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The self is hateful.

quote by Blaise Pascal
Added by Lucian Velea
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Station To Station

The return of the thin white duke
Throwing darts in lovers eyes
Here are we, one magical moment, such is the stuff
From where dreams are woven
Bending sound, dredging the ocean, lost in my circle
Here am i, flashing no colour
Tall in this room overlooking the ocean
Here are we, one magical movement from kether to malkuth
There are you, drive like a demon from station to station
The return of the thin white duke, throwing darts in lovers eyes
The return of the thin white duke, throwing darts in lovers eyes
The return of the thin white duke, making sure white stays
Once there were mountains on mountains
And once there were sunbirds to soar with
And once I could never be down
Got to keep searching and searching
Oh, what will I be believing and who will connect me with love?
Wonderful, wonderful, wonder when
Have you sought fortune, evasive and shy?
Drink to the men who protect you and i
Drink, drink, drain your glass, raise your glass high
Its not the side-effects of the cocaine
Im thinking that it must be love
Its too late - to be grateful
Its too late - to be late again
Its too late - to be hateful
The european cannon is here
I must be only one in a million
I wont let the day pass without her
Its too late - to be grateful
Its too late - to be late again
Its too late - to be hateful
The european cannon is here
Should I believe that Ive been stricken?
Does my face show some kind of glow?
Its too late - to be grateful
Its too late - to be late again
Its too late - to be hateful
The european cannon is here, yes its here
Its too late
Its too late, its too late, its too late, its too late
The european cannon is here
Its not the side-effects of the cocaine
Im thinking that it must be love
Its too late - to be grateful
Its too late - to be late again
Its too late - to be hateful
The european cannon is here
I must be only one in a million
I wont let the day pass without her

[...] Read more

song performed by David Bowie
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Hateful

She is livin far away from a lonely man in the san francisco bay,
He is dreamin hard of a girl all claid in bad plaid and mad at the whole world
All her friends they are blessed impressed intelligent freaks,
All of them are six feet tall all of them are hateful to me
She sleeps alone and wet with her phone in her face all tied up in her old bed,
She walks alone everyday up and down the rainy streets in her own weird way
All her friends they are blessed impressed intelligent freaks,
All of them are six feet tall all of them are hateful to me,
Hateful, yeah theyre hateful to me...
Getting very hateful

song performed by Everclear
Added by Lucian Velea
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Andromeda

Over the sea, past Crete, on the Syrian shore to the southward,
Dwells in the well-tilled lowland a dark-haired AEthiop people,
Skilful with needle and loom, and the arts of the dyer and carver,
Skilful, but feeble of heart; for they know not the lords of Olympus,
Lovers of men; neither broad-browed Zeus, nor Pallas Athene,
Teacher of wisdom to heroes, bestower of might in the battle;
Share not the cunning of Hermes, nor list to the songs of Apollo.
Fearing the stars of the sky, and the roll of the blue salt water,
Fearing all things that have life in the womb of the seas and the livers,
Eating no fish to this day, nor ploughing the main, like the Phoenics,
Manful with black-beaked ships, they abide in a sorrowful region,
Vexed with the earthquake, and flame, and the sea-floods, scourge of
Poseidon.
Whelming the dwellings of men, and the toils of the slow-footed oxen,
Drowning the barley and flax, and the hard-earned gold of the harvest,
Up to the hillside vines, and the pastures skirting the woodland,
Inland the floods came yearly; and after the waters a monster,
Bred of the slime, like the worms which are bred from the slime of the Nile-
bank,
Shapeless, a terror to see; and by night it swam out to the seaward,
Daily returning to feed with the dawn, and devoured of the fairest,
Cattle, and children, and maids, till the terrified people fled inland.
Fasting in sackcloth and ashes they came, both the king and his people,
Came to the mountain of oaks, to the house of the terrible sea-gods,
Hard by the gulf in the rocks, where of old the world-wide deluge
Sank to the inner abyss; and the lake where the fish of the goddess,
Holy, undying, abide; whom the priests feed daily with dainties.
There to the mystical fish, high-throned in her chamber of cedar,
Burnt they the fat of the flock; till the flame shone far to the seaward.
Three days fasting they prayed; but the fourth day the priests of the
goddess,
Cunning in spells, cast lots, to discover the crime of the people.
All day long they cast, till the house of the monarch was taken,
Cepheus, king of the land; and the faces of all gathered blackness.
Then once more they cast; and Cassiopoeia was taken,
Deep-bosomed wife of the king, whom oft far-seeing Apollo
Watched well-pleased from the welkin, the fairest of AEthiop women:
Fairest, save only her daughter; for down to the ankle her tresses
Rolled, blue-black as the night, ambrosial, joy to beholders.
Awful and fair she arose, most like in her coming to Here,
Queen before whom the Immortals arise, as she comes on Olympus,
Out of the chamber of gold, which her son Hephaestos has wrought her.
Such in her stature and eyes, and the broad white light of her forehead.
Stately she came from her place, and she spoke in the midst of the people.
'Pure are my hands from blood: most pure this heart in my bosom.
Yet one fault I remember this day; one word have I spoken;
Rashly I spoke on the shore, and I dread lest the sea should have heard it.
Watching my child at her bath, as she plunged in the joy of her girlhood,
Fairer I called her in pride than Atergati, queen of the ocean.
Judge ye if this be my sin, for I know none other.' She ended;

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Kingsley
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Pharsalia - Book VII: The Battle

Ne'er to the summons of the Eternal laws
More slowly Titan rose, nor drave his steeds,
Forced by the sky revolving, up the heaven,
With gloomier presage; wishing to endure
The pangs of ravished light, and dark eclipse;
And drew the mists up, not to feed his flames,
But lest his light upon Thessalian earth
Might fall undimmed.

Pompeius on that morn,
To him the latest day of happy life,
In troubled sleep an empty dream conceived.
For in the watches of the night he heard
Innumerable Romans shout his name
Within his theatre; the benches vied
To raise his fame and place him with the gods;
As once in youth, when victory was won
O'er conquered tribes where swift Iberus flows,
And where Sertorius' armies fought and fled,
The west subdued, with no less majesty
Than if the purple toga graced the car,
He sat triumphant in his pure white gown
A Roman knight, and heard the Senate's cheer.
Perhaps, as ills drew near, his anxious soul,
Shunning the future wooed the happy past;
Or, as is wont, prophetic slumber showed
That which was not to be, by doubtful forms
Misleading; or as envious Fate forbade
Return to Italy, this glimpse of Rome
Kind Fortune gave. Break not his latest sleep,
Ye sentinels; let not the trumpet call
Strike on his ear: for on the morrow's night
Shapes of the battle lost, of death and war
Shall crowd his rest with terrors. Whence shalt thou
The poor man's happiness of sleep regain?
Happy if even in dreams thy Rome could see
Once more her captain! Would the gods had given
To thee and to thy country one day yet
To reap the latest fruit of such a love:
Though sure of fate to come! Thou marchest on
As though by heaven ordained in Rome to die;
She, conscious ever of her prayers for thee
Heard by the gods, deemed not the fates decreed
Such evil destiny, that she should lose
The last sad solace of her Magnus' tomb.
Then young and old had blent their tears for thee,
And child unbidden; women torn their hair
And struck their bosoms as for Brutus dead.
But now no public woe shall greet thy death
As erst thy praise was heard: but men shall grieve

[...] Read more

poem by Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
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Tamar

I
A night the half-moon was like a dancing-girl,
No, like a drunkard's last half-dollar
Shoved on the polished bar of the eastern hill-range,
Young Cauldwell rode his pony along the sea-cliff;
When she stopped, spurred; when she trembled, drove
The teeth of the little jagged wheels so deep
They tasted blood; the mare with four slim hooves
On a foot of ground pivoted like a top,
Jumped from the crumble of sod, went down, caught, slipped;
Then, the quick frenzy finished, stiffening herself
Slid with her drunken rider down the ledges,
Shot from sheer rock and broke
Her life out on the rounded tidal boulders.

The night you know accepted with no show of emotion the little
accident; grave Orion
Moved northwest from the naked shore, the moon moved to
meridian, the slow pulse of the ocean
Beat, the slow tide came in across the slippery stones; it drowned
the dead mare's muzzle and sluggishly
Felt for the rider; Cauldwell’s sleepy soul came back from the
blind course curious to know
What sea-cold fingers tapped the walls of its deserted ruin.
Pain, pain and faintness, crushing
Weights, and a vain desire to vomit, and soon again
die icy fingers, they had crept over the loose hand and lay in the
hair now. He rolled sidewise
Against mountains of weight and for another half-hour lay still.
With a gush of liquid noises
The wave covered him head and all, his body
Crawled without consciousness and like a creature with no bones,
a seaworm, lifted its face
Above the sea-wrack of a stone; then a white twilight grew about
the moon, and above
The ancient water, the everlasting repetition of the dawn. You
shipwrecked horseman
So many and still so many and now for you the last. But when it
grew daylight
He grew quite conscious; broken ends of bone ground on each
other among the working fibers
While by half-inches he was drawing himself out of the seawrack
up to sandy granite,
Out of the tide's path. Where the thin ledge tailed into flat cliff
he fell asleep. . . .
Far seaward
The daylight moon hung like a slip of cloud against the horizon.
The tide was ebbing
From the dead horse and the black belt of sea-growth. Cauldwell
seemed to have felt her crying beside him,

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Hateful Hate

[ music: natalie merchant/words: natalie merchant ]
In the dark night a giant slumbered untouched for centuries
til awakened by a white mans cry: this is the eden I was to find.
There were lands to be charted and to be claimed for a crown,
When a hero was made by the length he could stay in this dangerous land of hateful hate.
Curiosity filled the heads of these, there was an upper room they had to see.
Curiosity killed the best of these for a heros hometown welcoming.
Still they moved on and on.
Who came building missions?
Unswerving men of the cloth who gave their lives in numbers untold so that black sheep entered the fold.
Captured like human livestock, destined for slavery.
Naked, walked to the shore where great ships moored for the hellbound journies.
Bought and sold with a hateful hate.
Curiosity filled the breasts of these with some strange ecstasy.
Curiosity killed the best of these by robbing their lives of dignity.
Still they moved on and on.
Calling men of adventure for a jungle bush safari.
Come conquer the, his claws and teeth.
See death in his eyes to know youre alive.
European homesteads grew up in the colonies with civilized plans for wild hinterlands, their guns and God willing.
Such a hateful hate.
Curiosity spilled the blood of these for their spotted skins and ivory.
Curiosity filled the heads of these madmen with the lies of destiny.
Curiosity spilled the blood of these, then blotted their lives from history.
Curiosity filled the heads of these, one man claimed all that he could see.
Curiosity still entices these madmen with a lusting and a greed.
Their legacy, legacy, legacy...

song performed by 10000 Maniacs
Added by Lucian Velea
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Poem about Poetry - Adam's first poem after the fall

i did not know sin meant chains
so full of them all over my physique
and i did not know the deceptive apple
could lead to this woeful state
only god now is boundless freedom
the paradise boundless freedom
rhe sky boundless freedom
the sea boundless freedom
and to enjoy all these now in chain,
boundless the hurt is the heart
injurious chain on every inch of my physique
that jolts me for their wants
every minute of the day
and to know that i will pass this chain
down to every of my offsprings
binding them down to earth
till they become just dust and bones
chained, chained, chained,
this hateful long chain the devil spawned
that laid end to end
could snake its way round the world
this hateful chain that circles the body
imprisons it, hurtful as red hot iron
how stealthily it works day by day
tightening its grip
till i am wrinkled, bent, and bedridden
till only the last breath would release me
of its curse
this chain that torture me for wordly needs
oh god, how hateful you are
to bind me in these red hot chains! ! !

note:
chain refers to the blood vessels round our body
they indeed resemble a chain
as never did adam experience hunger
until this chain exacted its wants

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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02-02-2011 Cruel phenomenons

02-02-2011

Cruel phenomenons
gibberish of the smart
fluency of glossolalia
religions grouped into
inconsistencies of art
language of the speakers
the heads of church and state
cubcortical structures
lays waste the human's spiritual
mental waste
meanings authorization
rhythmical tongues
Protestant denomination
burns away the
bibliographical mentality
full of authorization
I Corinthian
breaks down the factors
diminish the absent
of the consciousness
of the necessary hymens
recent man inducted
into the lies of charismatic leaders
who worship the
diminished absent
of exteroceptive stimuli
theologically conservative
extreme and hateful
roosting up believers
like sweating the floor
hatred in attendance
in our mega t v churches
begging for funds
God do not need your money
to save your soul
God asks only for devotion
and thing more
for with it He knows
that you are guided well
and will do no wrong
give to the poor
the down trodden
the fore loin
the hungry babies
the homeless sleeping in the cold
God my father
I a father born
love the man who loves me well

[...] Read more

poem by David E. Patton
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Iam LOVELY like a White Red,

Iam Lovely Like White and Red,
Iam Lovely Like White and Red,
These Crows that are Hateful will change to Red and White,
I hate White and Black,
But to Hit these Hateful Birds in our Stomack is Even Better,

I can see the Change in our Eyes,
To Red and White,
A Battle Prepared will never be Half Time anymore,
But a Change in Faces,
Those that Killed Christ will see a Forgiven REMEDY,
For God is LOVE in Highest REALM,
The Hateful BIRDS will change to RED AND WHITE,
A NEW WORLD ORDER EMERGES.

poem by Maxim Muyu
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A second wife is hateful to the children of the first; a viper is not more hateful.

Euripides in Alcestis (438 B.C.)
Added by Lucian Velea
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Drunken Lullabies

Must it take a life for hatful eyes
To glisten once again
Five hundred years like Gelignite
Have blown us all to hell
What savior rests while on his cross we die
Has the Shepard led his lambs astray
to the bigot and the gun

Must it take a life for hateful eyes
To glisten once again
Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess
Singin' drunken lullabies

I watch and stare as Rosin's eyes
Turn a darker shade of red
And the bullet with this sniper lie
In their bloody gutless cell
Must we starve on crumbs from long ago
Through these bars of men made steel
Is it a great or little thing we fought
Knelt the conscience blessed to kill

Must it take a life for hateful eyes
To glisten once again
Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess
Singin' drunken lullabies

Ah

song performed by Flogging Molly from Drunken Lullabies
Added by Lucian Velea
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In Closing

STEP BACK INSIDE THE LIE AGAIN
YOU'LL FIND YOU'RE WEARING THIN
KILLING THE SYMPATHY AS YOU TAKE ANOTHER SWING AT ME
NOW FIGHTING YOUR INNER SELF AGAIN
LOSING TO WHAT YOU FEEL
SHIELDED BEHIND THE LIES THAT MAKE YOU FEEL REAL
NOW IT'S OVER AND I DON'T FEEL A THING
BUT YOU'RE TRYING TO BREAK THE SCAR AGAIN
YOUR SPIRIT IS BLEEDING AS YOU GRIN
BUT YOUR BRIDGE KEEPS ON BURNING AT BOTH ENDS
IN YOUR MIND
THE ENDING SEEMS TO BE SO FAR FROM WHAT YOU NEED
TAKE BACK THE MEMORIES AS YOU SMILE TO HIDE THE PAIN FROM ME
NOW SHUT DOWN THE CURIOSITY THAT BRINGS YOU HERE AGAIN
NO SENSE OF PURITY AS YOU TRY TO TAKE THE LIFE FROM ME NOW
IT'S OVER AND I DON'T FEEL A THING
BUT YOU'RE TRYING TO BREAK THE SCAR AGAIN
YOUR SPIRIT IS BLEEDING AS YOU GRIN
BUT YOUR BRIDGE KEEPS ON BURNING AT BOTH ENDS
NOTHING THAT YOU EVER SAY COULD EVER POSSIBLYERASE ALL THE HATEFUL THINGS YOU DID
AND NOW I'M THROUGH WITH YOU
NOTHING THAT YOU EVER SAY COULD EVER POSSIBLY ERASE ALL THE HATEFUL THINGS YOU DID
AND NOW I'M THROUGH WITH YOU
NOTHING YOU COULD EVER SAY
NOTHING YOU COULD EVER SAY
NOTHING YOU COULD EVER SAY
NOTHING YOU COULD EVER SAY
IT'S OVER AND I DON'T FEEL A THING
BUT YOU'RE TRYING TO BREAK THE SCAR AGAIN
YOUR SPIRIT IS BLEEDING AS YOU GRIN
BUT YOUR BRIDGE KEEPS ON BURNING AT BOTH ENDS
HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY NOW
HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY NOW
HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY NOW
HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY NOW

song performed by 12 Stones
Added by Lucian Velea
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Pms Blues

Eve you wicked woman, you done put your curse on me
Why didnt you just leave that apple hangin in the tree
You make us hate our husbands, our lovers and our boss
Why I cant even count the good friends Ive already lost
Cause of pms blues, pms blues
I dont even like myself, but its something I cant help
I got those God almighty, slap somebody pms blues
Most times Im easy going, some say Im good as gold
But when Im pms I tell ya, I turn mean and cold
Those not afflicted with it are affected just the same
You poor old men didnt have to grin and say I feel your pain
Pms blues, pms blues
You know you must forgive us for we care not what we do
I got those cant stop crying, dishes flying pms blues
But you know we cant help it
We dont even know the cause
But as soon as this parts over, then comes the menopause
Oh, lord, oh, lord
Were going to always be a heap of fun
Like the devil taking over my body, suffering, suffering, suffering
Everybodys suffering, huh?
But a woman had to write this song, a man would be scared to
Lest he be called a chauvenist or just fall victim to
Those pms blues
You know wed kill for less than that
Pms blues
You dont want to cross my path
Cause a pitbull aint no match
For these teeth a clenchin, fluid retention
Head a swellin, cant stop yellin
Got no patience, Im so hateful
Pms blues, premenstrual syndrome
Got those moods a swingin, tears a slingin
Nothin fits me when it hits me
Rantin, ravin, misbehavin
Pms blues
Its the only time in my life I ever think about wishing Id been a man
But you know that only means one thing
If Id have been a man, Id be somewhere right this very minute
With some old cranky, naggin, raggin hateful woman
With those old pms blues
Pms blues
I dont want to talk about it, we both could do without it
Got those treat your kids bad, dont you talk back
Gone ballistic, unrealistic
Awful lowdown, bitch to be around
Pms blues

song performed by Dolly Parton
Added by Lucian Velea
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Brand New Song

Ive got a brand new girlfriend
She is so lovely lovely
Ive got a new ex-girlfriend
She is so fat and ugly
Oh not you again, it gets worse everytime
And one plus two again wont work
I cant divide it
Well I let it go, I dont care
I love you when youre not there
Brand new song just for you
Im not sorry about the things I do
Ive got a brand new song
It is so happy happy
Ive got a brand new attitude
It is so hateful hateful
Oh not you again, it gets worse everytime
One plus two again wont work
I cant divide it
Well I let it go, I dont care
I love you when youre not there
Brand new song, just for you
Im so sorry (but thats not true)
You keep tellin me that its so easy to forget it
You keep tellin me but I know Ill always regret it,
(yea, yeah, yeah)
You keep tellin me that its so easy to forget it
You keep tellin me but I know Ill always regret it,
Well I let it go, youre not there
I love you and you dont care
A brand new song, Ive done my best
Im so sorry, sorry about this mess

song performed by Reel Big Fish
Added by Lucian Velea
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Thanksgiving

I see no way out.
I feel a closing in.
Living this way, i won't live this way.
Its no way to live.
I am not grateful.
I am hateful.
I see stupid things,
So i say stupid things.
One thing i know i want to go
Where my heart can't hurt no more.
I am not grateful.
I am hateful.
I am not grateful.
I am painful.
Gordon gano: vocals, guitar
Brian ritchie: acoustic bass guitar, vocals
Guy hoffman: drums, vocals
Produced by brian ritchie and gordon gano
Recorded and mixed by david vartanian at dv's perversion room, milwaukee, wi
gorno music reprinted with permission

song performed by Violent Femmes
Added by Lucian Velea
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Thanksgiving (No Way Out)

I see no way out.
I feel a closing in.
Living this way, I wont live this way.
Its no way to live.
I am not grateful.
I am hateful.
I see stupid things,
So I say stupid things.
One thing I know I want to go
Where my heart cant hurt no more.
I am not grateful.
I am hateful.
I am not grateful.
I am painful.
Gordon gano: vocals, guitar
Brian ritchie: acoustic bass guitar, vocals
Guy hoffman: drums, vocals
Produced by brian ritchie and gordon gano
Recorded and mixed by david vartanian at dvs perversion room, milwaukee, wi
gorno music reprinted with permission

song performed by Violent Femmes
Added by Lucian Velea
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Canto IV

THE ARGUMENT

Alas ! The Poëms curious Model
Is Alter’d quite i'th’ Poets Noddle !
So Nature oft, for want of Tools,
Decrees Wise men, produces Fools :
To tell you True, my Muse and I
Design’d at first, the Victory
To Master Dean ; how’t came about
I cannot tell ; but now the Rout
Is His : yet so, The Fancy’s righer
To end in Pot, commence in Pitcher !
Such was the Project ! such th’ Event !
But listen to the Argument !
The Chanter’s Dream : A Chapter called ;
Fine Speeches made ; The Pulpit mawled ;
This Counter-Scuffle, I dare stand in’t,
The Goddess Discord had a hand in’t :
The Prelates foes ; The Changers friends ;
The Canto, and the Poëme ends.

The Pulpit now lifting its lofty Head
With carved Canopy stands Covered ;
When the Church-clocks with their melodious chime,
Summon’d the Singing-boyes to rise : ‘Tis time
To Rise to Matins ! Thus the Bells did Chink !
Thus did at least the dreaming Sluggard think.
Drown’d in sweet Sleep th’Arch-changer roll’d at case,
( A Soveraign Medicine ‘gainst the twinging Fleas, )
Whose roving Fancy traverst may a Theme,
Startled at last with terror of a Dream ;
He cry’d out, waken’d at his own fierce crying,
And parboil’d in his mellow Sweat lay frying.
His Pages starting at the sudden Noyse,
Began to bussle, rubbing their gum-glew’d Eyes ;
One frighted runs, but poor fool, knew not whither,
And from the dore leaps back, e’re well got thither :
Girot, ( a trustier Slave ne’re waited on him, )
Runs to his Master, ne’re a Rag upon him ;
What the Rope ails you ? (cry’d the testy Lacquey,)
Does th’ Night-mare ride you, or the Old Witch make you
Roar at this rate ? What a mad coil you keep here,
That people cannot steal a nap, or sleep here ?
Compose your self for shame ! The wiser Sun
His race Nocturnal has but half-way run ;
Is this a time for Prayers ? Let Singing-boyes
Whose Pension’s pay for’t, do those Drudgeries !
Ah friend ! ( reply’d the quaking Chanter ) friend !
Insult not o’re my juster Passion ; lend
Thy patient Ear to my sad Fate, and joyn

[...] Read more

poem by Nicolas Boileau-Despréaux from Le Lutrin
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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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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Venus and Adonis

Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis tried him to the chase;
Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him.
'Thrice fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses;
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses:
'And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety;
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'
With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens;--O! how quick is love:--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:
Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,
And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.
So soon was she along, as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'
He burns with bashful shame; she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;

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poem by William Shakespeare (1593)
Added by Dan Costinaş
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A Vision Of Doom

I stood upon a hill. The setting sun
Was crimson with a curse and a portent,
And scarce his angry ray lit up the land
That lay below, whose lurid gloom appeared
Freaked with a moving mist, which, reeking up
From dim tarns hateful with some horrid ban,
Took shapes forbidden and without a name.
Gigantic night-birds, rising from the reeds
With cries discordant, startled all the air,
And bodiless voices babbled in the gloom-
The ghosts of blasphemies long ages stilled,
And shrieks of women, and men's curses. All
These visible shapes, and sounds no mortal ear
Had ever heard, some spiritual sense
Interpreted, though brokenly; for I
Was haunted by a consciousness of crime,
Some giant guilt, but whose I knew not. All
These things malign, by sight and sound revealed,
Were sin-begotten; that I knew-no more
And that but dimly, as in dreadful dreams
The sleepy senses babble to the brain
Imperfect witness. As I stood a voice,
But whence it came I knew not, cried aloud
Some words to me in a forgotten tongue,
Yet straight I knew me for a ghost forlorn,
Returned from the illimited inane.
Again, but in a language that I knew,
As in reply to something which in me
Had shaped itself a thought, but found no words,
It spake from the dread mystery about:
'Immortal shadow of a mortal soul
That perished with eternity, attend.
What thou beholdest is as void as thou:
The shadow of a poet's dream-himself
As thou, his soul as thine, long dead,
But not like thine outlasted by its shade.
His dreams alone survive eternity
As pictures in the unsubstantial void.
Excepting thee and me (and we because
The poet wove us in his thought) remains
Of nature and the universe no part
Or vestige but the poet's dreams. This dread,
Unspeakable land about thy feet, with all
Its desolation and its terrors-lo!
'T is but a phantom world. So long ago
That God and all the angels since have died
That poet lived-yourself long dead-his mind
Filled with the light of a prophetic fire,
And standing by the Western sea, above
The youngest, fairest city in the world,

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poem by Ambrose Bierce
Added by Poetry Lover
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