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With the Union my best and dearest earthly hopes are entwined.

quote by Franklin Pierce
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University Of Central Florida Volleyball

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poem by Caasder Fronds
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Union City Blue

What are we gonna do?
Union Union Union City blue
Tunnel to the other side
It becomes daylight
I say he's mine
Oh power, passion plays a double hand
Union union union city man
Arrive climb up four flights to the orange side
Rearrange my mind
In turquoise Union Union Union City blue
Skyline passion Union City blue
Power, passion plays a double hand
Union union union city man
I say he's mine
I have a plan
I say he's my Union City man
What are we gonna do?
Union Union Union City blue

song performed by Radiohead
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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,

[...] Read more

poem by Coventry Patmore
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My Dearest Drug Friend

My dearest drug friend caught up in your trip,
Holding on tightly but still losing your grip.

My dearest drug friend passed out on the floor,
Full of insanity but still searching for more.

My dearest drug friend so messed in the mind,
Leaving the life you once had behind.

My dearest drug friend craving your coke,
Blinded by powder and chemical smoke.

My dearest drug friend you're slipping away,
If only you'd stop this damaging way.

My dearest drug friend hold on to your life,
Put down your gun and your blood-shedding knife.

My dearest drug friend stop selling your soul,
Stop playing with needles and paying the toll.

My dearest drug friend you're giving it all,
To drugs you'll bow down, to drugs you will fall.

My dearest drug friend you've chosen to die,
You gave drugs your life and that makes me cry.

poem by Pritisha Sardesai
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The Kings Prophecie

What Stoick could his steely brest containe
(If Zeno self, or who were made beside
Of tougher mold) from being torne in twaine
With the crosse Passions of this wondrous tide?
Grief at ELIZAES toomb, orecomne anone
With greater ioy at her succeeded throne?

Me seems the world at once doth weep & smile,
Washing his smiling cheeks with weeping dew,
Yet chearing still his watered cheeks the while
With merry wrinckles that do laughter shew;
Amongst the rest, I can but smile and weepe,
Nor can my passions in close prison keepe.

Yet now, when Griefe and Ioy at once conspire
To vexe my feeble minde with aduerse might,
Reason suggests not words to my desire,
Nor daines no Muse to helpe me to endite;
So doth this ciuil strife of Passions strong,
Both moue and marre the measures of my song.

For long agone, when as my weaker thought
Was but assaylde with change of Ioy & paine:
I wont to finde the willing Muse vnsought,
And vent my numbers in a plenteous vaine,
Whether I wisht to write some loftie verse,
Or with sad lines would straw some sable hearse.

So, when but single Passions in the field
Meet Reason sage; soone as she list aduance
Her awful head; they needs must stoop, & yeeld
Their rebell armes to her wise gouernance:
Whence, as their mutin'd rage did rashly rise
Ylike by Reasons power it cowardly dies.

But when that Passions ranke arayes beset
Reason alone, without or friend, or Fere,
Who wonders if they can the conquest get
And reaue the crown her royal head did weare?
Goe yet tumultuous lines, and tydings bring
What Passion can in Reasons silence sing.

Oft did I wish the closure of my light,
Before the dawning of that fearfull day

[...] Read more

poem by Joseph Hall
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Mcgimn Sonata

Mother dearest
You live inside of my heart
And inside my heart I made a special place, just for you
So that you could live inside of my heart and be left in peace
Mother dearest
You don't have to worry about pollution and violence
Because there is no pollution or violence inside of my
Heart
Mother dearest
You are now an angel with wings
And inside of my heart you can fly
Mother dearest
Inside of my heart
I created a garden for you so that you could smell the flowers any time That you like
Mother dearest
You can sleep near that pond there
Because near the pond it is always cooler than in the garden
Mother dearest
I forgot to tell you about the sky inside of my heart
In that sky you will see stars that
Shine like diamonds
Mother dearest
I will always love you
From the botton of my heart

poem by Aldo Kraas
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Mcgin Sonata

Mother dearest
You live inside of my heart
And inside my heart I made a special place, just for you
So that you could live inside of my heart and be left in peace
Mother dearest
You don't have to worry about pollution and violence
Because there is no pollution or violence inside of my
Heart
Mother dearest
You are now an angel with wings
And inside of my heart you can fly
Mother dearest
Inside of my heart
I created a garden for you so that you could smell the flowers any time That you like
Mother dearest
You can sleep near that pond there
Because near the pond it is always cooler than in the garden
Mother dearest
I forgot to tell you about the sky inside of my heart
In that sky you will see stars that
Shine like diamonds
Mother dearest
I will always love you
From the botton of my heart

poem by Aldo Kraas
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Mcqueen Sonata

Mother dearest
You live inside of my heart
And inside of my heart I made a special place justr for you
So that you could live inside of my heart again and be left in peace
Mother dearest
You don't have to worry about polution and violence
Because there is no polution or violence that you will see inside of my Heart
Mother dearest
You are now my angel with wings that lives inside of my heart
And inside of my heart you will be able to fly if you want too
Mother dearest
Inside of my heart
I created a garden for you so that you could smell the flowers any time That you liked
Mother dearest
You can slep near that pond that is inside of myheart
Because near the pond it is always cooler than in the garden
Mother dearest
I forgot to tell you about the sky inside of my heart
Because in the sky inside of my heart you will see all the stars that will Shine just like diamonds
Mother dearest
I will always love you from the botton of my heart

poem by Aldo Kraas
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The Turtle And Sparrow. An Elegiac Tale

Behind an unfrequented glade,
Where yew and myrtle mix their shade,
A widow Turtle pensive sat,
And wept her murder'd lover's fate.
The Sparrow chanced that way to walk,
(A bird that loves to chirp and talk)
Be sure he did the Turtle greet,
She answer'd him as she thought meet.
Sparrows and Turtles, by the bye,
Can think as well as you or I;
But how they did their thoughts express
The margin shows by T. and S.

T. My hopes are lost, my joys are fled,
Alas! I weep Columbo dead:
Come, all ye winged Lovers, come,
Drop pinks and daisies on his tomb;
Sing, Philomel, his funeral verse,
Ye pious Redbreasts deck his hearse;
Fair Swans, extend your dying throats,
Columbo's death requires your notes;
For him, my friend, for him I moan,
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.

Stretch'd on the bier Columbo lies,
Pale are his cheeks, and closed his eyes;
Those eyes, where beauty smiling lay,
Those eyes, where Love was used to play;
Ah! cruel Fate, alas how soon
That beauty and those joys are flown!

Columbo is no more: ye floods,
Bear the sad sound to distant woods;
The sound let echo's voice restore,
And say, Columbo is no more.
Ye floods, ye woods, ye echoes, moan
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.

The Dryads all forsook the wood,
And mournful Naiads round me stood,
The tripping Fawns and Fairies came,
All conscious of our mutual flame,
To sigh for him, with me to moan,
My dear Columbo, dead and gone.

Venus disdain'd not to appear,
To lend my grief a friendly ear;
But what avails her kindness now?
She ne'er shall hear my second vow:
The Loves that round their mother flow

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Prior
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Angelyne

(cover: gary u.s. bonds. written by springsteen)
He was a bouncer in a joint called tonys body shop
She was a night cashier down at the stop n shop
He was kinda good-lookin
And she was kinda fun
They met neath that big oak tree
Out where the river runs
Little angelyne, little angelyne
As the sun goes down and the moonlight shines
Back of a greyhound bus sit two lovers entwined
Just big bill and little angelyne
She was just in from texas, didnt know her way around
So he took her to a roadhouse on the edge of town
In the beerhall light she looked so fine
And so he popped the question that was on his mind
It was a simple affair, only a friend or two
Preacher asked if they did, they said they do
She bought two tickets with her daddys american express
And hopped a greyhound bus in her wedding dress
Little angelyne, little angelyne
As the sun goes down and the moonlight shines
Back of a greyhound bus sit two lovers entwined
Just big bill and little angelyne
In a six dollar motel with the honey bun
With seven glorious days in the nevada sun
He played the tables, she pumped the slots full of dimes
They came back broke but they had a good time
Now many fell apart in the years come and gone
But big bill and little angel theyd last on and on
They held together when the times grew thin
A little boy that looked like her, and a girl that looked like him
So mister dont you pay it no mind
Let the sun go down and the moonlight shine
Back of a greyhound bus sit two lovers entwined
Just big bill and little angelyne
Little angelyne, little angelyne
As the sun goes down and the moonlight shines
Back of a greyhound bus sit two lovers entwined
Just big bill and little angelyne
Little angelyne, little angelyne
As the sun goes down and the moonlight shines
Back of a greyhound bus sit two lovers entwined
Just big bill and little angelyne

song performed by Bruce Springsteen
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Western Union

(words & music by tepper - bennet)
Western union
Oh, western union clickety clack
I had a fight with my baby
Ooh how sorry I am
She wont talk to me no how
Im gonna send a telegram
Western union oh yeah
Send my lovin baby back to me
She wont open my letters
She wont answer the phone
When Im a-ringin her doorbell
She says there aint nobody home
Western union oh yeah
Send my lovin baby back to me
Western union oh yeah
Send my lovin baby back to me
I love you is my message
Just three words and no more
If she wont let you deliver
Slip it underneath her door
Western union oh yeah
Send my lovin baby back to me
Western union oh yeah
Send my lovin baby back to me

song performed by Elvis Presley
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Secure Yourself

Secure yourself to heaven
Hold on tight, the night has come
Fasten up your earthly burdens
You have just begun
In the ink of an eye I saw you bleed
Through the thunder I could hear you scream
Solid to the air I breathe
Open-eyed and fast asleep
Falling softly as the rain
No footsteps ringing in your ears
Ragged down worn to the skin
Warrior raging, have no fear
Secure yourself to heaven
Hold on tight, the night has come
Fasten up your earthly burdens
You have just begun
Im kneeling down with broken prayers
Hearts and bones from days of youth
Restless with an angels wing
I dig a grave to bury you
No feet to fall
You need no ground
Allowed to glide right through the sun
Released from circles guarded tight
Now we all are chosen ones
Secure yourself to heaven
Hold on tight, the night has come
Fasten up your earthly burdens
You have just begun
Secure yourself to heaven
Hold on tight, the night has come
Fasten up your earthly burdens
You have just begun
In the ink of an eye I saw you bleed
Through the thunder I could hear you scream
Solid to the air I breathe
Open-eyed and fast asleep
Falling softly as the rain
No footsteps ringing in your ears
Ragged down worn to the skin
Warrior raging, have no fear
Secure yourself to heaven
Hold on tight, the night has come
Fasten up your earthly burdens
You have just begun
Secure yourself to heaven
(in the ink of an eye I saw you bleed)
Hold on tight, the night has come
(through the thunder I could hear you scream)
Fasten up your earthly burdens

[...] Read more

song performed by Indigo Girls
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Ballad: Pope Benedict XVI in US,2008

The Apostle of peace had come:
Pope Benedict by name;
To US, where he was welcome,
With missionary aim.

‘Let faith in earthly life, God find;
Christ is the only hope,
For modern world, and all mankind, ’
Said Benedict, the Pope.

In doldrums lies, world of today;
Man’s faith in God is weak;
Most think that science has final say;
So, God, most men don’t seek.

‘Let faith in earthly life, God find;
Christ is the only hope,
For modern world, and all mankind, ’
Said Benedict, the Pope.

The family in danger lies;
Now love does not prevail;
As virtues are replaced by vice;
And freedom blows like gale.

‘Let faith in earthly life, God find;
Christ is the only hope,
For modern world, and all mankind, ’
Said Benedict, the Pope.

The quest for God is dying fast;
Rely men in own toil;
‘The mole is mound’- all sins of past!
Man’s soul is on the spoil.

‘Let faith in earthly life, God find;
Christ is the only hope,
For modern world, and all mankind, ’
Said Benedict, the Pope.

With fervent prayers, send your pleas,
To God who is above;
The caring God will surely ease
Your problems, with great love.

‘Let faith in earthly life, God find;
Christ is the only hope,
For modern world, and all mankind, ’
Said Benedict, the Pope.

[...] Read more

poem by John Celes
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Amours de Voyage, Canto II

Is it illusion? or does there a spirit from perfecter ages,
Here, even yet, amid loss, change, and corruption abide?
Does there a spirit we know not, though seek, though we find, comprehend not,
Here to entice and confuse, tempt and evade us, abide?
Lives in the exquisite grace of the column disjointed and single,
Haunts the rude masses of brick garlanded gaily with vine,
E'en in the turret fantastic surviving that springs from the ruin,
E'en in the people itself? is it illusion or not?
Is it illusion or not that attracteth the pilgrim transalpine,
Brings him a dullard and dunce hither to pry and to stare?
Is it illusion or not that allures the barbarian stranger,
Brings him with gold to the shrine, brings him in arms to the gate?

I. Claude to Eustace.

What do the people say, and what does the government do?--you
Ask, and I know not at all. Yet fortune will favour your hopes; and
I, who avoided it all, am fated, it seems, to describe it.
I, who nor meddle nor make in politics,--I who sincerely
Put not my trust in leagues nor any suffrage by ballot,
Never predicted Parisian millenniums, never beheld a
New Jerusalem coming down dressed like a bride out of heaven
Right on the Place de la Concorde,--I, nevertheless, let me say it,
Could in my soul of souls, this day, with the Gaul at the gates shed
One true tear for thee, thou poor little Roman Republic;
What, with the German restored, with Sicily safe to the Bourbon,
Not leave one poor corner for native Italian exertion?
France, it is foully done! and you, poor foolish England,--
You, who a twelvemonth ago said nations must choose for themselves, you
Could not, of course, interfere,--you, now, when a nation has chosen----
Pardon this folly! The Times will, of course, have announced the occasion,
Told you the news of to-day; and although it was slightly in error
When it proclaimed as a fact the Apollo was sold to a Yankee,
You may believe when it tells you the French are at Civita Vecchia.

II. Claude to Eustace.

Dulce it is, and decorum, no doubt, for the country to fall,--to
Offer one's blood an oblation to Freedom, and die for the Cause; yet
Still, individual culture is also something, and no man
Finds quite distinct the assurance that he of all others is called on,
Or would be justified even, in taking away from the world that
Precious creature, himself. Nature sent him here to abide here;
Else why send him at all? Nature wants him still, it is likely;
On the whole, we are meant to look after ourselves; it is certain
Each has to eat for himself, digest for himself, and in general

[...] Read more

poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
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Paradise Lost: Book 08

The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear
So charming left his voice, that he a while
Thought him still speaking, still stood fixed to hear;
Then, as new waked, thus gratefully replied.
What thanks sufficient, or what recompence
Equal, have I to render thee, divine
Historian, who thus largely hast allayed
The thirst I had of knowledge, and vouchsafed
This friendly condescension to relate
Things, else by me unsearchable; now heard
With wonder, but delight, and, as is due,
With glory attributed to the high
Creator! Something yet of doubt remains,
Which only thy solution can resolve.
When I behold this goodly frame, this world,
Of Heaven and Earth consisting; and compute
Their magnitudes; this Earth, a spot, a grain,
An atom, with the firmament compared
And all her numbered stars, that seem to roll
Spaces incomprehensible, (for such
Their distance argues, and their swift return
Diurnal,) merely to officiate light
Round this opacous Earth, this punctual spot,
One day and night; in all her vast survey
Useless besides; reasoning I oft admire,
How Nature wise and frugal could commit
Such disproportions, with superfluous hand
So many nobler bodies to create,
Greater so manifold, to this one use,
For aught appears, and on their orbs impose
Such restless revolution day by day
Repeated; while the sedentary Earth,
That better might with far less compass move,
Served by more noble than herself, attains
Her end without least motion, and receives,
As tribute, such a sumless journey brought
Of incorporeal speed, her warmth and light;
Speed, to describe whose swiftness number fails.
So spake our sire, and by his countenance seemed
Entering on studious thoughts abstruse; which Eve
Perceiving, where she sat retired in sight,
With lowliness majestick from her seat,
And grace that won who saw to wish her stay,
Rose, and went forth among her fruits and flowers,
To visit how they prospered, bud and bloom,
Her nursery; they at her coming sprung,
And, touched by her fair tendance, gladlier grew.
Yet went she not, as not with such discourse
Delighted, or not capable her ear
Of what was high: such pleasure she reserved,

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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Solomon on the Vanity of the World, A Poem. In Three Books. - Power. Book III.

The Argument

Solomon considers man through the several stages and conditions of life, and concludes, in general, that we are all miserable. He reflects more particularly upon the trouble and uncertainty of greatness and power; gives some instances thereof from Adam down to himself; and still concludes that All Is Vanity. He reasons again upon life, death, and a future being; finds human wisdom too imperfect to resolve his doubts; has recourse to religion; is informed by an angel what shall happen to himself, his family, and his kingdom, till the redemption of Israel; and, upon the whole, resolves to submit his inquiries and anxieties to the will of his Creator.

Come then, my soul: I call thee by that name,
Thou busy thing, from whence I know I am;
For, knowing that I am, I know thou art,
Since that must needs exist which can impart:
But how thou camest to be, or whence thy spring,
For various of thee priests and poets sing.

Hearest thou submissive, but a lowly birth,
Some secret particles of finer earth,
A plain effect which Nature must beget,
As motion orders, and as atoms meet,
Companion of the body's good or ill,
From force of instinct more than choice of will,
Conscious of fear or valour, joy or pain,
As the wild courses of the blood ordain;
Who, as degrees of heat and cold prevail,
In youth dost flourish, and with age shalt fail,
Till, mingled with thy partner's latest breath,
Thou fliest, dissolved in air and lost in death.

Or, if thy great existence would aspire
To causes more sublime, of heavenly fire
Wert thou a spark struck off, a separate ray,
Ordain'd to mingle with terrestrial clay,
With it condemn'd for certain years to dwell,
To grieve its frailties, and its pains to feel,
To teach it good and ill, disgrace or fame,
Pale it with rage, or redden it with shame,
To guide its actions with informing care,
In peace to judge, to conquer in the war;
Render it agile, witty, valiant, sage,
As fits the various course of human age,
Till, as the earthly part decays and falls,
The captive breaks her prison's mouldering walls,
Hovers awhile upon the sad remains,
Which now the pile or sepulchre contains,
And thence, with liberty unbounded, flies,
Impatient to regain her native skies?

Whate'er thou art, where'er ordain'd to go,
(Points which we rather may dispute than know)
Come on, thou little inmate of this breast,
Which for thy sake from passions'l divest
For these, thou say'st, raise all the stormy strife,

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Prior
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The Last Love Song

Precious Family... Dearest Family...
Love's... sweet.... message....I impart....
May loves's.. spirt...pure... and fervid.....
Enter...every... troubled heart.........

Carry there...love's swift conviction....
Turning back...those... tear filled life's....
Precious Family... Dearest Family.....
May love....In our souls.. abide..........

Precious Family.... Dearest family....
I am weak...... but love..is strong..........
Love.. has.....infinite compassion.......
To stem the tides... of pain's.... and wrong's.....

Love keep's... its arms.... around me........
Love keep's..... me... in the narrow.. way......
Precious Family....Dearest family........
Let us never... from love... stray............

Precious Family... Dearest Family....
Love will bind.....those broken.... hearts.....
So let..not sorrows... over.. whelm..us.....
Dry the bitter tears.... that smart.....

Love curbs the winds.. calms the bil....lows
Oh bid.... this angry tempest... cease......
Precious Family.... My Dearest Family
Love gave me... everlasting.....peace.....

One day if my family should ever read this, or if anyone else should?
I want them to know that, only with true love, can we turn back those life's of abuse...! You see abuse has held my family in a prison, that has no bars! No cells! No doors! So....

Maybe one day they will understand
This dream of mine
How great and glorious, love complete
They'll find
For redemption, forgiveness
It is true love's grand design
For when and where
Justice, love and mercy meet.
Its a harmony - So- devine
And fact is

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poem by Clyde Bryson
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Cyder: Book I

-- -- Honos erit huic quoq; Pomo? Virg.

What Soil the Apple loves, what Care is due
To Orchats, timeliest when to press the Fruits,
Thy Gift, Pomona, in Miltonian Verse
Adventrous I presume to sing; of Verse
Nor skill'd, nor studious: But my Native Soil
Invites me, and the Theme as yet unsung.

Ye Ariconian Knights, and fairest Dames,
To whom propitious Heav'n these Blessings grants,
Attend my Layes; nor hence disdain to learn,
How Nature's Gifts may be improv'd by Art.

And thou, O Mostyn, whose Benevolence,
And Candor, oft experienc'd, Me vouchsaf'd
To knit in Friendship, growing still with Years,
Accept this Pledge of Gratitude and Love.
May it a lasting Monument remain
Of dear Respect; that, when this Body frail
Is moulder'd into Dust, and I become
As I had never been, late Times may know
I once was blest in such a matchless Friend.

Who-e'er expects his lab'ring Trees shou'd bend
With Fruitage, and a kindly Harvest yield,
Be this his first Concern; to find a Tract
Impervious to the Winds, begirt with Hills,
That intercept the Hyperborean Blasts
Tempestuous, and cold Eurus nipping Force,
Noxious to feeble Buds: But to the West
Let him free Entrance grant, let Zephyrs bland
Administer their tepid genial Airs;
Naught fear he from the West, whose gentle Warmth
Discloses well the Earth's all-teeming Womb,
Invigorating tender Seeds; whose Breath
Nurtures the Orange, and the Citron Groves,
Hesperian Fruits, and wafts their Odours sweet
Wide thro' the Air, and distant Shores perfumes.
Nor only do the Hills exclude the Winds:
But, when the blackning Clouds in sprinkling Show'rs
Distill, from the high Summits down the Rain
Runs trickling; with the fertile Moisture chear'd,
The Orchats smile; joyous the Farmers see
Their thriving Plants, and bless the heav'nly Dew.

Next, let the Planter, with Discretion meet,
The Force and Genius of each Soil explore;
To what adapted, what it shuns averse:

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poem by John Arthur Phillips
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The Troubadour. Canto 3

LAND of the olive and the vine,
The saint and soldier, sword and shrine!
How glorious to young RAYMOND'S eye
Swell'd thy bold heights, spread thy clear sky,
When first he paused upon the height
Where, gather'd, lay the Christian might.
Amid a chesnut wood were raised
Their white tents, and the red cross blazed
Meteor-like, with its crimson shine,
O'er many a standard's scutcheon'd line.

On the hill opposite there stood
The warriors of the Moorish blood,--
With their silver crescents gleaming,
And their horse-tail pennons streaming;
With cymbals and the clanging gong,
The muezzin's unchanging song,
The turbans that like rainbows shone,
The coursers' gay caparison,
As if another world had been
Where that small rivulet ran between.

And there was desperate strife next day:
The little vale below that lay
Was like a slaughter-pit, of green
Could not one single trace be seen;
The Moslem warrior stretch'd beside
The Christian chief by whom he died;
And by the broken falchion blade
The crooked scymeter was laid.

And gallantly had RAYMOND borne
The red cross through the field that morn,
When suddenly he saw a knight
Oppress'd by numbers in the fight:
Instant his ready spear was flung,
Instant amid the band he sprung;--
They fight, fly, fall,--and from the fray
He leads the wounded knight away!
Gently he gain'd his tent, and there
He left him to the leech's care;
Then sought the field of death anew,--
Little was there for knight to do.

That field was strewn with dead and dying;
And mark'd he there DE VALENCE lying
Upon the turbann'd heap, which told
How dearly had his life been sold.
And yet on his curl'd lip was worn
The impress of a soldier's scorn;

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poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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The Tower Beyond Tragedy

I
You'd never have thought the Queen was Helen's sister- Troy's
burning-flower from Sparta, the beautiful sea-flower
Cut in clear stone, crowned with the fragrant golden mane, she
the ageless, the uncontaminable-
This Clytemnestra was her sister, low-statured, fierce-lipped, not
dark nor blonde, greenish-gray-eyed,
Sinewed with strength, you saw, under the purple folds of the
queen-cloak, but craftier than queenly,
Standing between the gilded wooden porch-pillars, great steps of
stone above the steep street,
Awaiting the King.
Most of his men were quartered on the town;
he, clanking bronze, with fifty
And certain captives, came to the stair. The Queen's men were
a hundred in the street and a hundred
Lining the ramp, eighty on the great flags of the porch; she
raising her white arms the spear-butts
Thundered on the stone, and the shields clashed; eight shining
clarions
Let fly from the wide window over the entrance the wildbirds of
their metal throats, air-cleaving
Over the King come home. He raised his thick burnt-colored
beard and smiled; then Clytemnestra,
Gathering the robe, setting the golden-sandaled feet carefully,
stone by stone, descended
One half the stair. But one of the captives marred the comeliness
of that embrace with a cry
Gull-shrill, blade-sharp, cutting between the purple cloak and
the bronze plates, then Clytemnestra:
Who was it? The King answered: A piece of our goods out of
the snatch of Asia, a daughter of the king,
So treat her kindly and she may come into her wits again. Eh,
you keep state here my queen.
You've not been the poorer for me.- In heart, in the widowed
chamber, dear, she pale replied, though the slaves
Toiled, the spearmen were faithful. What's her name, the slavegirl's?
AGAMEMNON Come up the stair. They tell me my kinsman's
Lodged himself on you.
CLYTEMNESTRA Your cousin Aegisthus? He was out of refuge,
flits between here and Tiryns.
Dear: the girl's name?
AGAMEMNON Cassandra. We've a hundred or so other
captives; besides two hundred
Rotted in the hulls, they tell odd stories about you and your
guest: eh? no matter: the ships
Ooze pitch and the August road smokes dirt, I smell like an
old shepherd's goatskin, you'll have bath-water?
CLYTEMNESTRA
They're making it hot. Come, my lord. My hands will pour it.

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poem by Robinson Jeffers
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