What is conservativism? Is it not the aherence to the old and tried against the new and untried?
quote by Abraham Lincoln
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Go To The Mirror Boy
Doctor:
Doctor:
He seems to be completely unreceptive.
He seems to be completely unreceptive.
The tests I gave him show no sense at all.
The tests I gave him show no sense at all.
His eyes react to light the dials detect it.
His eyes react to light the dials detect it.
He hears but cannot answer to your call.
He hears but cannot answer to your call.
Tommy:
Tommy:
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me.
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me.
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me.
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me.
Doctor:
Doctor:
There is no chance no untried operation.
There is no chance no untried operation.
All hope lies with him and none with me.
All hope lies with him and none with me.
Imagine though the shock from isolation.
Imagine though the shock from isolation.
When he suddenly can hear and speak and see.
When he suddenly can hear and speak and see.
Tommy:
Tommy:
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me.
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me.
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me.
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me.
Doctor:
Doctor:
His eyes can hear
His eyes can see
His ears can see his lips speak
His ears can hear his lips speak
All the time the needles flick and rock.
All the time the needles flick and rock.
No machine can give the kind of stimulation,
No machine can give the kind of stimulation,
Needed to remove his inner block.
Needed to remove his inner block.
Go to the mirror boy!
Go to the mirror boy!
Go to the mirror boy!
Go to the mirror boy!
Father:
Father:
[...] Read more
song performed by Who
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The Candidate
This poem was written in , on occasion of the contest between the
Earls of Hardwicke and Sandwich for the High-stewardship of the
University of Cambridge, vacant by the death of the Lord Chancellor
Hardwicke. The spirit of party ran high in the University, and no
means were left untried by either candidate to obtain a majority. The
election was fixed for the th of March, when, after much
altercation, the votes appearing equal, a scrutiny was demanded;
whereupon the Vice-Chancellor adjourned the senate _sine die_. On
appeal to the Lord High-Chancellor, he determined in favour of the
Earl of Hardwicke, and a mandamus issued accordingly.
Enough of Actors--let them play the player,
And, free from censure, fret, sweat, strut, and stare;
Garrick abroad, what motives can engage
To waste one couplet on a barren stage?
Ungrateful Garrick! when these tasty days,
In justice to themselves, allow'd thee praise;
When, at thy bidding, Sense, for twenty years,
Indulged in laughter, or dissolved in tears;
When in return for labour, time, and health,
The town had given some little share of wealth,
Couldst thou repine at being still a slave?
Darest thou presume to enjoy that wealth she gave?
Couldst thou repine at laws ordain'd by those
Whom nothing but thy merit made thy foes?
Whom, too refined for honesty and trade,
By need made tradesmen, Pride had bankrupts made;
Whom Fear made drunkards, and, by modern rules,
Whom Drink made wits, though Nature made them fools;
With such, beyond all pardon is thy crime,
In such a manner, and at such a time,
To quit the stage; but men of real sense,
Who neither lightly give, nor take offence,
Shall own thee clear, or pass an act of grace,
Since thou hast left a Powell in thy place.
Enough of Authors--why, when scribblers fail,
Must other scribblers spread the hateful tale?
Why must they pity, why contempt express,
And why insult a brother in distress?
Let those, who boast the uncommon gift of brains
The laurel pluck, and wear it for their pains;
Fresh on their brows for ages let it bloom,
And, ages past, still flourish round their tomb.
Let those who without genius write, and write,
Versemen or prosemen, all in Nature's spite,
The pen laid down, their course of folly run
In peace, unread, unmention'd, be undone.
Why should I tell, to cross the will of Fate,
That Francis once endeavour'd to translate?
Why, sweet oblivion winding round his head,
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Churchill
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Pigeons
ODALISQUES, odalisques,
Treading the pavement
With feet pomegranate-stained:
We bartered for, bought you
Back in the years
Ah, then we knew you,
Odalisques, odalisques,
Treading the pavement
With feet pomegranate-stained!
Queens of the air
Aithra, lole,
Eos and Auge,
Taking new beauty
From the sun's evening brightness,
Gyring in light
As nymphs play in waters
Aithra, lole,
Eos and Auge!
Then down on our doorsteps,
Gretchen and Dora. . . .
II
Pigeons that have flown down from the courts behind the orchards! Pigeons that run along the beach to take sand into your crops! What contrast is between you, birds of a rare stock, and the waves that know only the buccaneer sea-gulls and the sand-marten emigrants! And what contrast is between your momentary wildness here and your graces in the courtyards beyond the orchards!
You rise up and fly out five wave lengths from the beach. And now a strange element is under you the green, tumbling, untried sea. With that half-remembered element below you, you think, maybe, of rocky breeding-places and strong mates. Bravely
you hang above the untried, alluring sea just five wave-lengths out!
You remind us of the ladies who came down to the gypsy carts that were on the beach yesterday, and swore they would take to the gypsy ways!
And now you run along by the waves, taking more grains of sand into your crops!
A wave-break startles you. You take to your wings again. Now you see the dove-cotes beyond the orchards, and you fly towards them.
And all night long you will hear the sea breaking, and you will dream, maybe, in the dove-cotes, of strong mates and rocky breeding places.
At dawn you will fly down to the beach again, run along the hard sand, take grains into your crops, and fly five wavelengths
from the beach.
The sand-martens will have left their holes, and you will see them gathered in flocks on the sand-heights, the dusky gypsies.
And you will not notice when they have departed, going without after-thoughts, going over that green, alluring element, the sea.
Pigeons that run along the beach, taking sand into your crops!
poem by Padraic Colum
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Who are cheats?
Big men are the untried thieves.
Thieves are the convicted poor.
Donors are the untried swindlers.
swindlers are the exposed petty.
30.11.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Blind Justice And The Godfather
The United States
Supreme Court
lacks creditable
determinable
unity of purpose.
Guantanamo Bay
is a geographical
miscarriage of justice.
Guantanamo Bay
sanctioned sanitized
political spin styled military;
‘is a detainment facility
of the United States
located in (Castro) Cuba.’
The Boy Scouts
honour badges
ran summer camps
detainment areas
three Gitmo resorts
Camp Delta/ Echo
Camp Iguana but
Camp X-Ray was;
closed due to naughty
torture techniques
that’s human rights
violations
ok boys and girls?
The Justice Department?
Said its ok because
Guantanamo Bay Detention Camp
is our sneaky hidy-hole
outside U.S. legal jurisdiction!
Fuhrer Reich
Chancellor Bush
declared detainees;
were not allowed
not allowed
any protections
under humane
Geneva Conventions!
January 11,2002
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The impossible is often the untried.
quote by Jim Goodwin
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We are more ready to try the untried when what we do is inconsequential. Hence the fact that many inventions had their birth as toys.
quote by Eric Hoffer
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The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and left untried.
quote by G.K. Chesterton
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The faculty of imagination is the great spring of human activity, and the principle source of human improvement. As it delights in presenting to the mind scenes and characters more perfect than those which we are acquainted with, it prevents us from ever being completely satisfied without present condition, or with our past attainments, and engages us continually in the pursuit of some untried enjoyment, or of some ideal excellence. Destroy this faculty, and the condition of man will become as stationary as that of the brutes.
quote by Dugald Stewart
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We are more ready to try the untried when what we do is inconsequential. Hence the fact that many inventions had their birth as toys.
quote by Eric Hoffer
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Writing ought either to be the manufacture of stories for which there is a market demand -- a business as safe and commendable as making soap or breakfast foods -- or it should be an art, which is always a search for something for which there is no market demand, something new and untried, where the values are intrinsic and have nothing to do with standardized values.
quote by Willa Sibert Cather
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Resignation
TO FAUSTA
_To die be given us, or attain!_
_Fierce work it were, to do again._
So pilgrims, bound for Mecca, pray'd
At burning noon; so warriors said,
Scarf'd with the cross, who watch'd the miles
Of dust which wreathed their struggling files
Down Lydian mountains; so, when snows
Round Alpine summits, eddying, rose,
The Goth, bound Rome-wards; so the Hun,
Crouch'd on his saddle, while the sun
Went lurid down o'er flooded plains
Through which the groaning Danube strains
To the drear Euxine;--so pray all,
Whom labours, self-ordain'd, enthrall;
Because they to themselves propose
On this side the all-common close
A goal which, gain'd, may give repose.
So pray they; and to stand again
Where they stood once, to them were pain;
Pain to thread back and to renew
Past straits, and currents long steer'd through.
But milder natures, and more free--
Whom an unblamed serenity
Hath freed from passions, and the state
Of struggle these necessitate;
Whom schooling of the stubborn mind
Hath made, or birth hath found, resign'd--
These mourn not, that their goings pay
Obedience to the passing day.
These claim not every laughing Hour
For handmaid to their striding power;
Each in her turn, with torch uprear'd,
To await their march; and when appear'd,
Through the cold gloom, with measured race,
To usher for a destined space
(Her own sweet errands all forgone)
The too imperious traveller on.
These, Fausta, ask not this; nor thou,
Time's chafing prisoner, ask it now!
We left, just ten years since, you say,
That wayside inn we left to-day.[1]
Our jovial host, as forth we fare,
Shouts greeting from his easy chair.
High on a bank our leader stands,
Reviews and ranks his motley bands,
Makes clear our goal to every eye--
[...] Read more
poem by Matthew Arnold (1849)
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To ---- VII
Upon the sea of life,
Outspread thy spirit's sails; --
Go in thy genius forth, and breast
Its billows and its gales.
Weigh anchor and depart --
Why linger on the shore?
Seize helm and guide thy spirit's bark
These untried waters o'er.
Dread only the dead calm,
Heed not the sky's dark frown;
And if to shipwreck thou art doomed,
Go in the tempest down.
poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Eighth Book
ONE eve it happened when I sate alone,
Alone upon the terrace of my tower,
A book upon my knees, to counterfeit
The reading that I never read at all,
While Marian, in the garden down below,
Knelt by the fountain (I could just hear thrill
The drowsy silence of the exhausted day)
And peeled a new fig from that purple heap
In the grass beside her,–turning out the red
To feed her eager child, who sucked at it
With vehement lips across a gap of air
As he stood opposite, face and curls a-flame
With that last sun-ray, crying, 'give me, give,'
And stamping with imperious baby-feet,
(We're all born princes)–something startled me,–
The laugh of sad and innocent souls, that breaks
Abruptly, as if frightened at itself;
'Twas Marian laughed. I saw her glance above
In sudden shame that I should hear her laugh,
And straightway dropped my eyes upon my book,
And knew, the first time, 'twas Boccaccio's tales,
The Falcon's,–of the lover who for love
Destroyed the best that loved him. Some of us
Do it still, and then we sit and laugh no more.
Laugh you, sweet Marian! you've the right to laugh,
Since God himself is for you, and a child!
For me there's somewhat less,–and so, I sigh.
The heavens were making room to hold the night,
The sevenfold heavens unfolding all their gates
To let the stars out slowly (prophesied
In close-approaching advent, not discerned),
While still the cue-owls from the cypresses
Of the Poggio called and counted every pulse
Of the skyey palpitation. Gradually
The purple and transparent shadows slow
Had filled up the whole valley to the brim,
And flooded all the city, which you saw
As some drowned city in some enchanted sea,
Cut off from nature,–drawing you who gaze,
With passionate desire, to leap and plunge,
And find a sea-king with a voice of waves,
And treacherous soft eyes, and slippery locks
You cannot kiss but you shall bring away
Their salt upon your lips. The duomo-bell
Strikes ten, as if it struck ten fathoms down,
So deep; and fifty churches answer it
The same, with fifty various instances.
Some gaslights tremble along squares and streets
The Pitti's palace-front is drawn in fire:
[...] Read more
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
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James Lee's Wife
I.—James Lee's Wife Speaks at the Window
I.
Ah, Love, but a day
And the world has changed!
The sun's away,
And the bird estranged;
The wind has dropped,
And the sky's deranged:
Summer has stopped.
II.
Look in my eyes!
Wilt thou change too?
Should I fear surprise?
Shall I find aught new
In the old and dear,
In the good and true,
With the changing year?
III.
Thou art a man,
But I am thy love.
For the lake, its swan;
For the dell, its dove;
And for thee—(oh, haste!)
Me, to bend above,
Me, to hold embraced.
II.—By the Fireside
I.
Is all our fire of shipwreck wood,
Oak and pine?
Oh, for the ills half-understood,
The dim dead woe
Long ago
Befallen this bitter coast of France!
Well, poor sailors took their chance;
I take mine.
II.
A ruddy shaft our fire must shoot
O'er the sea:
Do sailors eye the casement—mute,
Drenched and stark,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from Dramatis Personae (1864)
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V. Count Guido Franceschini
Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Change Of Heart
Here I am
just like i said i would be
I'm your friend
just like you think it should be
Did you think i woukld stand here and lie
as our moment was passing us by
Oh I am here
Waiting fopr your change of heart
it just takes a beat
to turn it around
Yes I'm waiting for your change of heart
at the edge of my seat
please turn it around
Days go by
leaving me with a hunger
I could fly
back to when we were younger
When adventures like cars we would ride
and the years lie ahead still untried
While i stand here
Waiting for your change of heart...
Blind leading blind
never hear the laughter
search through time
nothing reveals the answer
If it's truth that you're looking to find
It is nowhere outside of your mind
I bide my time
Waiting for your change of heart
song performed by Cyndi Lauper from Twelve Deadly Cyns ...and then some
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When All Is Said & Done
Heres to us one more toast and then well pay the bill
Deep inside both of us can feel the autumn chill
Birds of passage, you and me
We fly instinctively
When the summers over and the dark clouds hide the sun
Neither you nor Im to blame when all is said and done
In our lives we have walked some strange and lonely treks
Slightly worn but dignified and not too old for sex
Were still striving for the sky
No taste for humble pie
Thanks for all your generous love and thanks for all the fun
Neither you nor Im to blame when all is said and done
Its so strange when youre down and lying on the floor
How you rise, shake your head, get up and ask for more
Clear-headed and open-eyed
With nothing left untried
Standing calmly at the crossroads,no desire to run
Theres no hurry any more when all is said and done
Standing calmly at the crossroads,no desire to run
Theres no hurry any more when all is said and done
song performed by ABBA
Added by Lucian Velea
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Go To The Mirror
He seems to be completely unreceptive
The tests I gave him showed no sense at all
His eyes react to light, the dials detect it
He hears but cannot answer to your call
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me
There is no chance, no untried operation
All hope lies with him and none with me
Imagine through the shock of isolation
When he can suddenly hear and speak and see
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me
His eyes can hear, his ears can see, his lips speak
All the time the needles flick and rock
No machine can give the kind of stimulation
Needed to remove his inner block
Go to the mirror boy
Go to the mirror boy
I often wonder what he is feeling
Has he ever heard a word I've said
Look at him in the mirror dreaming
What is happening in his head
Listening to you, I get the music
Gazing at you, I get the heat
Following you, I climb the mountain
I get excitement at your feet
Right behind you, I see the millions
On you, I see the glory
From you, I get opinions
From you, I get the story
What is happening in his head
Ooooh, I wish I knew
I wish I knew
song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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Anticipation
How beautiful the earth is still,
To thee—how full of happiness?
How little fraught with real ill,
Or unreal phantoms of distress!
How spring can bring thee glory, yet,
And summer win thee to forget
December's sullen time!
Why dost thou hold the treasure fast,
Of youth's delight, when youth is past,
And thou art near thy prime?
When those who were thy own compeers,
Equals in fortune and in years,
Have seen their morning melt in tears,
To clouded, smileless day;
Blest, had they died untried and young,
Before their hearts went wandering wrong,—
Poor slaves, subdued by passions strong,
A weak and helpless prey!
'Because, I hoped while they enjoyed,
And by fulfilment, hope destroyed;
As children hope, with trustful breast,
I waited bliss—and cherished rest.
A thoughtful spirit taught me soon,
That we must long till life be done;
That every phase of earthly joy
Must always fade, and always cloy:
'This I foresaw—and would not chase
The fleeting treacheries;
But, with firm foot and tranquil face,
Held backward from that tempting race,
Gazed o'er the sands the waves efface,
To the enduring seas—
There cast my anchor of desire
Deep in unknown eternity;
Nor ever let my spirit tire,
With looking for what is to be!
"It is hope's spell that glorifies,
Like youth, to my maturer eyes,
All Nature's million mysteries,
The fearful and the fair—
Hope soothes me in the griefs I know;
She lulls my pain for others' woe,
And makes me strong to undergo
What I am born to bear.
[...] Read more
poem by Emily Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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