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Being solitary is being alone well: being alone luxuriously immersed in doings of your own choice, aware of the fullness of your won presence rather than of the absence of others. Because solitude is an achievement.

quote by Alice Koller
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With Their Doings Done

Some feel free to be sadistic,
With doings done.
And the having of fun.
Idealistic realists,
With doings done.
And a wanting of truth to appear and come.

And they who are minimalists,
Try to reduce materialistic wishes...
With doings undone seeking to do.

Some feel free to be sadistic,
With doings done.
And the having of fun.
Idealistic realists,
With doings done.
And a wanting of truth to appear and come
And they who are minimalists,
Try to reduce materialistic wishes...
With doings undone seeking to do.

Many have slowed their paces...
With their doings done.
Doings done.
Eliminating their rat races...
With their doings done.
Doings done.
And celebrating tasting life...
As if a piece of cake,
To savor.

Many have slowed their paces...
With their doings done.
Doings done.
Eliminating their rat races...
With their doings done.
Doings done.
And celebrating tasting life...
As if a piece of cake,
To savor.

Many have slowed their paces,
With a tasting of life to savor.
Many have slowed their paces,
With a tasting of life to savor.
Many have slowed their paces,
With a tasting of life to savor.

Many have slowed their paces,
With their doings done.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Killer

So you want
To be free
To live your life
The way you want to be
Will you give if we cry?
Will we live, yeah
Or will we die?
Oh
Jaded hearts (hearts)
Heal with time
Shoot that love
So we can
Stop the bleeding
Solitary brother (solitary brother)
Is there still a part of you that wants to live?
Solitary sister (solitary sister)
Is there still a part of you that wants to give?
Solitary brother (solitary brother)
Is there still a part of you that wants to live?
Solitary sister (solitary sister)
Is there still a part of you that wants to give?
If we try
And live your lives
The way you wanna be
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Solitary brother (solitary brother)
Is there still a part of you that wants to live?
Solitary sister (solitary sister)
Is there still a part of you that wants to give?
Solitary brother (solitary brother)
Is there still a part of you that wants to live?
Solitary sister (solitary sister)
Is there still a part of you that wants to give?
Yeah, yeah
Racism in amongst the future kings can only lead to no good and
Besides, all our sons and daughters already know how that feels
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Love, love, love, yeah

song performed by Sugababes
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Single By Choice

Single by choice
Never marry, never ever divorce
Listen to the solitary voice
Tell you Im single by choice
Single by choice
Never marry, never ever divorce
Listen to the solitary voice
Tell you Im single by choice
I know what youre thinking
She cant be complete
til the right kind of man
Come sweep her off her feet
Well Ive been there before
Times four or times five
With the right kind of man
Barely made it out alive
Single by choice
Never marry, never ever divorce
Listen to the solitary voice
Tell you Im single by choice
Alone but not lonely
Never marry, never ever divorce
Listen to the solitary voice
Tell you Im single by choice
I know what youre thinking
She cant be complete
til the right kind of man
Come sweep her off her feet
Well Ive been there before
Times four or times five
With the right kind of man
Got love in my day
And I dont waste one moment
Wishing it awya
Single by choice, single by choice
Single by choice, single by choice
Single by choice
Never marry, never ever divorce
Listen to the solitary voice
Tell you Im single by choice
Single by choice, single by choice
Single by choice, single by choice

song performed by Bangles
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

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

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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The Idols

An Ode
Luce intellettual, piena d' amore

Prelude
Lo, the spirit of a pulsing star within a stone
Born of earth, sprung from night!
Prisoned with the profound fires of the light
That lives like all the tongues of eloquence
Locked in a speech unknown!
The crystal, cold and hard as innocence,
Immures the flame; and yet as if it knew
Raptures or pangs it could not but betray,
As if the light could feel changes of blood and breath
And all--but--human quiverings of the sense,
Throbs of a sudden rose, a frosty blue,
Shoot thrilling in its ray,
Like the far longings of the intellect
Restless in clouding clay.

Who has confined the Light? Who has held it a slave,
Sold and bought, bought and sold?
Who has made of it a mystery to be doled,
Or trophy, to awe with legendary fire,
Where regal banners wave?
And still into the dark it sends Desire.
In the heart's darkness it sows cruelties.
The bright jewel becomes a beacon to the vile,
A lodestar to corruption, envy's own:
Soiled with blood, fought for, clutched at; this world's prize,
Captive Authority. Oh, the star is stone
To all that outward sight,
Yet still, like truth that none has ever used,
Lives lost in its own light.

Troubled I fly. O let me wander again at will
(Far from cries, far from these
Hard blindnesses and frozen certainties!)
Where life proceeds in vastness unaware
And stirs profound and still:
Where leafing thoughts at shy touch of the air
Tremble, and gleams come seeking to be mine,
Or dart, like suddenly remembered youth,
Like the ache of love, a light, lost, found, and lost again.
Surely in the dusk some messenger was there!
But, haunted in the heart, I thirst, I pine.--
Oh, how can truth be truth
Except I taste it close and sweet and sharp
As an apple to the tooth?

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Laurence Binyon
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[9] O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!

O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
[LOVE POEMS]

POET: MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR

POEMS

1 Passion And Compassion / 1
2 Affection
3 Willing To Live
4 Passion And Compassion / 2
5 Boon
6 Remembrance
7 Pretext
8 To A Distant Person
9 Perception
10 Conclusion
10 You (1)
11 Symbol
12 You (2)
13 In Vain
14 One Night
15 Suddenly
16 Meeting
17 Touch
18 Face To Face
19 Co-Traveller
20 Once And Once only
21 Touchstone
22 In Chorus
23 Good Omens
24 Even Then
25 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (1)
26 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (2)
27 Life Aspirant
28 To The Condemned Woman
29 A Submission
30 At Midday
31 I Accept
32 Who Are You?
33 Solicitation
34 Accept Me
35 Again After Ages …
36 Day-Dreaming
37 Who Are You?
38 You Embellished In Song

[...] Read more

poem by Mahendra Bhatnagar
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Solitary Man

Melinda was mine
til the time
That I found her
Holding jim
Loving him
Then sue came along
Loved me strong
Thats what I thought
Me and sue
But that died too
Dont know that I will
But until I can find me
A girl wholl stay
And wont play games behind me
Ill be what I am
A solitary man
Solitary man
Ive had it to here
Bein where
Loves a small world
Part-time thing
Paper ring
I know its been done
Having one
Girl who loves you
Right or wrong
Weak or strong
Dont know that I will
But until I can find me
The girl wholl stay
And wont play games behind me
Ill be what I am
A solitary man
Solitary man
solitary man
solitary man
solitary man
solitary man
solitary man
solitary
man

song performed by H.I.M.
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In Solitude

A glass of red wine spent
Recalling life's events
Crowded in my skin
In Solitude

Relishing a melody of lament
Drifting through my window
Gliding in uninvited
In solitude

Last night I cried out loud
For the sake of hearing a sound
Though I did not hear me
In solitude

Gawking at my naked fear
Of living a life unseen
Yearning to belong
In solitude

I woke up in the evening
Read a book out loud
My voice wavering
In Solitude

As the heroine yearned
In an isolated crowd
To be loved
In solitude

I walked around naked
In my new home
My skin in flames
In solitude

Every molecule of air
Brushing against me
Scorched in vain
In solitude

It was raining that morn
When I came to life
My throat stinging
In solitude

I see no soul
I hear no breathing
I smell no skin
In solitude

[...] Read more

poem by Deva De Silva
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The Task: Book VI. -- The Winter Walk at Noon

There is in souls a sympathy with sounds;
And as the mind is pitch’d the ear is pleased
With melting airs, or martial, brisk, or grave:
Some chord in unison with what we hear
Is touch’d within us, and the heart replies.
How soft the music of those village bells,
Falling at intervals upon the ear
In cadence sweet, now dying all away,
Now pealing loud again, and louder still,
Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on!
With easy force it opens all the cells
Where Memory slept. Wherever I have heard
A kindred melody, the scene recurs,
And with it all its pleasures and its pains.
Such comprehensive views the spirit takes,
That in a few short moments I retrace
(As in a map the voyager his course)
The windings of my way through many years.
Short as in retrospect the journey seems,
It seem’d not always short; the rugged path,
And prospect oft so dreary and forlorn,
Moved many a sigh at its disheartening length.
Yet, feeling present evils, while the past
Faintly impress the mind, or not at all,
How readily we wish time spent revoked,
That we might try the ground again, where once
(Through inexperience, as we now perceive)
We miss’d that happiness we might have found!
Some friend is gone, perhaps his son’s best friend,
A father, whose authority, in show
When most severe, and mustering all its force,
Was but the graver countenance of love:
Whose favour, like the clouds of spring, might lower,
And utter now and then an awful voice,
But had a blessing in its darkest frown,
Threatening at once and nourishing the plant.
We loved, but not enough, the gentle hand
That rear’d us. At a thoughtless age, allured
By every gilded folly, we renounced
His sheltering side, and wilfully forewent
That converse, which we now in vain regret.
How gladly would the man recall to life
The boy’s neglected sire! a mother too,
That softer friend, perhaps more gladly still,
Might he demand them at the gates of death.
Sorrow has, since they went, subdued and tamed
The playful humour; he could now endure
(Himself grown sober in the vale of tears)
And feel a parent’s presence no restraint.
But not to understand a treasure’s worth

[...] Read more

poem by William Cowper
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Solitary One

You know it gets too much and sometimes she cries like a baby
But shes almost certain itll pass when she becomes a lady
But while shes still a young girl love is avoiding her
And thank God for the radio and the color tv, oh, oh, oh, oh
Heroes are hard to find in the cold world but not in her mind
And shes talking to jesus during the radio station breaks
And shes on her knees, pourin on her knees
Asking how the world can be so cold to her
And she listens to the records, playing on the radio
And shes falling in love with a singer
Now shes feelin better and shes feelin good
But shes coming down by the time the song is over
And she starts feelin lonely
Feelin shes the only ordinary solitary one
All alone the solitary one
And hurrying home oh God its been one of those bad days
But with a flick of a switch and a twist of the dial
She gets love on the airwaves
And they send her favorite lovers to keep her satisfied
And shes talkin to jesus during the radio station breaks
And shes on her knees falling on her knees
Asking how the world can be so cold to her
And she listens to the records playing on the radio and shes fallin
In love with a singer
Now shes feelin better cause shes feelin good
But shes comin down by the time the song is over
And she starts feelin lonely
Feelin shes the only ordinary the solitary one all alone solitary one
And shes on her knees pouring on her knees
Asking how the world can be so cold to her
And she starts feelin lonely
Feelin shes the only ordinary solitary one
All alone the solitary one
All alone the solitary one
All alone the solitary one
All alone the solitary one

song performed by Rick Springfield
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Freedom Of Choice

A victim of collision on the open sea
Nobody ever said that life was free
Sank, swam, go down with the ship
Just use your freedom of choice
Ill say it again in the land of the free
Use your freedom of choice
Your freedom of choice
In ancient rome there was a pawn
Who faught alone
And watched it fall
He cast a stone
He felt secure
He felt that hed never be hurt
Freedom of choice
Is what you got
Freedom of choice!
Give into the voice
You dont want it
Seems to be the rule of thumb
Dont be tricked by what you see
You got two ways to go
Ill say it again in the land of the free
Use your freedom of choice
Freedom of choice
Freedom of choice
Is what you got
Freedom of choice!
In ancient rome there was a pawn
Who faught alone
And watched it fall
He cast a stone
He felt secure
He felt that his voice would never be heard
Freedom of choice
Is what you got
Freedom from choice!
Is what you want
Freedom of choice
Is what you got
Freedom from choice!
Is what you want
Freedom from choice
Is what you want
Freedom from choice!

song performed by A Perfect Circle
Added by Lucian Velea
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In The Solitude Of Prayer

In the solitude of prayer
deep
Lost in moments in between weep
and sleep

In the solitude of prayer
Lonliness finds a rest
Survived another test
Brings out our best

In the solitude of prayer
With nobody there
Except those far away
Reminded of their distant care

In the solitude of prayer
You pray for their smile
For their personal trial
Silently, all the while

In the solitude of prayer
Dreams seem more near
More hope than fear
Thoughts of those past those dear

In the solitude of prayer
Pray for their souls kind
Whose memory is still in your mind
And in your heart

In the solitude of prayer
Pray for your dear friends
Whose heart's you defend
As your own heart they mend

In the solitude of prayer
As for God's wisdom
And his love
As all love comes from above

In the solitude of prayer
Find grace to forgive
And to truely give
And to live

In the solitude of prayer
Recall how to dream
Of warm embraces of affection
And of love returned in your direction

[...] Read more

poem by James T. Adair
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning (1871)
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The Recluse - Book First

HOME AT GRASMERE

ONCE to the verge of yon steep barrier came
A roving school-boy; what the adventurer's age
Hath now escaped his memory--but the hour,
One of a golden summer holiday,
He well remembers, though the year be gone--
Alone and devious from afar he came;
And, with a sudden influx overpowered
At sight of this seclusion, he forgot
His haste, for hasty had his footsteps been
As boyish his pursuits; and sighing said,
'What happy fortune were it here to live!
And, if a thought of dying, if a thought
Of mortal separation, could intrude
With paradise before him, here to die!'
No Prophet was he, had not even a hope,
Scarcely a wish, but one bright pleasing thought,
A fancy in the heart of what might be
The lot of others, never could be his.
The station whence he looked was soft and green,
Not giddy yet aerial, with a depth
Of vale below, a height of hills above.
For rest of body perfect was the spot,
All that luxurious nature could desire;
But stirring to the spirit; who could gaze
And not feel motions there? He thought of clouds
That sail on winds: of breezes that delight
To play on water, or in endless chase
Pursue each other through the yielding plain
Of grass or corn, over and through and through,
In billow after billow, evermore
Disporting--nor unmindful was the boy
Of sunbeams, shadows, butterflies and birds;
Of fluttering sylphs and softly-gliding Fays,
Genii, and winged angels that are Lords
Without restraint of all which they behold.
The illusion strengthening as he gazed, he felt
That such unfettered liberty was his,
Such power and joy; but only for this end,
To flit from field to rock, from rock to field,
From shore to island, and from isle to shore,
From open ground to covert, from a bed
Of meadow-flowers into a tuft of wood;
From high to low, from low to high, yet still
Within the bound of this huge concave; here
Must be his home, this valley be his world.
Since that day forth the Place to him--'to me'
(For I who live to register the truth
Was that same young and happy Being) became

[...] Read more

poem by William Wordsworth
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To Join Other Voices

You have a choice,
To go it alone.
You have a choice,
To ignore and not listen.
You have a choice,
To join other voices...
With a raising of your voice,
High.

You have a choice,
To go it alone.
You have a choice,
To ignore and not listen.
You have a choice,
To join other voices...
With a raising of your voice,
High.

Once you believe,
Your destiny...
With others with you can be achieved.
Sharing in exchange with your keys.

You have a choice,
To go it alone.
You have a choice,
To ignore and not listen.
You have a choice,
To join other voices...
With a raising of your voice,
High.

Or you can decide,
To criticize...
And defy,
For-the-rest of your life.

You have a choice,
To go it alone.
You have a choice,
To ignore and not listen.
You have a choice,
To join other voices...
With a raising of your voice,
High.
Or you can decide,
To criticize...
And defy and deny,
For-the-rest of your life.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Book Second [School-Time Continued]

THUS far, O Friend! have we, though leaving much
Unvisited, endeavoured to retrace
The simple ways in which my childhood walked;
Those chiefly that first led me to the love
Of rivers, woods, and fields. The passion yet
Was in its birth, sustained as might befall
By nourishment that came unsought; for still
From week to week, from month to month, we lived
A round of tumult. Duly were our games
Prolonged in summer till the daylight failed:
No chair remained before the doors; the bench
And threshold steps were empty; fast asleep
The labourer, and the old man who had sate
A later lingerer; yet the revelry
Continued and the loud uproar: at last,
When all the ground was dark, and twinkling stars
Edged the black clouds, home and to bed we went,
Feverish with weary joints and beating minds.
Ah! is there one who ever has been young,
Nor needs a warning voice to tame the pride
Of intellect and virtue's self-esteem?
One is there, though the wisest and the best
Of all mankind, who covets not at times
Union that cannot be;--who would not give
If so he might, to duty and to truth
The eagerness of infantine desire?
A tranquillising spirit presses now
On my corporeal frame, so wide appears
The vacancy between me and those days
Which yet have such self-presence in my mind,
That, musing on them, often do I seem
Two consciousnesses, conscious of myself
And of some other Being. A rude mass
Of native rock, left midway in the square
Of our small market village, was the goal
Or centre of these sports; and when, returned
After long absence, thither I repaired,
Gone was the old grey stone, and in its place
A smart Assembly-room usurped the ground
That had been ours. There let the fiddle scream,
And be ye happy! Yet, my Friends! I know
That more than one of you will think with me
Of those soft starry nights, and that old Dame
From whom the stone was named, who there had sate,
And watched her table with its huckster's wares
Assiduous, through the length of sixty years.

We ran a boisterous course; the year span round
With giddy motion. But the time approached
That brought with it a regular desire

[...] Read more

poem by William Wordsworth
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Killer

Brother
Sister
It's the loneliness thats the killer
So you want
To be free
To live your life
The way you want to be
Will you give
If we cry
Will we live
Or will we die
Jaded hearts
Heal with time
Shoot that love
So we can
Stop the bleeding
Solitary brother
Is there still a part of you that wants to live
Solitary sister
Is there still a part of you that wants to give
Solitary brother
Is there still a part of you that wants to live
Solitary sister
Is there still a part of you that wants to give
If we try
And live our lives
The way we wanna be
Yeah
Brother brother
Sister sister
Brother brother brother brother brother
There's no other love There's no other love There's no other love
There is no other love no other love like ours
There's no other love There's no other love There's no other love
There is no other love no other love like ours
There's no other love There's no other love There's no other love
There's no other love There's no other love There's no other love
There is no love
Solitary brother
Is there still a part of you that wants to live
Solitary sister
Is there still a part of you that wants to give
Solitary brother
Solitary Sister
Is there still a part of you that wants to give
Racism in among future kings can only lead to no good
Besides all our sons and daughters already know how that feels

song performed by Seal from Debut
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Killer/papa Was A Rollin Stone

So you want to be free
To live your life the way you wanna be
Will you give if we cry
Will we live or will we die
Tainted hearts heal with time
Shoot bad love so we can
Stop the bleeding
Solitary brother,
Is there still a part of you that wants to live?
Solitary sister,
Is there still a part of you that wants to give?
Solitary brother,
Is there still a part of you that wants to live?
Solitary sister,
Is there still a part of you that wants to give?
If we try to live our lives
The way we wanna be
Solitary brother,
Is there still a part of you that wants to live?
Solitary sister,
Is there still a part of you that wants to give?
Solitary brother,
Is there still a part of you that wants to live?
Solitary sister,
Is there still a part of you that wants to give?
Racism in future kins can only lead to no good
And besides, all our sons and daughters already
Know how that feels
(adam tinley/henry samuel)
Was the third of september
That day Ill always remember, yes I will
cause that was the day that my daddy died
Never had a chance to see him, no
Never heard nothing but bad things about him
Mama, Im depending on you to tell me the truth
Mama just hung her head and said
Chorus
Papa was a rollin stone
Wherever he laid his hat was his home
And when he died
All he left us was alone
(repeat)
Hey, mama, is it true what they say
That papa never worked aday in his life
Some bad talk going around sayin
Papa had three outside children
And another wife
That aint right
Heard some talk about papa and his storefront
Preachin

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song performed by George Michael
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Prelude, Book 2: School-time (Continued)

. Thus far, O Friend! have we, though leaving much
Unvisited, endeavour'd to retrace
My life through its first years, and measured back
The way I travell'd when I first began
To love the woods and fields; the passion yet
Was in its birth, sustain'd, as might befal,
By nourishment that came unsought, for still,
From week to week, from month to month, we liv'd
A round of tumult: duly were our games
Prolong'd in summer till the day-light fail'd;
No chair remain'd before the doors, the bench
And threshold steps were empty; fast asleep
The Labourer, and the old Man who had sate,
A later lingerer, yet the revelry
Continued, and the loud uproar: at last,
When all the ground was dark, and the huge clouds
Were edged with twinkling stars, to bed we went,
With weary joints, and with a beating mind.
Ah! is there one who ever has been young,
Nor needs a monitory voice to tame
The pride of virtue, and of intellect?
And is there one, the wisest and the best
Of all mankind, who does not sometimes wish
For things which cannot be, who would not give,
If so he might, to duty and to truth
The eagerness of infantine desire?
A tranquillizing spirit presses now
On my corporeal frame: so wide appears
The vacancy between me and those days,
Which yet have such self-presence in my mind
That, sometimes, when I think of them, I seem
Two consciousnesses, conscious of myself
And of some other Being. A grey Stone
Of native rock, left midway in the Square
Of our small market Village, was the home
And centre of these joys, and when, return'd
After long absence, thither I repair'd,
I found that it was split, and gone to build
A smart Assembly-room that perk'd and flar'd
With wash and rough-cast elbowing the ground
Which had been ours. But let the fiddle scream,
And be ye happy! yet, my Friends! I know
That more than one of you will think with me
Of those soft starry nights, and that old Dame
From whom the stone was nam'd who there had sate
And watch'd her Table with its huckster's wares
Assiduous, thro' the length of sixty years.

We ran a boisterous race; the year span round
With giddy motion. But the time approach'd

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poem by William Wordsworth
Added by Poetry Lover
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Endymion: Book II

O Sovereign power of love! O grief! O balm!
All records, saving thine, come cool, and calm,
And shadowy, through the mist of passed years:
For others, good or bad, hatred and tears
Have become indolent; but touching thine,
One sigh doth echo, one poor sob doth pine,
One kiss brings honey-dew from buried days.
The woes of Troy, towers smothering o'er their blaze,
Stiff-holden shields, far-piercing spears, keen blades,
Struggling, and blood, and shrieks--all dimly fades
Into some backward corner of the brain;
Yet, in our very souls, we feel amain
The close of Troilus and Cressid sweet.
Hence, pageant history! hence, gilded cheat!
Swart planet in the universe of deeds!
Wide sea, that one continuous murmur breeds
Along the pebbled shore of memory!
Many old rotten-timber'd boats there be
Upon thy vaporous bosom, magnified
To goodly vessels; many a sail of pride,
And golden keel'd, is left unlaunch'd and dry.
But wherefore this? What care, though owl did fly
About the great Athenian admiral's mast?
What care, though striding Alexander past
The Indus with his Macedonian numbers?
Though old Ulysses tortured from his slumbers
The glutted Cyclops, what care?--Juliet leaning
Amid her window-flowers,--sighing,--weaning
Tenderly her fancy from its maiden snow,
Doth more avail than these: the silver flow
Of Hero's tears, the swoon of Imogen,
Fair Pastorella in the bandit's den,
Are things to brood on with more ardency
Than the death-day of empires. Fearfully
Must such conviction come upon his head,
Who, thus far, discontent, has dared to tread,
Without one muse's smile, or kind behest,
The path of love and poesy. But rest,
In chaffing restlessness, is yet more drear
Than to be crush'd, in striving to uprear
Love's standard on the battlements of song.
So once more days and nights aid me along,
Like legion'd soldiers.

Brain-sick shepherd-prince,
What promise hast thou faithful guarded since
The day of sacrifice? Or, have new sorrows
Come with the constant dawn upon thy morrows?
Alas! 'tis his old grief. For many days,
Has he been wandering in uncertain ways:

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poem by John Keats
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