It's a glass war
It's a glass war

song performed by NOFX
Added by Lucian Velea
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People Are So Ready to Rage

People are so ready to rage.
With open mouths they shout...
And a madness pours right out.

People are so ready to rage.
To say today they're crazy,
Would not today amaze!

Gone,
From them...
Is any sign that hints,
Of an innocence.

And gone,
Are ballooned parades...
People use to love,
And...
Celebrate.

People are so ready to rage.
With open mouths they shout...
And a madness pours right out.

People are so ready to rage.
To say today they're crazy,
Would not today amaze!

Gone,
From them...
Is any sign that hints,
Of an innocence.

And gone,
Are ballooned parades...
People use to love,
And...
Celebrate.

What their exercising is their right to bleed.
What their exercising is their right to bleed.
What their exercising is their right to bleed.
What their exercising is their right!
And...
Gone,
From them...
Is any sign that hints,
Of an...Innocence.

And gone...
Are ballooned parades,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Caliban upon Setebos

Caliban upon Setebos
Or, Natural Theology in the Island

"Thou thoughtest that I was altogether such a one as thyself."

(David, Psalms 50.21)

['Will sprawl, now that the heat of day is best,
Flat on his belly in the pit's much mire,
With elbows wide, fists clenched to prop his chin.
And, while he kicks both feet in the cool slush,
And feels about his spine small eft-things course,
Run in and out each arm, and make him laugh:
And while above his head a pompion-plant,
Coating the cave-top as a brow its eye,
Creeps down to touch and tickle hair and beard,
And now a flower drops with a bee inside,
And now a fruit to snap at, catch and crunch,--
He looks out o'er yon sea which sunbeams cross
And recross till they weave a spider-web
(Meshes of fire, some great fish breaks at times)
And talks to his own self, howe'er he please,
Touching that other, whom his dam called God.
Because to talk about Him, vexes--ha,
Could He but know! and time to vex is now,
When talk is safer than in winter-time.
Moreover Prosper and Miranda sleep
In confidence he drudges at their task,
And it is good to cheat the pair, and gibe,
Letting the rank tongue blossom into speech.]

Setebos, Setebos, and Setebos!
'Thinketh, He dwelleth i' the cold o' the moon.

'Thinketh He made it, with the sun to match,
But not the stars; the stars came otherwise;
Only made clouds, winds, meteors, such as that:
Also this isle, what lives and grows thereon,
And snaky sea which rounds and ends the same.

'Thinketh, it came of being ill at ease:
He hated that He cannot change His cold,
Nor cure its ache. 'Hath spied an icy fish
That longed to 'scape the rock-stream where she lived,
And thaw herself within the lukewarm brine
O' the lazy sea her stream thrusts far amid,
A crystal spike 'twixt two warm walls of wave;
Only, she ever sickened, found repulse
At the other kind of water, not her life,
(Green-dense and dim-delicious, bred o' the sun)

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from Dramatis Personae (1864)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Prospero

Do you know the type of a prosperous man
Worldly wise
Knows how to get his daughter married
To a kings son
He is Prospero
His archetype is Satan
He slyly entered into the Eden
And taught Caliban language
And what else Caliban could do with language
But to curse
Prospero made the spirit of air a slave
And tormented the spirit of earth
And finally felt that he was successful
His brother came under his spell
Happy man he was now prepared for death
A poor man indeed so unlike Shakespeare
So unlike Caliban
Did Caliban ever write tragedies and comedies

poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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Blind Rage

Who's that peeping through my door
sneaking up and down the hall
I can't stand it anymore
I can't stand it anymore
Who's that peeping through my door
sneaking up and down the hall
I can't stand it anymore
I can't stand it anymore
Blind rage
I'm in a blind rage
Blind rage
blind rage
Blind rage
Who's that creeping in my room
blocking out the stars and moon
I fear you will attack me soon
who goes there
Who's that creeping in my room
blocking out the stars and moon
I fear you will attack me soon
who goes there
Blind rage
blind rage
Blind rage
blind rage
I'm in a blind rage
Blind rage
you're making me scared
blind rage
make me scared
Blind rage
Blind rage
blind rage
Blind rage
Blind rage
blind rage

song performed by Lou Reed
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hall Of Mirrors

The young man stepped into the hall of mirrors
Where he discovered a reflection of himself
Even the greatest stars discover themselves in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars discover themselves in the looking glass
Sometimes he saw his real face
And sometimes a stranger at his place
Even the greatest stars find their face in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars find their face in the looking glass
He fell in love with the image of himself
and suddenly the picture was distorted
Even the greatest stars dislike themselves in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars dislike themselves in the looking glass
He made up the person he wanted to be
And changed into a new personality
Even the greatest stars change themselves in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars change themselves in the looking glass
The artist is living in the mirror
With the echoes of himself
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars fix their face in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars fix their face in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass

song performed by Kraftwerk
Added by Lucian Velea
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21st Century War

another little lethal step
another little blatant threat
another political point to score
it’s a 21st century war

Standing here right on the brink
ain't gonna be the first to blink
so absolutely deadly sure
in a 21st century war

no one is innocent don’t pass the blame
don’t dare to shout “not in my name”
wherever you’re going from wherever you came
we’re all players in this deadly game

you can close your eyes but you cannot sleep
got a whirlwind storm to reap
now it’s right at your front door
it’s 21st century war

don’t hope for peace too late for that
come dance the two step tit for tat
now everybody takes the floor
it’s a 21st century war

don’t come crying don’t look sad
you can wish it ain’t so till it drives you mad
it ain’t too good but it ain’t all bad
just count the blessings that you’ve had

one step up two steps back
defend your right to massive attack
might is right in international law
it’s a 21st century war

how hard is it? what’s to learn
people we kill will kill in return
no one is safe anywhere anymore
it’s a 21st century war

get the gear and display the brand
get your head deep in the shifting sand
no need to listen with a gun in your hand
it’s the only language that they understand

no room for doubt no margin of error
who can you trust in the war on terror
say goodbye to the freedoms you’re fighting for
it’s a 21st century war

[...] Read more

poem by Tim Casswell
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Give Your Heart To The Hawks

1 he apples hung until a wind at the equinox,

That heaped the beach with black weed, filled the dry grass

Under the old trees with rosy fruit.

In the morning Fayne Fraser gathered the sound ones into a

basket,

The bruised ones into a pan. One place they lay so thickly
She knelt to reach them.

Her husband's brother passing
Along the broken fence of the stubble-field,
His quick brown eyes took in one moving glance
A little gopher-snake at his feet flowing through the stubble
To gain the fence, and Fayne crouched after apples
With her mop of red hair like a glowing coal
Against the shadow in the garden. The small shapely reptile
Flowed into a thicket of dead thistle-stalks
Around a fence-post, but its tail was not hidden.
The young man drew it all out, and as the coil
Whipped over his wrist, smiled at it; he stepped carefully
Across the sag of the wire. When Fayne looked up
His hand was hidden; she looked over her shoulder
And twitched her sunburnt lips from small white teeth
To answer the spark of malice in his eyes, but turned
To the apples, intent again. Michael looked down
At her white neck, rarely touched by the sun,
But now the cinnabar-colored hair fell off from it;
And her shoulders in the light-blue shirt, and long legs like a boy's
Bare-ankled in blue-jean trousers, the country wear;
He stooped quietly and slipped the small cool snake
Up the blue-denim leg. Fayne screamed and writhed,
Clutching her thigh. 'Michael, you beast.' She stood up
And stroked her leg, with little sharp cries, the slender invader
Fell down her ankle.

Fayne snatched for it and missed;

Michael stood by rejoicing, his rather small

Finely cut features in a dance of delight;

Fayne with one sweep flung at his face

All the bruised and half-spoiled apples in the pan,

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 12

WHEN Turnus saw the Latins leave the field,
Their armies broken, and their courage quell’d,
Himself become the mark of public spite,
His honor question’d for the promis’d fight;
The more he was with vulgar hate oppress’d, 5
The more his fury boil’d within his breast:
He rous’d his vigor for the last debate,
And rais’d his haughty soul to meet his fate.
As, when the swains the Libyan lion chase,
He makes a sour retreat, nor mends his pace; 10
But, if the pointed jav’lin pierce his side,
The lordly beast returns with double pride:
He wrenches out the steel, he roars for pain;
His sides he lashes, and erects his mane:
So Turnus fares; his eyeballs flash with fire, 15
Thro’ his wide nostrils clouds of smoke expire.
Trembling with rage, around the court he ran,
At length approach’d the king, and thus began:
“No more excuses or delays: I stand
In arms prepar’d to combat, hand to hand, 20
This base deserter of his native land.
The Trojan, by his word, is bound to take
The same conditions which himself did make.
Renew the truce; the solemn rites prepare,
And to my single virtue trust the war. 25
The Latians unconcern’d shall see the fight;
This arm unaided shall assert your right:
Then, if my prostrate body press the plain,
To him the crown and beauteous bride remain.”
To whom the king sedately thus replied: 30
“Brave youth, the more your valor has been tried,
The more becomes it us, with due respect,
To weigh the chance of war, which you neglect.
You want not wealth, or a successive throne,
Or cities which your arms have made your own: 35
My towns and treasures are at your command,
And stor’d with blooming beauties is my land;
Laurentum more than one Lavinia sees,
Unmarried, fair, of noble families.
Now let me speak, and you with patience hear, 40
Things which perhaps may grate a lover’s ear,
But sound advice, proceeding from a heart
Sincerely yours, and free from fraudful art.
The gods, by signs, have manifestly shown,
No prince Italian born should heir my throne: 45
Oft have our augurs, in prediction skill’d,
And oft our priests, a foreign son reveal’d.
Yet, won by worth that cannot be withstood,
Brib’d by my kindness to my kindred blood,
Urg’d by my wife, who would not be denied, 50

[...] Read more

poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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Thurso’s Landing

I
The coast-road was being straightened and repaired again,
A group of men labored at the steep curve
Where it falls from the north to Mill Creek. They scattered and hid
Behind cut banks, except one blond young man
Who stooped over the rock and strolled away smiling
As if he shared a secret joke with the dynamite;
It waited until he had passed back of a boulder,
Then split its rock cage; a yellowish torrent
Of fragments rose up the air and the echoes bumped
From mountain to mountain. The men returned slowly
And took up their dropped tools, while a banner of dust
Waved over the gorge on the northwest wind, very high
Above the heads of the forest.
Some distance west of the road,
On the promontory above the triangle
Of glittering ocean that fills the gorge-mouth,
A woman and a lame man from the farm below
Had been watching, and turned to go down the hill. The young
woman looked back,
Widening her violet eyes under the shade of her hand. 'I think
they'll blast again in a minute.'
And the man: 'I wish they'd let the poor old road be. I don't
like improvements.' 'Why not?' 'They bring in the world;
We're well without it.' His lameness gave him some look of age
but he was young too; tall and thin-faced,
With a high wavering nose. 'Isn't he amusing,' she said, 'that
boy Rick Armstrong, the dynamite man,
How slowly he walks away after he lights the fuse. He loves to
show off. Reave likes him, too,'
She added; and they clambered down the path in the rock-face,
little dark specks
Between the great headland rock and the bright blue sea.

II
The road-workers had made their camp
North of this headland, where the sea-cliff was broken down and
sloped to a cove. The violet-eyed woman's husband,
Reave Thurso, rode down the slope to the camp in the gorgeous
autumn sundown, his hired man Johnny Luna
Riding behind him. The road-men had just quit work and four
or five were bathing in the purple surf-edge,
The others talked by the tents; blue smoke fragrant with food
and oak-wood drifted from the cabin stove-pipe
And slowly went fainting up the vast hill.
Thurso drew rein by
a group of men at a tent door
And frowned at them without speaking, square-shouldered and
heavy-jawed, too heavy with strength for so young a man,
He chose one of the men with his eyes. 'You're Danny Woodruff,

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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The Rosciad

Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.

Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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20 Century Boy

Friends say its fine, friends say its good
Everybody says its just like robin hood
I move like a rat, talk like a cat, sting like a bee
Babe Im gonna be your man
And its plain to see you were meant for me, yeah
Im your toy your twentieth century boy
Friends says its fine, friends says its good
Everybody says its just like robin hood
Fly like a plane, drive like a car, hold out your hand
Babe Im gonna be your man
And its plain to see you were meant for me, yeah
Im your boy your twentieth century toy
Twentieth century boy
I wanna be your toy
Twentieth century boy
I wanna be your toy
Twentieth century boy
I wanna be your toy
Twentieth century boy
I wanna be your toy
Friends say its fine, friends say its good
Everybody says its just like rock n roll
I move like a cat, talk like a rat, sting like a bee
Babe Im gonna be your man
And its plain to see you were meant for me, yeah
Im your toy your twentieth century boy
Twentieth century boy
I wanna be your toy
Twentieth century boy
I wanna be your toy
Twentieth century boy
I wanna be your toy
Twentieth century boy
I wanna be your toy

song performed by Placebo
Added by Lucian Velea
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Century City

Sometimes I wanna leave you
Sometimes I wanna go
Right back where I came from
Back where I belong
But it never lasts for too long
Always goes away
Well I s till dont look for reasons
Thats much too hard these days
Why worry about the rain?
Why worry about the problem?
Honey century citys got everything covered
Well your mama gave you lovin
Mama held you near
Baby mam a cant do nothin
Honey mama just aint here
And you can pretend all you want to
But that wont work no more
No you cant run back to daddy
Yeah you tried that once before
Why worry about your father?
Why worry about your mother?
Honey century citys got everything covered
Were gonna live in century city
Go ahead and give in, century city
Like modern men, modern girls
Were gonna live in the modern world
Were gonna live in century city
Go ahead and give in, century city
Like modern men, modern girls
Were gonna live in the modern world
Sometimes I get discouraged
Sometimes I feel so down
Sometimes I get so worried
But I dont know what about
But it w orks out in the long run
Always goes away
And Ive come now to accept it
As a reoccurring phase
Dont worry about the rain
Dont worry about the problem
Honey century citys got everything covered
Were gonna live in century city
Were gonna live in century city
Were gonna live in century city
Were gonna live in century city

song performed by Tom Petty
Added by Lucian Velea
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Pseudo-Romanticism

If lips shall lock,
hands be bolted,
should eyes be closed?
Should souls be soused
in ice, in fire, in electric shivers?

The scintillating intermingling
would linger deep
etched to never cease
like how poetries seal
the bashful emotions,
the reticent desires,
and the feral suffering

Teach me how
to lull your tremors;
what scull your waves
and funnels your vertigo?

Teach me how
to paint your bliss
and erode your malaise
for I know nothing
but the honesty in
entangling strings,
and eloquent attraction

Teach me how to pry
behind your perfumes
and the buds of your
daffodils and carnations

The mellifluous quartz
would recognize my weight
if I can carry you
as I trespass shadows,
chase vicissitude and
molest limitations

But you have to teach me -
Instill knowledge in my
deterred incarceration
if knowledge is important
in romanticism

Or perhaps
all you need is
to unfurl a face,
your empty hands,
your crimson lips

[...] Read more

poem by Norman Santos
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The Four Seasons : Summer

From brightening fields of ether fair disclosed,
Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes,
In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth:
He comes attended by the sultry Hours,
And ever fanning breezes, on his way;
While, from his ardent look, the turning Spring
Averts her blushful face; and earth, and skies,
All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves.
Hence, let me haste into the mid-wood shade,
Where scarce a sunbeam wanders through the gloom;
And on the dark-green grass, beside the brink
Of haunted stream, that by the roots of oak
Rolls o'er the rocky channel, lie at large,
And sing the glories of the circling year.
Come, Inspiration! from thy hermit-seat,
By mortal seldom found: may Fancy dare,
From thy fix'd serious eye, and raptured glance
Shot on surrounding Heaven, to steal one look
Creative of the Poet, every power
Exalting to an ecstasy of soul.
And thou, my youthful Muse's early friend,
In whom the human graces all unite:
Pure light of mind, and tenderness of heart;
Genius, and wisdom; the gay social sense,
By decency chastised; goodness and wit,
In seldom-meeting harmony combined;
Unblemish'd honour, and an active zeal
For Britain's glory, liberty, and Man:
O Dodington! attend my rural song,
Stoop to my theme, inspirit every line,
And teach me to deserve thy just applause.
With what an awful world-revolving power
Were first the unwieldy planets launch'd along
The illimitable void! thus to remain,
Amid the flux of many thousand years,
That oft has swept the toiling race of men,
And all their labour'd monuments away,
Firm, unremitting, matchless, in their course;
To the kind-temper'd change of night and day,
And of the seasons ever stealing round,
Minutely faithful: such the All-perfect hand!
That poised, impels, and rules the steady whole.
When now no more the alternate Twins are fired,
And Cancer reddens with the solar blaze,
Short is the doubtful empire of the night;
And soon, observant of approaching day,
The meek'd-eyed Morn appears, mother of dews,
At first faint-gleaming in the dappled east:
Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow;
And, from before the lustre of her face,

[...] Read more

poem by James Thomson
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Hymns Of The Marshes.

I. Sunrise.

In my sleep I was fain of their fellowship, fain
Of the live-oak, the marsh, and the main.
The little green leaves would not let me alone in my sleep;
Up-breathed from the marshes, a message of range and of sweep,
Interwoven with waftures of wild sea-liberties, drifting,
Came through the lapped leaves sifting, sifting,
Came to the gates of sleep.
Then my thoughts, in the dark of the dungeon-keep
Of the Castle of Captives hid in the City of Sleep,
Upstarted, by twos and by threes assembling:
The gates of sleep fell a-trembling
Like as the lips of a lady that forth falter `Yes,'
Shaken with happiness:
The gates of sleep stood wide.

I have waked, I have come, my beloved! I might not abide:
I have come ere the dawn, O beloved, my live-oaks, to hide
In your gospelling glooms, -- to be
As a lover in heaven, the marsh my marsh and the sea my sea.

Tell me, sweet burly-bark'd, man-bodied Tree
That mine arms in the dark are embracing, dost know
From what fount are these tears at thy feet which flow?
They rise not from reason, but deeper inconsequent deeps.
Reason's not one that weeps.
What logic of greeting lies
Betwixt dear over-beautiful trees and the rain of the eyes?

O cunning green leaves, little masters! like as ye gloss
All the dull-tissued dark with your luminous darks that emboss
The vague blackness of night into pattern and plan,
So,
(But would I could know, but would I could know,)
With your question embroid'ring the dark of the question of man, --
So, with your silences purfling this silence of man
While his cry to the dead for some knowledge is under the ban,
Under the ban, --
So, ye have wrought me
Designs on the night of our knowledge, -- yea, ye have taught me,
So,
That haply we know somewhat more than we know.

Ye lispers, whisperers, singers in storms,
Ye consciences murmuring faiths under forms,
Ye ministers meet for each passion that grieves,
Friendly, sisterly, sweetheart leaves,
Oh, rain me down from your darks that contain me

[...] Read more

poem by Sidney Lanier
Added by Poetry Lover
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Sixth Book

THE English have a scornful insular way
Of calling the French light. The levity
Is in the judgment only, which yet stands;
For say a foolish thing but oft enough,
(And here's the secret of a hundred creeds,–
Men get opinions as boys learn to spell,
By re-iteration chiefly) the same thing
Shall pass at least for absolutely wise,
And not with fools exclusively. And so,
We say the French are light, as if we said
The cat mews, or the milch-cow gives us milk:
Say rather, cats are milked, and milch cows mew,
For what is lightness but inconsequence,
Vague fluctuation 'twixt effect and cause,
Compelled by neither? Is a bullet light,
That dashes from the gun-mouth, while the eye
Winks, and the heart beats one, to flatten itself
To a wafer on the white speck on a wall
A hundred paces off? Even so direct,
So sternly undivertible of aim,
Is this French people.
All idealists
Too absolute and earnest, with them all
The idea of a knife cuts real flesh;
And still, devouring the safe interval
Which Nature placed between the thought and act,
They threaten conflagration to the world
And rush with most unscrupulous logic on
Impossible practice. Set your orators
To blow upon them with loud windy mouths
Through watchword phrases, jest or sentiment,
Which drive our burley brutal English mobs
Like so much chaff, whichever way they blow,–
This light French people will not thus be driven.
They turn indeed; but then they turn upon
Some central pivot of their thought and choice,
And veer out by the force of holding fast.
–That's hard to understand, for Englishmen
Unused to abstract questions, and untrained
To trace the involutions, valve by valve,
In each orbed bulb-root of a general truth,
And mark what subtly fine integument
Divides opposed compartments. Freedom's self
Comes concrete to us, to be understood,
Fixed in a feudal form incarnately
To suit our ways of thought and reverence,
The special form, with us, being still the thing.
With us, I say, though I'm of Italy
My mother's birth and grave, by father's grave
And memory; let it be,–a poet's heart

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poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Twentieth Century

Oh, the Twentieth Century wasn't all that bad
It was a time like no one else has ever had
We learned to drive, we learned to fly
We sent a man into the sky
When he walked on the moon, we were so glad
Yeah, the Twentieth Century wasn't all that bad
Yeah, the Twentieth Century was quite a ride
We had to learn to see the other side
We had demonstrations and liberations
Great depressions and good vibrations
And doors that once were closed were opened wide
Oh, the Twentieth Century was quite a ride
We had movin' pictures and radio
And Broadway, country, rock and roll
In 1900, who'd a bet we'd all be surfing on the internet
Yeah, the Twentieth Century was a heck of a show
We all had our fifteen minutes, don't you know
Assembly lines, celebrities,
the spotlight shined on you and me
And everybody got a standin' O
Yeah, the Twentieth Century was a heck of a show
From blocks of ice to air condition
Telegraph to television
In 1900, who'd a known we all wind up
with pocket phones
The Twentieth Century wasn't all that long
Just a hundred years has come and gone
We can't go back even if we try
So I'll just smile and wave goodbye
To see it leavin' makes me kinda sad
It was a time like no one else has ever had
Oh, the Twentieth Century wasn't all that bad
The Twentieth Century
Bye-bye
The Twentieth Century
Goodbye

song performed by Alabama
Added by Lucian Velea
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