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If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality.

quote by Desmond Tutu
Added by Lucian Velea
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An Extraordinary Friendship

There happened to be an Elephant with purple skin
Which caused many a little child, to laugh and to grin?
They considered it so strange, and so ‘out of place’
That, a cheeky smirk ne’er left each mischievous face.
They laughed so much that they even shed tears:

“A Purple Elephant, with purple ears!
Who ever heard such a ridiculous thing,
Next we’ll be hearing the Elephant sing.”

On this did continue, for many a day,
Each time he felt more hurt and full of dismay.
He thought about travelling, far, far away –
“Perhaps then, my skin will be the normal grey? ”
Thus he did reason inside his mind,
This way he would be leaving his shame behind.
But, as he thought on, he began to realise
That his shame wasn’t what they saw with their eyes
But, how they made him feel, deep inside,
All this is what continued to wound his pride.

Suddenly, one bright and cheerful day
A small Blue Mouse just happened by his way.
The Purple Elephant instinctively let out a scream
From the fear and shock, at what he had just seen!
He was just about to turn, quickly away,
When, his attention was caught, as the Blue Mouse did say:
“Please, there’s no need for you to fear me
I’m only a little, quiet Blue Mouse, as you can see.
Why is it that you’re afraid and nervous too?
Please, tell me how I can help – I would really like to.”

And so, the Purple Elephant related his troubles and woes;
How he seemed to have few friends, but much more foes.
The little Blue Mouse gave him such caring advice,
Of which he thought was ever so nice:

“Don’t you worry about how others see you,
Because, when it comes to real beauty, they haven’t a clue.
Your strength of character is something I admire.
You battle on, where others weaken and tire;
You’re tall in stature, big hearted as well.
How do I know? I’ve observed you and can tell.”

The Purple Elephant smiled, and a tear glistened in his eye,
He found her words very touching, and did thus reply:

“O thank you so much, for your kind words so true,
Now, I wonder, is there any favour I can do for you? ”

[...] Read more

poem by Paul Holmes
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Vida's Game Of Chess

TRANSLATED

ARMIES of box that sportively engage
And mimic real battles in their rage,
Pleased I recount; how, smit with glory's charms,
Two mighty Monarchs met in adverse arms,
Sable and white; assist me to explore,
Ye Serian Nymphs, what ne'er was sung before.
No path appears: yet resolute I stray
Where youth undaunted bids me force my way.
O'er rocks and cliffs while I the task pursue,
Guide me, ye Nymphs, with your unerring clue.
For you the rise of this diversion know,
You first were pleased in Italy to show
This studious sport; from Scacchis was its name,
The pleasing record of your Sister's fame.

When Jove through Ethiopia's parch'd extent
To grace the nuptials of old Ocean went,
Each god was there; and mirth and joy around
To shores remote diffused their happy sound.
Then when their hunger and their thirst no more
Claim'd their attention, and the feast was o'er;
Ocean with pastime to divert the thought,
Commands a painted table to be brought.
Sixty-four spaces fill the chequer'd square;
Eight in each rank eight equal limits share.
Alike their form, but different are their dyes,
They fade alternate, and alternate rise,
White after black; such various stains as those
The shelving backs of tortoises disclose.
Then to the gods that mute and wondering sate,
You see (says he) the field prepared for fate.
Here will the little armies please your sight,
With adverse colours hurrying to the fight:
On which so oft, with silent sweet surprise,
The Nymphs and Nereids used to feast their eyes,
And all the neighbours of the hoary deep,
When calm the sea, and winds were lull'd asleep
But see, the mimic heroes tread the board;
He said, and straightway from an urn he pour'd
The sculptured box, that neatly seem'd to ape
The graceful figure of a human shape:--
Equal the strength and number of each foe,
Sixteen appear'd like jet, sixteen like snow.
As their shape varies various is the name,
Different their posts, nor is their strength the same.
There might you see two Kings with equal pride
Gird on their arms, their Consorts by their side;
Here the Foot-warriors glowing after fame,

[...] Read more

poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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Instead Of You Today One Black Mouse

Instead of you today
one black mouse.

It arrives the first
day of your departure.
It catches the corner
of my eye, my blood eye,
as you call it, and I
think at first that this
is only sunlight reflecting
from a window being closed
across the street but
my beating heart, faster,
holding my breath, tells
me it is a mouse that
precedes its smell in
the house, that is, if
it takes up residence,
and the curtains remain
permanently closed.

I do nothing but note
all this as briefly as
the flash, then return
to my grieving.

*

I see it true,
a mouse true, as
was and is the
affection I felt
and feel for you
but I do not want
to make this a
love poem unless
it is to a black
mouse claiming
vacated space

*

You must leave now,
black mouse of sorrow,
now formally named,
take up in another
residence. Do not
borrow my things,
do not move them
with your tail or tongue

[...] Read more

poem by Warren Falcon
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Adrienne Vittadini

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[...] Read more

poem by Caasder Fronds
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GOD's Elephant - Beating Back The Lion...

GOD Pulled The Lion’s Teeth
GOD Crushed The Lion’s Claws
GOD Took The Lion’s Roar
… and made it very small

GOD Tore Off The Lion’s Tail
GOD Cut The Lion’s Mane
‘Til The Lion’s Voracious Voice
Became Lame and Tamed … and Shamed

Because That Lion Was A Coward
That Crazed Lion Was A Bully
Looking Only For The Weak
To Feast On Them Fully

Not Because It Was Hungry
Not Because It Was In Need
Terror Became Its Creed
Because Its Favorite Taste … Was Greed

It Was The Nature Of That Beast
To Be The Enemy Of My Peace
But GOD Changed Me Into An Elephant
When GOD Saw Me On My Knees

That Lion Chose Me As Victim
It Thought I’d Be Irrelevant
Because It Had No Idea …
I’d Become GOD’ Elephant

… I Am One Of GOD’s Messengers
Hear Me Trumpet HIS Sound
See How Christian Courage Charge
and Shake Lions Underground

See My Ivory Tusks Of Hope
Raised High In Silhouette Moonlight
Gleaming As I Spoke
My Prayers Thru Every Night

See My Ears So Huge To Cool
Fiery Heat That Must Come
Caressing My Full Faith Form
As Heart Beats A Thunder-Drum

GOD Gave Me Wings Of The Wind
GOD Gave Me Echoes Of The Sea
Gave Me A Stand Like A Snowcapped Mountain
And A Trunk Like A Baobab Tree

[...] Read more

poem by MoonBee Canady
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Un-believable Situations

Un-believable situations,
Leave a lump in a throat.
And those,
Un-believable situations...
Can leave a weight on shoulders,
Whether one is young on older.
No matter who's brave or bold.

Stricken with heat or fever,
No matter who's brave or bold.
Those un-believable situations,
Can warm a heart...
Or turn it cold.

Few are prepared for what they can not see.
When surprised by situations.
Many choke up and can not breathe,
When confronted by situations...
Shocking and unbelieved.

Stricken with heat or fever,
No matter who's brave or bold.
Those un-believable situations,
Can warm a heart...
Or turn it cold.

Those un-believable situations,
Always stun the ones who disbelieve.
Those un-believable situations,
Come to bring some to their knees.

Those un-believable situations,
Always stun the ones who disbelieve.
Those un-believable situations,
Come to bring some to their knees.

Those un-believable situations,
Always stun the ones who disbelieve.
Those un-believable situations,
Come to bring some to their knees.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Slow And Steady (Based on the Tortoise and the Hare)

As usual an argument
An argument arose
In the poppy field
Next to the red rose

It was between the mouse and the cat
(No worse enemies existed than that!)
In the end they had a bet
Whoever won, he would get
The poppy field for his own to live in
While the one who lost would be given
"Exile, banished from here forever! "
Said the cat (who really was very clever.)

The mouse thought: "What nonsense!
But it'll be ME who'll win
And that cat will have to live
In the garbage bins! "

But before the mouse could get a word out,
The cat who had been prancing about
Cleared his throat, "I declare!
The competition shall be judged by the hare.
We are going to have a magnificent race,
Poor mousie won't be able to keep up the pace! "

There mouse stood, flabbergasted as ever!
Really, that cat, was sly and clever,
He knew mouse couldn't run at all!
He'd just trip over his tail and fall!
But (though worried he was) he had to do it,
Yes, mouse had to go and prove it,
He would run faster than any cat,
He would run like the wind and knock- them- flat!

The next day dawned, pearly and white,
But the poor mouse was pale with fright!
As he stood in his place
Ready for the race
The cat yawned, as if bored with all this!
When the starting goose gave a hiss,
"Ready, set, GO! "Shouted the hare aloud
The cat ran fast, leaving behind a cloud
Of dust, and the mouse ran as fast as he could
"I'll win this race! I'd do anything to, I would! "

As the cat ran ahead he couldn't help but think:
"There's no way that the mouse can pass me! "
I got ahead in an eye's blink!
Why don't I settle down for a nap?

[...] Read more

poem by anonym
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IX. Juris Doctor Johannes-Baptista Bottinius, Fisci et Rev. Cam. Apostol. Advocatus

Had I God's leave, how I would alter things!
If I might read instead of print my speech,—
Ay, and enliven speech with many a flower
Refuses obstinate to blow in print,
As wildings planted in a prim parterre,—
This scurvy room were turned an immense hall;
Opposite, fifty judges in a row;
This side and that of me, for audience—Rome:
And, where yon window is, the Pope should hide—
Watch, curtained, but peep visibly enough.
A buzz of expectation! Through the crowd,
Jingling his chain and stumping with his staff,
Up comes an usher, louts him low, "The Court
"Requires the allocution of the Fisc!"
I rise, I bend, I look about me, pause
O'er the hushed multitude: I count—One, two—

Have ye seen, Judges, have ye, lights of law,—
When it may hap some painter, much in vogue
Throughout our city nutritive of arts,
Ye summon to a task shall test his worth,
And manufacture, as he knows and can,
A work may decorate a palace-wall,
Afford my lords their Holy Family,—
Hath it escaped the acumen of the Court
How such a painter sets himself to paint?
Suppose that Joseph, Mary and her Babe
A-journeying to Egypt, prove the piece:
Why, first he sedulously practiseth,
This painter,—girding loin and lighting lamp,—
On what may nourish eye, make facile hand;
Getteth him studies (styled by draughtsmen so)
From some assistant corpse of Jew or Turk
Or, haply, Molinist, he cuts and carves,—
This Luca or this Carlo or the like.
To him the bones their inmost secret yield,
Each notch and nodule signify their use:
On him the muscles turn, in triple tier,
And pleasantly entreat the entrusted man
"Familiarize thee with our play that lifts
"Thus, and thus lowers again, leg, arm and foot!"
—Ensuring due correctness in the nude.
Which done, is all done? Not a whit, ye know!
He,—to art's surface rising from her depth,—
If some flax-polled soft-bearded sire be found,
May simulate a Joseph, (happy chance!)—
Limneth exact each wrinkle of the brow,
Loseth no involution, cheek or chap,
Till lo, in black and white, the senior lives!
Is it a young and comely peasant-nurse

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Modest Mouse

To the modest mouse,
Whose home, remotely shrouded
With the clutters of the cat's fallen eyesight,
Filled with such vitriol that none could grasp with coarse palms

And the cat, in her abode
Flourishing with jewels that glint like her devotion
To the pleasurable amenities of beauty and splendor
Why, have the heavens lost such bountiful ardor?

The lynx, the beau of indifference, forsaken with lips of crimson red,
Embedded with jewelry in a variation of halycon, sapphire, zircon
Inquisitive mouse, 'You glint so much, you fade in the light.'
Cat quips, irate with claws razor sharp, 'I beg your pardon? '

Oh, such absence of complications
As he prances across the wood, with reflux of blood in his tail,
Only exhibiting a weary face, of tombstone pale;
The cat walks eloquently, only embellishing what pride she has

Walking on thin, rusting wires with such prowess,
The modest mouse, puzzled, bewildered by such striding,
Resembling a hurricane, whose tempestuous whirling hurls edges that lacerate,
'There is no need to act like this! ' the mouse, judgment in surfeit

With such strife, arrogant like a lion,
The cat moves in sync with celestial aeons
With her whiskers, beaming towards the horizon,
None of this, the modest mouse could ever fathom

The modest mouse's confusion, 'Why pounce in such exuberant poise? '
Untoward feline's retalitation, 'Insecurity is a blight.' with such metallic alloy
The modest mouse, was not precarious, his eyes were too good for decoys
The cat's carnal eyes luster with so much flamboyance.

The modest mouse, in pure content, seeing his pale color of gray,
'You are charcoal gray, you should revel.' He told himself humbly.
And subtly, with silent distinctions, the cat stood behind the modest mouse,
With a condescending smirk in her face, for she is adorned in a multitude of colors.

'You seem to shine, like the rainbow! ' Oh, such humility this mouse beholds
The humility that withstands the fiery Summer, and the winter cold.
'I am, more than the rainbow.' Of this you see, the feral audacity?
With such depth, does she serenade herself incessantly.

'Your tail is horrendous! ' Said the cat, waving her emerald tail
Comparatively seeing, careening over her distinctions, the arrogance is ubiquitous.
Thus, the modest mouse cannot be stopped, he stood presumptuously,
Assuming a stance on all fours, with a face as meek as a lily.

[...] Read more

poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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Elefans' Fans - Elefans' Fans - Gray Eulogy written in a Country Backyard

Enormous fan ears,
Like trees legs large, small rope tail,
Ends pointed, tusk spears.
Flanks walls, pack I derm trunk snake
ANSwer: blind faith tale's trumps wake.

21 March 2009 robi3_1871_saxe1_0003 PAH_NXX
Acrostic Tanka Elefans

The Blind Men and the Elephant

It was six men of Hindostan
To learning much inclined
Who went to see the Elephant
[Though all of them were blind];
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind.

The first approached the Elephant,
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:
"Bless me, it seems the Elephant
Is very like a wall."

The second, feeling of his tusk,
Cried, "Ho! what have we here
So very round and smooth and sharp.
To me ‘tis mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant
Is very like a spear."

The third approached the animal,
And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
Then boldly up and spake:
"I see, " quoth he, "the Elephant
Is very like a snake."

The fouth stretched out his eager hand
And felt about the knee,
"What most this mighty beast is like
Is mighty plain, " quoth he:
"'Tis clear enough, the Elephant
Is very like a tree."

The fifth who chanced to touch the ear
Said, "Even the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most;
Deny the fact who can,

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Elefans' Fans' Grey Tanka Eulogy written on a Grass Green Country Backyard after John Godfrey Saxe The Blind Men and the Elephant

The King was ill. A travelling monk told him to look upon the healing colour of green. The king spent lakhs and lakhs of money hiring artists to paint the entire country green. The monk once again travelled in the vicinity and came to court. He said to the king: 'Would it not have been better to put on green glasses? ' Paraphrased from a story told by Sathya Sai Baba

Guard us from advice
Responses aping logic
As King in a trice
Should have rejected both monk,
Story artists' green leafed trunk.

Green dreams in dark night
Reveal lies theologic
Emerald eyes quite
Express blood red as black junk -
Simplistic suggestions sunk.

Enormous fan ears,
Like trees legs large, small rope tail,
Ends pointed, tusk spears.
Flanks walls, pack I derm trunk snake
ANSwer: blind faith tale's trumps wake.

Guard from blind minds blind
Leads up undermined mined path
As grass green scene signed
Shows more than meets eye. debunk
Surface virid, vivid drunk.

The Blind Men and the Elephant
It was six men of Hindostan
To learning much inclined
Who went to see the Elephant
[Though all of them were blind];
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind.

The first approached the Elephant,
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:
"Bless me, it seems the Elephant
Is very like a wall."

The second, feeling of his tusk,
Cried, "Ho! what have we here
So very round and smooth and sharp.
To me ‘tis mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant
Is very like a spear."

The third approached the animal,
And happening to take

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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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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III. The Other Half-Rome

Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
From nobleness to nobleness, as she,
Over the rough way of the world, succumbs,
Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot,
The angels love to do their work betimes,
Staunch some wounds here nor leave so much for God.
Who knows? However it be, confessed, absolved,
She lies, with overplus of life beside
To speak and right herself from first to last,
Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave,
Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son
From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus,
And—with best smile of all reserved for him—
Pardon that sire and husband from the heart.
A miracle, so tell your Molinists!

There she lies in the long white lazar-house.
Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt,
Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear
Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge
When the reluctant wicket opes at last,
Lets in, on now this and now that pretence,
Too many by half,—complain the men of art,—
For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first
Paid the due visit—justice must be done;
They took her witness, why the murder was.
Then the priests followed properly,—a soul
To shrive; 't was Brother Celestine's own right,
The same who noises thus her gifts abroad.
But many more, who found they were old friends,
Pushed in to have their stare and take their talk

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Tiger By The Tail

What a shock it was so surprising
You looked so small and frail
I didnt know what to do
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
People said that you must be joking
You let emotions run away with you
I realized a little too late
I bit off more than I could chew
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
Sometimes you grip it right
And sometimes you fail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
At times life can be so enlightening
But it can turn on you
Lately it gets so complicated i
I dont know what the tiger will do
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
Sometimes you grip it right
And sometimes you fail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail
Sometimes you grip it right
And sometimes you fail
I grabbed the tiger by the tail

song performed by Rick Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
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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!

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 11

SCARCE had the rosy Morning rais’d her head
Above the waves, and left her wat’ry bed;
The pious chief, whom double cares attend
For his unburied soldiers and his friend,
Yet first to Heav’n perform’d a victor’s vows: 5
He bar’d an ancient oak of all her boughs;
Then on a rising ground the trunk he plac’d,
Which with the spoils of his dead foe he grac’d.
The coat of arms by proud Mezentius worn,
Now on a naked snag in triumph borne, 10
Was hung on high, and glitter’d from afar,
A trophy sacred to the God of War.
Above his arms, fix’d on the leafless wood,
Appear’d his plumy crest, besmear’d with blood:
His brazen buckler on the left was seen; 15
Truncheons of shiver’d lances hung between;
And on the right was placed his corslet, bor’d;
And to the neck was tied his unavailing sword.
A crowd of chiefs inclose the godlike man,
Who thus, conspicuous in the midst, began: 20
“Our toils, my friends, are crown’d with sure success;
The greater part perform’d, achieve the less.
Now follow cheerful to the trembling town;
Press but an entrance, and presume it won.
Fear is no more, for fierce Mezentius lies, 25
As the first fruits of war, a sacrifice.
Turnus shall fall extended on the plain,
And, in this omen, is already slain.
Prepar’d in arms, pursue your happy chance;
That none unwarn’d may plead his ignorance, 30
And I, at Heav’n’s appointed hour, may find
Your warlike ensigns waving in the wind.
Meantime the rites and fun’ral pomps prepare,
Due to your dead companions of the war:
The last respect the living can bestow, 35
To shield their shadows from contempt below.
That conquer’d earth be theirs, for which they fought,
And which for us with their own blood they bought;
But first the corpse of our unhappy friend
To the sad city of Evander send, 40
Who, not inglorious, in his age’s bloom,
Was hurried hence by too severe a doom.”
Thus, weeping while he spoke, he took his way,
Where, new in death, lamented Pallas lay.
Acoetes watch’d the corpse; whose youth deserv’d 45
The father’s trust; and now the son he serv’d
With equal faith, but less auspicious care.
Th’ attendants of the slain his sorrow share.
A troop of Trojans mix’d with these appear,
And mourning matrons with dishevel’d hair. 50

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poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
Added by Poetry Lover
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IV. Tertium Quid

True, Excellency—as his Highness says,
Though she's not dead yet, she's as good as stretched
Symmetrical beside the other two;
Though he's not judged yet, he's the same as judged,
So do the facts abound and superabound:
And nothing hinders that we lift the case
Out of the shade into the shine, allow
Qualified persons to pronounce at last,
Nay, edge in an authoritative word
Between this rabble's-brabble of dolts and fools
Who make up reasonless unreasoning Rome.
"Now for the Trial!" they roar: "the Trial to test
"The truth, weigh husband and weigh wife alike
"I' the scales of law, make one scale kick the beam!"
Law's a machine from which, to please the mob,
Truth the divinity must needs descend
And clear things at the play's fifth act—aha!
Hammer into their noddles who was who
And what was what. I tell the simpletons
"Could law be competent to such a feat
"'T were done already: what begins next week
"Is end o' the Trial, last link of a chain
"Whereof the first was forged three years ago
"When law addressed herself to set wrong right,
"And proved so slow in taking the first step
"That ever some new grievance,—tort, retort,
"On one or the other side,—o'ertook i' the game,
"Retarded sentence, till this deed of death
"Is thrown in, as it were, last bale to boat
"Crammed to the edge with cargo—or passengers?
"'Trecentos inseris: ohe, jam satis est!
"'Huc appelle!'—passengers, the word must be."
Long since, the boat was loaded to my eyes.
To hear the rabble and brabble, you'd call the case
Fused and confused past human finding out.
One calls the square round, t' other the round square—
And pardonably in that first surprise
O' the blood that fell and splashed the diagram:
But now we've used our eyes to the violent hue
Can't we look through the crimson and trace lines?
It makes a man despair of history,
Eusebius and the established fact—fig's end!
Oh, give the fools their Trial, rattle away
With the leash of lawyers, two on either side—
One barks, one bites,—Masters Arcangeli
And Spreti,—that's the husband's ultimate hope
Against the Fisc and the other kind of Fisc,
Bound to do barking for the wife: bow—wow!
Why, Excellency, we and his Highness here
Would settle the matter as sufficiently

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Bagman's Dog, : Mr. Peters's Story

Stant littore Puppies!-- Virgil.

It was a litter, a litter of five,
Four are drown'd and one left alive,
He was thought worthy alone to survive;
And the Bagman resolved upon bringing him up,
To eat of his bread, and to drink of his cup,
He was such a dear little cock-tail'd pup.

The Bagman taught him many a trick;
He would carry and fetch, and run after a stick,
Could well understand
The word of command,
And appear to doze
With a crust on his nose,
Till the Bagman permissively waved his hand:
Then to throw up and catch it he never would fail,
As he sat up on end, on his little cock-tail.
Never was puppy so bien instruit,
Or possess'd of such natural talent as he;
And as he grew older,
Every beholder
Agreed he grew handsomer, sleeker, and bolder.--

Time, however, his wheels we may clog,
Wends steadily still with onward jog,
And the cock-tail'd puppy's a curly-tail'd dog!
When just at the time,
He was reaching his prime,
And all thought he'd be turning out something sublime,
One unlucky day,
How, no one could say,
Whether some soft liaison induced him to stray,
Or some kidnapping vagabond coax'd him away,
He was lost to the view
Like the morning dew;
He had been, and was not -- that's all that they knew;
And the Bagman storm'd, and the Bagman swore,
As never a Bagman had sworn before;
But storming or swearing but little avails,
To recover lost dogs with great curly tails.--

In a large paved court, close by Billiter Square,
Stands a mansion old, but in thorough repair,
The only strange thing, from the general air
Of its size and appearance, is, how it got there;
In front is a short semicircular stair
Of stone steps,-- some half score,--
Then you reach the ground floor,
With a shell-pattern'd architrave over the door.

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poem by Richard Harris Barham
Added by Poetry Lover
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