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L'amour vient de l'aveuglement, l'amitie de la connaissance. (Love comes from blindness, friendship from knowledge.)

quote by Comte DeBussy-Rabutin
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A Le Brun Et Au Marquis De Brazais

Le Brun, qui nous attends aux rives de la Seine,
Quand un destin jaloux loin de toi nous enchaîne;
Toi, Brazais, comme moi sur ces bords appelé,
Sans qui de l'univers je vivrais exilé;
Depuis que de Pandore un regard téméraire
Versa sur les humains un trésor de misère,
Pensez-vous que du ciel l'indulgente pitié
Leur ait fait un présent plus beau que l'amitié?

Ah! si quelque mortel est né pour la connaître.
C'est nous, âmes de feu, dont l'Amour est le maître.
Le cruel trop souvent empoisonne ses coups;
Elle garde à nos coeurs ses baumes les plus doux.
Malheur au jeune enfant seul, sans ami, sans guide,
Qui près de la beauté rougit et s'intimide,
Et, d'un pouvoir nouveau lentement dominé,
Par l'appât du plaisir doucement entraîné,
Crédule, et sur la foi d'un sourire volage,
A cette mer trompeuse et se livre et s'engage!
Combien de fois, tremblant et les larmes aux yeux,
Ses cris accuseront l'inconstance des dieux!
Combien il frémira d'entendre sur sa tête
Gronder les aquilons et la noire tempête,
Et d'écueils en écueils portera ses douleurs
Sans trouver une main pour essuyer ses pleurs!
Mais heureux dont le zèle, au milieu du naufrage,
Viendra le recueillir, le pousser au rivage;
Endormir dans ses flancs le poison ennemi;
Réchauffer dans son sein le sein de son ami,
Et de son fol amour étouffer la semence,
Ou du moins dans son coeur ranimer l'espérance!
Qu'il est beau de savoir, digne d'un tel lien,
Au repos d'un ami sacrifier le sien!
Plaindre de s'immoler l'occasion ravie,
Être heureux de sa joie et vivre de sa vie!

Si le ciel a daigné d'un regard amoureux
Accueillir ma prière et sourire à mes voeux,
Je ne demande point que mes sillons avides
Boivent l'or du Pactole et ses trésors liquides;
Ni que le diamant, sur la pourpre enchaîné,
Pare mon coeur esclave au Louvre prosterné;
Ni même, voeu plus doux! que la main d'Uranie
Embellisse mon front des palmes du génie;
Mais que beaucoup d'amis, accueillis dans mes bras,
Se partagent ma vie et pleurent mon trépas;
Que ces doctes héros, dont la main de la Gloire
A consacré les noms au temple de Mémoire,
Plutôt que leurs talents, inspirent à mon coeur
Les aimables vertus qui firent leur bonheur;

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poem by Andre Marie de Chenier
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Synergy of Love

'Were you honed from poetry? '
I asked your saddened smile.
For it seems to tell a longing tale -
One of words in oratory
That speaks in languid metaphors
From lips of mind in deep despair
And solitude from inner wars
That over time has rendered life so frail.

'Were you carved from doleful prose? '
I sought to ask your gaze,
For a pain lies deep within your eyes -
One of barren territory
Where no fair heart could ever drift
And hope to venture back content
With grateful memories in a gift -
A land of your affectional demise.

'Do I hear a mournful hum? '
I wondered of your cry,
For it sings a song of deep lament -
One of quiet soliloquy
Recited on deserted strands
To waves that have no sense of song
And only wish to fight the sands -
A chant that cites emotional descent.

Do you know your face portrays
The colours of your soul?
It tells me at a single glance
Of how you burned your furnace whole
To stay the fire in our romance.

And see the prismic hues they bore!
I cherished all I ever saw:
Mauve of mystic; browns of rustic;
Reddened tones to match your blush;
Marine of passion, spending out your being,
Leaving you for ashen embers, fleeing
The dying light in hush of night.
And how you lay there empty.

So let me help re-grow the flowers
Once erect in fiery showers!
For now I've seen what love can do
When torn asunder - oh my catastrophic blunder!

But we must realise -
Our flaming want is meant to be!
We are the ocean and the sea;

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Forsaking My Love

I hate you
I wish to tear you away from me
This tumor that clings to my chest
The thing that makes me ache
That haunts my dreams
And tears at my desires
You have brought me only pain
My untamed heart
That beast that gnaws at my soul
That pitifully whines
Bringing my mind into unwanted pain
Yet how can I blame you
How can I chastise you when I listen intently to your pleas
Why should I punish you for what my eyes feed upon
How can I blame my eyes for falling upon her
She who brings light to the eternal darkness of my soul
She whose eyes bring me to subjection
Whose smile leaves me in awe
How can I blame you when my ears are met with her laughter
How they submerge into her song
How they quiver at her voice
Why should I punish you for inclining my soul
Tempting it with the one sense that has been forsaken by her
How could I look over the thought of the brushing of lips
The touching of hands
The binding of the soul, mind, and body
O you wretched heart
What am I to do with this constant companion
How could I tear you away
When she is the cause of my agony
Or rather
It is the lack of her which brings me sorrow
It is the need for her that leaves my heart in pain
Yet she is not mine
She was never mine
She will never be mine
O my poor heart
How can I make you see reason
When all you do is show me the truth

love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love
love love love love love love love

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poem by Michael Silver
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Guitare

Gastibelza, l'homme à la carabine,
Chantait ainsi:
' Quelqu'un a-t-il connu dona Sabine ?
Quelqu'un d'ici ?
Dansez, chantez, villageois ! la nuit gagne
Le mont Falù.
- Le vent qui vient à travers la montagne
Me rendra fou !

Quelqu'un de vous a-t-il connu Sabine,
Ma senora ?
Sa mère était la vieille maugrabine
D'Antequera
Qui chaque nuit criait dans la Tour-Magne
Comme un hibou ... -
Le vent qui vient à travers la montagne
Me rendra fou !
Dansez, chantez! Des biens que l'heure envoie

Il faut user.
Elle était jeune et son oeil plein de joie
Faisait penser. -
À ce vieillard qu'un enfant accompagne
jetez un sou ! ... -
Le vent qui vient à travers la montagne
Me rendra fou.

Vraiment, la reine eût près d'elle été laide
Quand, vers le soir,
Elle passait sur le pont de Tolède
En corset noir.
Un chapelet du temps de Charlemagne
Ornait son cou ... -
Le vent qui vient à travers la montagne
Me rendra fou.

Le roi disait en la voyant si belle
A son neveu : - Pour un baiser, pour un sourire d'elle,
Pour un cheveu,
Infant don Ruy, je donnerais l'Espagne
Et le Pérou ! -
Le vent qui vient à travers la montagne
Me rendra fou.

Je ne sais pas si j'aimais cette dame,
Mais je sais bien
Que pour avoir un regard de son âme,
Moi, pauvre chien,
J'aurais gaîment passé dix ans au bagne
Sous le verrou ... -

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poem by Victor Hugo
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Amour Jamais

Amour
Jamais
Si cel nest pas pour de vrai
Toujour
Oui mais
Cest trop facile lheure quil est
Jte connais peine
Et dj tu me fais de la peine
Cest un peu trop tôt
Mieux revenir zro
Amour
Qui sait
Combien cet amour va durer
Un jour
Ou des
Eternits cest cque jvoudrais
Quand moi je taime
Peut tre un peu plus que moi-mme
Tu te crois le plus beau
Cest l o tu as tout faux
Amour amour amour jamais
Une seule condition que ce soit jamais
Amour amour amour toujours
Que ça dure jusquau dernier jour
Amour
O.k.
Sans le corps et sans âme cest
Lamour
One way
Ce ne sont que des sens insenss
Quand moi je taime
Peut tre un peu plus que moi-mme
Tu te crois le plus beau
Cest l o tu as tout faux
Amour amour amour jamais
Une seule condition que ce soit jamais
Amour amour amour toujours
Que ça dure jusquau dernier jour

song performed by Vanessa Paradis
Added by Lucian Velea
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Her...

I can never get my mind off her,
I wonder if she'd mind if i'd,
make her my own,
and never let her go,
hug her tight,
treat her right,
act all polite,
take her on a date,
make sure i'm never late,
kiss her on her lips,
talk about our kids,
Make her feel like princess,
living in a castle,
hope that is not too much hassle,
But i am so blessed,
hope i can be the best,
hold you tight,
have your BR3A$t,
on my chest,
pass the test,
NOW YOUR MINE!

sorry for word spamming: (

love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love

poem by Jordan Moore
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The Cōforte of Louers

The prohemye.

The gentyll poetes/vnder cloudy fygures
Do touche a trouth/and clokeit subtylly
Harde is to cōstrue poetycall scryptures
They are so fayned/& made sētēcyously
For som do wryte of loue by fables pryuely
Some do endyte/vpon good moralyte
Of chyualrous actes/done in antyquyte
Whose fables and storyes ben pastymes pleasaunt
To lordes and ladyes/as is theyr lykynge
Dyuers to moralyte/ben oft attendaunt
And many delyte to rede of louynge
Youth loueth aduenture/pleasure and lykynge
Aege foloweth polycy/sadnesse and prudence
Thus they do dyffre/eche in experyence
I lytell or nought/experte in this scyence
Compyle suche bokes/to deuoyde ydlenes
Besechynge the reders/with all my delygence
Where as I offende/for to correct doubtles
Submyttynge me to theyr grete gentylnes
As none hystoryagraffe/nor poete laureate
But gladly wolde folowe/the makynge of Lydgate
Fyrst noble Gower/moralytees dyde endyte
And after hym Cauncers/grete bokes delectable
Lyke a good phylozophre/meruaylously dyde wryte
After them Lydgate/the monke commendable
Made many wonderfull bokes moche profytable
But syth the are deed/& theyr bodyes layde in chest
I pray to god to gyue theyr soules good rest

Finis prohemii.

Whan fayre was phebus/w&supere; his bemes bryght
Amyddes of gemyny/aloft the fyrmament
Without blacke cloudes/castynge his pured lyght
With sorowe opprest/and grete incombrement
Remembrynge well/my lady excellent
Saynge o fortune helpe me to preuayle
For thou knowest all my paynfull trauayle
I went than musynge/in a medowe grene
Myselfe alone/amonge the floures in dede
With god aboue/the futertens is sene
To god I sayd/thou mayst my mater spede
And me rewarde/accordynge to my mede
Thou knowest the trouthe/I am to the true
Whan that thou lyst/thou mayst them all subdue
Who dyde preserue the yonge edyppus
Whiche sholde haue be slayne by calculacyon
To deuoyde grete thynges/the story sheweth vs

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poem by Stephen Hawes
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Self Is Grand Mother Of All!

Knowledge is mother of fear,
minion of mother,
Understands what is fear,
Knowledge of pain,
Knowledge of failure,
knowledge of action and reaction
and when grown up,
becomes minion of fears!

Soul in the growing body,
knowledge becomes mother of fear,
May be pain of a fall,
Or a bite of ants or wasps,
knowledge of things around us is mother of fear!

Knowledge of own capabilities and inabilities,
Knowledge of bondage and faults,
Old age and death,
knowledge of pain
strain,
failure or insult,
knowledge of fall is mother of all fears!

Body, mind and intelligence,
When glows with knowledge of world,
Every thought and action,
Orbits around unknown fear,
Spinning or rotating around axis of fear,
its cute pet name is carefullness!

Paradoxically,
Fear is mother of all Knowledge,
Fear of fall,
Makes one carefull on walk,
Fear of consequences,
Makes one to think right,
act right or walk straight,
Fear is mother of all Knowledge,
Takes one above the plane,
or takes one to man of knowledge,
Make one polite and flexible,
fear of death makes one to think of eternal,
Fear of law, may be law of land,
Law of divine or law of nature is mother of knowledge,
Everyone is comes with lesson,
Either to teach or to learn,
Every fear of consequences is mother of all Knowledge divine!

Fear of flaws of own,
or flaws in human laws is mother of all Knowledge!

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poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Bitter Blow of Love

Love! you dealt a bitter blow –
You lay me cross the mortal plains,
Bedewed, bedimmed amongst a show
Of tearful clouds: eternal rains
To weep at my enduring foe

Of harsh reality – searing pains of
Destiny: dependable propensity
To fool myself repeatedly
That I could ever triumph over love!

Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Courtship of Miles Standish, The

I
MILES STANDISH

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted

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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Courtship of Miles Standish

I
MILES STANDISH

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Teacher Of Wisdom

From his childhood he had been as one filled with the perfect
knowledge of God, and even while he was yet but a lad many of the
saints, as well as certain holy women who dwelt in the free city of
his birth, had been stirred to much wonder by the grave wisdom of
his answers.

And when his parents had given him the robe and the ring of manhood
he kissed them, and left them and went out into the world, that he
might speak to the world about God. For there were at that time
many in the world who either knew not God at all, or had but an
incomplete knowledge of Him, or worshipped the false gods who dwell
in groves and have no care of their worshippers.

And he set his face to the sun and journeyed, walking without
sandals, as he had seen the saints walk, and carrying at his girdle
a leathern wallet and a little water-bottle of burnt clay.

And as he walked along the highway he was full of the joy that
comes from the perfect knowledge of God, and he sang praises unto
God without ceasing; and after a time he reached a strange land in
which there were many cities.

And he passed through eleven cities. And some of these cities were
in valleys, and others were by the banks of great rivers, and
others were set on hills. And in each city he found a disciple who
loved him and followed him, and a great multitude also of people
followed him from each city, and the knowledge of God spread in the
whole land, and many of the rulers were converted, and the priests
of the temples in which there were idols found that half of their
gain was gone, and when they beat upon their drums at noon none, or
but a few, came with peacocks and with offerings of flesh as had
been the custom of the land before his coming.

Yet the more the people followed him, and the greater the number of
his disciples, the greater became his sorrow. And he knew not why
his sorrow was so great. For he spake ever about God, and out of
the fulness of that perfect knowledge of God which God had Himself
given to him.

And one evening he passed out of the eleventh city, which was a
city of Armenia, and his disciples and a great crowd of people
followed after him; and he went up on to a mountain and sat down on
a rock that was on the mountain, and his disciples stood round him,
and the multitude knelt in the valley.

And he bowed his head on his hands and wept, and said to his Soul,
'Why is it that I am full of sorrow and fear, and that each of my
disciples is an enemy that walks in the noonday?' And his Soul
answered him and said, 'God filled thee with the perfect knowledge
of Himself, and thou hast given this knowledge away to others. The

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poem by Oscar Wilde
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Love Is Blindness (live)

Love is blindness
I don't wanna see
Won't you wrap the night
Around me?
Oh my heart
Love is blindness
In a parked car
In a crowded street
You see your love
Made complete
Thread is ripping
The knot is slipping
Love is blindness
Love is clockworks
And cold steel
Fingers too numb to feel
Squeeze the handle
Blow out the candle
Love is blindness
Love is blindness
I don't want to see
Won't you wrap the night
Around me?
Oh my love
Blindness
A little death
Without mourning
No call
And no warning
Baby, a dangerous idea
That almost makes sense
Love is drowning
In a deep well
All the secrets
And no one to tell
Take the money
Honey
Blindness
Love is blindness
I don't want to see
Won't you wrap the night
Around me?
Oh my love
Blindness

song performed by U2
Added by Lucian Velea
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Friendship

Friendship

Friendship is love,
Without friendship love means nothing!
Without friendship love is empty…
Without friendship love is boring...!

Friendship means sharing…
People learn to share from friendship,
Share everything they have in life,

Friendship is like stars,
Even though we always see them together
Always mean to each other…
But,
Sometimes they argue!

Friendship is like flower,
Soft but strong!
Friendship is like sun,
Bright and beautiful!

Friendship is everything in life,
Life without friendship is like life without air…
Life without friendship is like eats without food
And
Life without friendship is like body without soul…

Friendship is wide!
Anybody can be our friend,
Our parents, our grandparents, our sister, our brother and even our school principal!

Friendship….
Is everything!

poem by Qistina Zaini
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The Victories Of Love. Book II

I
From Jane To Her Mother

Thank Heaven, the burthens on the heart
Are not half known till they depart!
Although I long'd, for many a year,
To love with love that casts out fear,
My Frederick's kindness frighten'd me,
And heaven seem'd less far off than he;
And in my fancy I would trace
A lady with an angel's face,
That made devotion simply debt,
Till sick with envy and regret,
And wicked grief that God should e'er
Make women, and not make them fair.
That he might love me more because
Another in his memory was,
And that my indigence might be
To him what Baby's was to me,
The chief of charms, who could have thought?
But God's wise way is to give nought
Till we with asking it are tired;
And when, indeed, the change desired
Comes, lest we give ourselves the praise,
It comes by Providence, not Grace;
And mostly our thanks for granted pray'rs
Are groans at unexpected cares.
First Baby went to heaven, you know,
And, five weeks after, Grace went, too.
Then he became more talkative,
And, stooping to my heart, would give
Signs of his love, which pleased me more
Than all the proofs he gave before;
And, in that time of our great grief,
We talk'd religion for relief;
For, though we very seldom name
Religion, we now think the same!
Oh, what a bar is thus removed
To loving and to being loved!
For no agreement really is
In anything when none's in this.
Why, Mother, once, if Frederick press'd
His wife against his hearty breast,
The interior difference seem'd to tear
My own, until I could not bear
The trouble. 'Twas a dreadful strife,
And show'd, indeed, that faith is life.
He never felt this. If he did,
I'm sure it could not have been hid;
For wives, I need not say to you,

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poem by Coventry Patmore
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The Wisdom Of Merlyn

These are the time--words of Merlyn, the voice of his age recorded,
All his wisdom of life, the fruit of tears in his youth, of joy in his manhood hoarded,
All the wit of his years unsealed, to the witless alms awarded.

These are his time--gifts of song, his help to the heavy--laden,
Words of an expert of life, who has gathered its sins in his sack, its virtues to grieve and gladden,
Speaking aloud as one who is strong to the heart of man, wife and maiden.

For he is Merlyn of old, the once young, the still robed in glory,
Ancient of days though he be, with wisdom only for wealth and the crown of his locks grown hoary,
Yet with the rage of his soul untamed, the skill of his lips in story.

He dares not unhouselled die, who has seen, who has known, who has tasted
What of the splendours of Time, of the wise wild joys of the Earth, of the newness of pleasures quested,
All that is neither of then nor now, Truth's naked self clean--breasted,

Things of youth and of strength, the Earth with its infinite pity,
Glories of mountain and plain, of streams that wind from the hills to the insolent human city,
Dark with its traders of human woe enthroned in the seats of the mighty.

Fair things nobler than Man before the day of his ruling,
Free in their ancient peace, ere he came to change, to destroy, to hinder with his schooling,
Asking naught that was his to give save freedom from his fooling.

Beautiful, wonderful, wise, a consonant law--ruled heaven,
Garden ungardened yet, in need yet hardly of God to walk there noon or even,
Beast and bird and flower in its place, Earth's wonders more than seven.

Of these he would speak and confess, to the young who regard not their heirship,
Of beauty to boys who are blind, of might to the impotent strong, to the women who crowd Time's fair ship,
Of pearls deep hid in Love's Indian seas, the name of the God they worship.

Thus let it be with Merlyn before his daylight is ended,
One last psalm of his life, the light of it lipped with laughter, the might of it mixed and blended
Still with the subtle sweet need of tears than Pleasure's self more splendid,

Psalm and hymn of the Earth expounding what Time teaches,
Creed no longer of wrath, of silent issueless hopes, of a thing which beyond Man's reach is,
Hope deferred till the heart grows sick, while the preacher vainly preaches.

Nay but a logic of life, which needeth no deferring,
Life with its birthright love, the sun the wind and the rain in multiple pleasure stirring
Under the summer leaves at noon, with no sad doubt of erring,

No sad legend of sin, since his an innocent Eden
Is, and a garden of grace, its gateway clear of the sword, its alleys not angel--ridden,
Its tree of life at the lips of all and never a fruit forbidden.

Merlyn is no vain singer to vex men's ears in the street,
Nay, nor a maid's unbidden. He importuneth none with his song, be it never so wild and sweet.

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poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Les collines

Au-dessus de Paris un jour
Combattaient deux grands avions
L'un était rouge et l'autre noir
Tandis qu'au zénith flamboyait
L'éternel avion solaire
L'un était toute ma jeunesse
Et l'autre c'était l'avenir
Ils se combattaient avec rage
Ainsi fit contre Lucifer
L'Archange aux ailes radieuses
Ainsi le calcul au problème
Ainsi la nuit contre le jour
Ainsi attaque ce que j'aime
Mon amour ainsi l'ouragan
Déracine l'arbre qui crie
Mais vois quelle douceur partout
Paris comme une jeune fille
S'éveille langoureusement
Secoue sa longue chevelure
Et chante sa belle chanson
Où donc est tombée ma jeunesse
Tu vois que flambe l'avenir
Sache que je parle aujourd'hui
Pour annoncer au monde entier
Qu'enfin est né l'art de prédire
Certains hommes sont des collines
Qui s'élèvent d'entre les hommes
Et voient au loin tout l'avenir
Mieux que s'il était le présent
Plus net que s'il était passé
Ornement des temps et des routes
Passe et dure sans t'arrêter
Laissons sibiler les serpents
En vain contre le vent du sud
Les Psylles et l'onde ont péri
Ordre des temps si les machines
Se prenaient enfin à penser
Sur les plages de pierreries
Des vagues d'or se briseraient
L'écume serait mère encore
Moins haut que l'homme vont les aigles
C'est lui qui fait la joie des mers
Comme il dissipe dans les airs
L'ombre et les spleens vertigineux
Par où l'esprit rejoint le songe
Voici le temps de la magie
Il s'en revient attendez-vous
À des milliards de prodiges
Qui n'ont fait naître aucune fable
Nul les ayant imaginés

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poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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My Cherie Amor

Original Version by Stevie Wonder (1969)
La la la la la la, la la la la la la
My Cherie Amour, lovely as a summer day
My Cherie Amour, distant as the milky way
My Cherie Amour, pretty little one that I adore
You're the only girl my heart beats for
How I wish that you were mine
In a cafe or sometimes on a crowded street
I've been near you, but you never noticed me
My Cherie Amour, won't you tell me how could you ignore
That behind that little smile I wore
How I wish that you were mine
La la la la la la, la la la la la la la
La la la la la la, la la la la la la
Maybe someday you'll see my face among the crowd
Maybe someday I'll share your little distant cloud
Oh Cherie Amour, pretty little one that I adore
You're the only girl my heart beats for
How I wish that you were mine
My Cherie Amour, lovely as a summer day
My Cherie Amour, distant as the milky way
My Cherie Amour, pretty little one that I adore
You're the only girl my heart beats for
How I wish that you were mine
La la la la la la, la la la la la la la
La la la la la la, la la la la la la
La la la la la la, la la la la la la la
La la la la la la, la la la la la la
La la la la la la

song performed by Boney M.
Added by Lucian Velea
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My Cherie Amour

La la la la la la, la la la la la la
My cherie amour, lovely as a summer day
My cherie amour, distant as the milky way
My cherie amour, pretty little one that I adore
Youre the only one my heart beats for
How I wish that you were mine
In a cafe or sometimes on a crowded street
Ive been near you, but you never noticed me
My cherie amour, wont you tell me how could you ignore
That behind that little smile I wore
How I wish that you were mine
La la la la la la, la la la la la la la
La la la la la la, la la la la la la
Maybe someday youll see my face among the crowd
Maybe someday Ill share your little distant cloud
Oh cherie amour, pretty little one that I adore
Youre the only girl my heart beats for
How I wish that you were mine
My cherie amour, lovely as a summer day
My cherie amour, distant as the milky way
My cherie amour, pretty little one that I adore
Youre the only one my heart beats for
How I wish that you were mine
La la la la la la, la la la la la la la
La la la la la la, la la la la la la
La la la la la la, la la la la la la la
La la la la la la, la la la la la la
La la la la la la

song performed by Boney M.
Added by Lucian Velea
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Le... Poème secret

Voilà de quoi est fait le chant symphonique de l'amour qui bruit dans la conque de Vénus
Il y a le chant de l'amour de jadis
Le bruit des baisers éperdus des amants illustres
Les cris d'amour des mortelles violées par les dieux
Les virilités des héros fabuleux érigées comme des cierges vont et viennent comme une rumeur obscène
Il y a aussi les cris de folie des bacchantes folles d'amour pour avoir mangé l'hippomane sécrété par la vulve des juments en chaleur
Les cris d'amour des félins dans les jongles
La rumeur sourde des sèves montant dans les plantes tropicales
Le fracas des marées
Le tonnerre des artilleries où la forme obscène des canons accomplit le terrible amour des peuples
Les vagues de la mer où naît la vie et la beauté
Et le chant victorieux que les premiers rayons de soleil faisaient chanter à Memnon l'immobile
Il y a le cri des Sabines au moment de l'enlèvement
Le chant nuptial de la Sulamite
Je suis belle mais noire
Et le hurlement précieux de Jason
Quand il trouva la toison
Et le mortel chant du cygne quand son duvet se pressait entre les cuisses bleuâtres de Léda
Il y a le chant de tout l'amour du monde
Il y a entre tes cuisses adorées Madeleine
La rumeur de tout l'amour comme le chant sacré de la mer bruit tout entier dans le coquillage

poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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