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Back in the mid-1970s, we adopted some fairly ambitious goals to improve efficiency of our cars. What did we get? We got a tremendous boost in efficiency.

quote by Jay Inslee
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Cars Are Cars

Words & music by paul simon 1983
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Similarly made. similarly sold
In a motorcade. abandoned when theyre old
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Engine in the front. jack in the back
Wheels take the brunt. pinion and a rack
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
But people are strangers
They change with the curve
From time zone to time zone
As we can observe
They shut down their borders
And think theyre immune
They stand on their differences
And shoot at the moon
But cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Drive em on the left. drive em on the right
Susceptible to theft in the middle of the night
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
I once had a car
That was more like a home
I lived in it, loved in it
Polished its chrome
If some of my homes
Had been more like my car
I probably wouldnt have
Travelled this far
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world
Cars are cars all over the world

song performed by Paul Simon
Added by Lucian Velea
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Only Those Who Believe They Can

Don't you be afraid,
To boost it up a notch.
No...
Don't you be afraid.
No...
Don't you be afraid.

Don't you be afraid,
To give it what you've got.
No...
Don't you be afraid.
No...
Don't you be afraid.

Boost it.
Boost it.
Boost it up a notch.
And,
Don't be afraid to boost it.
Give it what you've got!

Only those who believe they can,
Will leap...
With a seeking,
What is theirs to reach.
So,
Boost it.
Boost it.
Boost it up a notch.

Only those who believe they can,
Will leap...
With a seeking,
What is theirs to reach.
So,
Boost it.
Boost it.
Boost it up a notch.
And,
Don't be afraid to boost it.
By a giving it what you've got!

Only those who believe they can,
Will boost...
It up!

Only those who believe they can will boost it,
Up!
Only those who believe they can will boost it,
Up!

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Weeping Meter

If you're on a weeping meter,
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.

If you're on a weeping meter,
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.

The more you get some pity you sit and solicit it.
With a drive you started in campaign,
And aimed to have a perfect pity party trip.

You've got your buckets ready to collect the slightest drip.
Like an attention getting kitten,
Being petted as it purrs and licks!

That's what you need!
A boost to benefit.
Like the petting of a kitten getting enjoyment out of it.
To get a little bit of stroking before it leaves...
To meander off and drift.
Satisfied and pleased.

If you're on a weeping meter,
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.

Maybe you just need some petting,
And some stroking too?
Oooo...
If you're on a weeping meter,
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.

Maybe you just need some petting,
And some stroking too?
Oooo...
If you're on a weeping meter,
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Be ambitious

Be ambitious
But, cautiously
Keeping in view
The nature and extent
Of your strengths
And after weighing
Your weaknesses

Be ambitious of
Harnessing strengths of others
For raising a human race
For collective growth and
Harmonious co-existence
Not of developing a mass
For a mad and unquestioned following

Be ambitious
Of becoming something yourself
Not of becoming a owner
Of material significance

Be ambitious
Of evolving new values to life
Not of adding values
To things in your possession

Be ambitious
Of helping others
Realize new dimensions of existence
Not of helping them
Just to exist

Be ambitious
Of bringing more and more
Into your affectionate bond of love
Not of keeping others
Into your fold because of fear for you
Or favour from you

Be ambitious of
Knowing yourself better
Not of making others
Understand you better

Be ambitious of
Becoming a model human being
For others to emulate
Not of copying or emulating
Someone’s model

[...] Read more

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Granola Homemade

Give me some of those walnuts.
Dried cranberries, brown sugar...
And rolled oats to bunch up.

I'll crush that stuff with raisins...
To make granola to munch!

Add with that papaya bits.
Cashews too with diced pineapple mixed.
And a snack to enjoy with fingers to lick..
Is granola homemade that's great and fit.

Granola homemade is a wonderful taste.
And a snack that'll boost you up.
Replace that soda with some lemonade.
And a snack that'll boost you up!

Give me some of those walnuts.
Dried cranberries, brown sugar...
And rolled oats to bunch.

Granola homemade is a wonderful taste.
a-knock knock
And a snack that'll boost you up.
Replace that soda with some lemonade.
a-knock knock
And a snack that'll boost you up!

Add with that papaya bits.
Cashews too with diced pineapple mixed.
And a snack to enjoy with fingers to lick..
Is granola homemade that's great!

Granola homemade is a wonderful taste.
a-knock knock
And a snack that'll boost you up.
Replace that soda with some lemonade.
a-knock knock
That's a snack that'll boost you up!
a-knock knock
That's a snack that'll boost you up!
a-knock knock
That's a snack that'll boost you up!
a-knock knock
That's a snack that'll boost you up!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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No Protocol

To forgive someone misdeeding,
Is to be shatterproof...
When deceivers are loose,
And do whatever they choose.

To forgive someone misdeeding,
Is to be shatterproof...
When deceivers are loose,
And do whatever they choose.
Since,
They have no protocol.
None that can be seen at all.

Their main gig is to ego boost,
And dupe too.
Yeah.
Their main gig is to ego boost,
And dupe too.
Yeah.
Their main gig is to ego boost,
And dupe too...
To make more fools,
Of whomever they choose.
Yeah.

Their main gig is to ego boost,
And dupe too.
Yeah.
Their main gig is to ego boost,
And dupe too.
Yeah.
Their main gig is to ego boost,
And dupe too.
Because they have no protocol.
None that can be seen at all.

To forgive someone misdeeding,
Is to be shatterproof...
When deceivers are loose,
Since...
They have no protocol.
None that can be seen at all...
Because,
Their main gig is to ego boost,
And dupe too.
Yeah.
Their main gig is to ego boost,
And dupe too.
Yeah.
Their main gig is to ego boost,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Soccer Under 20

soccer teams close to pa
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soccer teams aurora co age 11
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soccer teams for women in massachusetts
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soccer teams for the facup 2007
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soccer teams from colombia and argentina
soccer teams for winfield
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soccer teams for s in delaware
soccer teams in allen texas
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soccer teams in 1987 varsity
soccer teams from mexico
soccer teams for s
soccer teams for youth in newark
soccer teams in clifton new jersey
soccer teams in chaicago
soccer teams in brazil
soccer teams in around chicago
soccer teams in cocoa
soccer teams in central america
soccer teams in chamblee georgia
soccer teams in chula vista
soccer teams in carrollton tx
soccer teams in canada
soccer teams in central valley
soccer teams in charlotte nc
soccer teams in athens greece
soccer teams in charlotte
soccer teams in chile
soccer teams in argintina
soccer teams in arizona
soccer teams in argentina and chile
soccer teams in argentina
soccer teams in concord mass
soccer teams in dundee il

[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Making Cars

They've bailed the automakers out...
But there's no one about,
To drive.

They've listened to them rant and shout...
But there's no one about,
To drive.
Or
To keep them alive.

And why...
Why now is gas so cheap?
When people can't afford it.
And why...
Why are they losing sleep?
When they're making cars that people can't keep!

They've bailed the automakers out...
But there's no one about,
To drive.

They've listened to them rant and shout...
But there's no one about,
To drive.
Or
To keep them alive.

And why...
Why now is gas so cheap?
When people can't afford it.
And why...
Why are they losing sleep?
When they're making cars that people can't keep!

Oh no!
They're making cars that people can't keep!
Oh?
They're making cars that people can't keep!
Oh no!
They're making cars for people....
But why...
Why now is gas so cheap?
When people can't afford it.
And why...
Why are they losing sleep?
When they're making cars that people can't keep!

Oh no!
They're making cars that people can't keep!
Oh?

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Day At Tivoli - Prologue

Fair blows the breeze—depart—depart—
And tread with me th' Italian shore;
And feed thy soul with glorious art;
And drink again of classic lore.
Nor sometime shalt thou deem it wrong,
When not in mood too gravely wise,
At idle length to lie along,
And quaff a bliss from bluest skies.

Or, pleased more pensive joy to woo,
At twilight eve, by ruin grey,
Muse o'er the generations, who
Have passed, as we must pass, away.
Or mark o'er olive tree and vine
Steep towns uphung; to win from them
Some thought of Southern Palestine;
Some dream of old Jerusalem.

Come, Pilgrim-Friend! At last our sun outbreaks,
And chases, one by one, dawn's lingering flakes.
Come, Pilgrim-Friend! and downward let us rove
(Thy long-vow'd vow) this old Tiburtian grove.
See where, beneath, the jocund runnels play,
All cheerly brighten'd in the brightening day.
E'en in the far-off years when Flaccus wrote,
('Tis here, I ween, no pedantry to quote,)
Thus led, they gurgled thro' those orchard-bowers
To feed the herb—the fruitage—and the flowers.

Come, then, and snatch Occasion; transient boon!
And sliding into Future all too soon.
That Future's self possession just as brief,
And stolen, soon as given, by Time—the Thief.
Well! if such filching knave we needs must meet,
Let us, as best we may, the Cheater cheat;
And, since the Then, the Now, will flit so fast,
Look back, and lengthen life into the Past.

That Past is here; where old Tiburtus found
Mere mountain-brow, and fenc'd with walls around;
And for his wearied Argives reared a home
Long ere yon seven proud hills had dream'd of Rome.
'Tis here, amid these patriarch olive trees,
Which Flaccus saw, or ancestry of these;
Oft musing, as he slowly strayed him past,
How here his quiet age should close at last.

And here behold them, still! Like ancient seers
They stand; the dwellers of a thousand years.
Deep-furrow'd, strangely crook'd, and ashy-grey,

[...] Read more

poem by John Kenyon
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Booty-Boo-Doo-The Caboose

I'm not going to hide,
Any love you see this evening.
I'm much too needing on my side...
And I want it known as shown,
I've come with... some pride.

I'm not going to hide inside of me,
This evening.
Too much I let collect in dust.
And too much I don't want to get rusty.
I've got enough in me to boot and hoot.

It doesn't matter if my ladder,
Can get up to reach the roof!

I know my ladder apparatus,
And it's there to give a boost.

Booty-boo-doo-the caboose.
I know my ladder apparatus,
And it's there to give a boost.

Booty-boo-doo-the caboose.
I know my ladder apparatus,
And it's there to give a boost.

Booty-boo-doo-the cabooster.
Booty-boo-doo-the caboose.
Booty-boo-doo-the cabooster.
Booty-boo-doo-the caboose.

Booty-boo-doo-the cabooster.
I know my ladder apparatus,
And it's there to give a boost.

I'm not going to hide inside of me,
This evening.
Too much I let collect in dust.
And too much I don't want to get rusty.
I've got enough in me to boot and hoot.

Booty-boo-doo-the cabooster.
I know my ladder apparatus,
And it's there to give a boost.
I know my ladder apparatus,
And it's there to give a boost.

Booty-boo-doo-the cabooster.
Booty-boo-doo-the caboose.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Feel Terrific

You keep me lifted.
And I admit.
I feel terrific...
When I'm given this lift.

You keep me lifted,
And I admit...
I feel terrific,
When I'm given this lift!

No alcohol do I need to get this boost.
Anything that aggravates I just let loose.
I feel like sitting on the roof,
To do exactly what I choose.

When that mood in me rules!

And I want to get lifted.
I admit.
I feel terrific...
When I'm given this lift.

I do,
Just feel terrific.
And you...
Can feel terrific.
Just choose...
To be terrific.

And be lifted with a boost.

Be specific.
When you get your lift.
Feel terrific.
And just handle it!

I do,
Just feel terrific.
And you...
Can feel terrific.
Just choose...
To be terrific.
And,
Be...
Llifted with a boost.

I do,
Just feel terrific.
And you...
Can feel terrific.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sociopaths Stand Back

People in the middle,
Enjoy keeping their riddles griddled.
And slapped to sizzle nonstop.
While turning up the temperature...
To see who steams a lot!
Just to justify that feeling to boost.

Nobody adjusted and in a right frame of mind,
Sits to feel reduced,
In a seduction they can find.
Just to feel that boost.

Nobody wants to stay a loose goose cooked.
For other geese to please.
Just to feel that boost.

Nobody carries on their back,
Weighted troubles packed.
To consciously seek a place to bend their knees.
Just to feel that boost.

Nobody chooses to sing the blues,
Because they love the melody.
Just to feel that boost.
Although some may elect to fight...
Instead of leaving alone what is known is right.

Sociopaths stand back.
Nobody expresses those needs you feed.
Just to feel that boost.
And trying to justify,
Why their detached caboose is loose.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Santa-Fe Trail (A Humoresque)

I asked the old Negro, "What is that bird that sings so well?" He answered: "That is the Rachel-Jane." "Hasn't it another name, lark, or thrush, or the like?" "No. Jus' Rachel-Jane."

I. IN WHICH A RACING AUTO COMES FROM THE EAST

This is the order of the music of the morning: —
First, from the far East comes but a crooning.
The crooning turns to a sunrise singing.
Hark to the calm -horn, balm -horn, psalm -horn.
Hark to the faint -horn, quaint -horn, saint -horn. . . .

Hark to the pace -horn, chase -horn, race -horn.
And the holy veil of the dawn has gone.
Swiftly the brazen ear comes on.
It burns in the East as the sunrise burns.
I see great flashes where the far trail turns.

Its eyes are lamps like the eyes of dragons.
It drinks gasoline from big red flagons.
Butting through the delicate mists of the morning,
It comes like lightning, goes past roaring.
It will hail all the wind-mills, taunting, ringing,
Dodge the cyclones,
Count the milestones,
On through the ranges the prairie-dog tills—
Scooting past the cattle on the thousand hills. . . .
Ho for the tear-horn, scare-horn, dare-horn,
Ho for the gay -horn, bark -horn, bay -horn.
Ho for Kansas, land that restores us
When houses choke us, and great books bore us!
Sunrise Kansas, harvester's Kansas,
A million men have found you before us.

II. IN WHICH MANY AUTOS PASS WESTWARD

I want live things in their pride to remain.
I will not kill one grasshopper vain
Though he eats a hole in my shirt like a door.
I let him out, give him one chance more.
Perhaps, while he gnaws my hat in his whim,
Grasshopper lyrics occur to him.

I am a tramp by the long trail's border,
Given to squalor, rags and disorder.
I nap and amble and yawn and look,
Write fool-thoughts in my grubby book,
Recite to the children, explore at my ease,
Work when I work, beg when I please,
Give crank-drawings, that make folks stare

[...] Read more

poem by Vachel Lindsay
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The pilgrimage to Mecca

What holy rites Mohammed's laws ordain,
What various duties bind his faithful train,--
What pious zeal his scatter'd tribes unites
In fix'd observance of these holy rites,--
At Mecca's shrine what votive crowds surround
With annual pomp the consecrated ground,--
The muse shall tell:--revolving years succeed,
And Time still venerates Mohammed's creed.

Nor faint the glory shed o'er Mecca's brow:
Land of the Prophet! known to fame art thou.
Here first in peace his infant hopes were known,
Here fix'd the Chief his Temple and his Throne:
Though from thy gates opposing factions here
With stern defiance drove the gifted Seer;
Yet, sacred City of his love! 'twas thine
To heap the earliest incense on his shrine;
To own the terrors of his conq'ring blade,
And hail with joy the Exile thou hadst made.
Yes--thou art known to fame! to thee, 'tis said,
A voice divine the wand'ring Abram led:
Within thy courts, at his command restor'd,
Blaz'd the pure altars of Creation's Lord.
And hence thy race, for ancient faith renown'd,
Surpassing favour with Mohammed found;
His seat of Empire hence thy walls became,
And shar'd, for sanctity, Mohammed's fame,
Nor strange that hence, with pious gifts array'd,
Thy shrine rever'd the Moslem tribes invade;
Such duteous zeal the Prophet's laws demand,
And fabled raptures of his promis'd land.
For woe to him, who ne'er with awe profound,
At Mecca's shrine, hath kiss'd the holy ground:
For him, denied celestial joys to share,
No blooming Houris shall his couch prepare;
But his the doom, where countless horrors reign,
To feel a dark eternity of pain;
Of deep remorse the bitter tear to shed,
Each hope of Paradise for ever fled.

Behold! one impulse every heart enthralls;
Wide spreads the fervour 'mid Byzantium's walls:--
Where, proudly soaring, frown from Europe's coast
Her regal tow'rs o'er Asia's subject host,
With mingling crowds behold the darken'd lands,
And the wild tumult of assembling bands;
So vast the force, 'twould seem, with ire renew'd,
His warrior train Byzantium's Lord review'd;

[...] Read more

poem by George Canning
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Corporate Bottom Line

Shabbily they're seen and treated...
Workers jerked and losing perks.
Erased,
Are any raises in pay.

Everyday a job is outsourced,
To prevent a further loss.
And this is cost effective,
As a company directs!

Silk suits sit high to do their looting.
No matter who is booted,
To refine a bottom line.
And...
Silk suits sit high to do their looting.
No matter who is booted,
To refine a bottom line.

Uprooted to make beautiful,
A corporate bottom line.
Those recruited to dilute and choose...
A corporate bottom line.

Uprooted to make beautiful,
A corporate bottom line.
Those recruited to dilute and choose...
A corporate bottom line.

No excuses when it comes to boost,
A corporate bottom line.
Those recruited to dilute and choose...
A corporate bottom line.

Uprooted to make beautiful,
A corporate bottom line.
Those recruited to dilute and choose...
A corporate bottom line.

No excuses when it comes to boost,
A corporate bottom line.

Shabbily they're seen and treated...
Workers jerked and losing perks.
Erased,
Are any raises in pay.

No excuses when it comes to boost,
A corporate bottom line.
No excuses when it comes to boost,
A corporate bottom line.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Stop That Copying Of Me That You Do

Stop your copping on my duty,
That your are trying to scoop.
Stop your snooping to excuse it too,
Boo!

Stop your copping on my duty,
That your are trying to scoop.
'Cause I choose not to get moody,
Showing attitude.

And while you're at it,
Choose somebody else to boost.
And while you're at it,
Choose somebody else to use,
Boo.

And while you're at it,
Choose somebody else to boost.
And...
Stop that copying of me that you do.

And while you're at it,
Choose somebody else to boost.
And while you're at it,
Choose somebody else to use,
Boo.

And while you're at it,
Choose somebody else to boost.
And...
Stop that copying of me that you do.

Stop your copping on my duty,
That your are trying to scoop.
Stop your snooping to excuse it too,
Boo!

Stop your copping on my duty,
That your are trying to scoop.
'Cause I choose not to get moody,
Showing attitude.

And while you're at it,
Choose somebody else to boost.
And while you're at it,
Choose somebody else to use,
Boo.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Four Seasons : Autumn

Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,
While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,
Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more,
Well pleased, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost
Nitrous prepared; the various blossom'd Spring
Put in white promise forth; and Summer-suns
Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view,
Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.
Onslow! the Muse, ambitious of thy name,
To grace, inspire, and dignify her song,
Would from the public voice thy gentle ear
A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows,
The patriot virtues that distend thy thought,
Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow;
While listening senates hang upon thy tongue,
Devolving through the maze of eloquence
A roll of periods, sweeter than her song.
But she too pants for public virtue, she,
Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will,
Whene'er her country rushes on her heart,
Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries
To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame.
When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days,
And Libra weighs in equal scales the year;
From Heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook
Of parting Summer, a serener blue,
With golden light enliven'd, wide invests
The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise,
Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft through lucid clouds
A pleasing calm; while broad, and brown, below
Extensive harvests hang the heavy head.
Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a gale
Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain:
A calm of plenty! till the ruffled air
Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow.
Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky;
The clouds fly different; and the sudden sun
By fits effulgent gilds the illumined field,
And black by fits the shadows sweep along.
A gaily chequer'd heart-expanding view,
Far as the circling eye can shoot around,
Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn.
These are thy blessings, Industry! rough power!
Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain;
Yet the kind source of every gentle art,
And all the soft civility of life:
Raiser of human kind! by Nature cast,
Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods
And wilds, to rude inclement elements;
With various seeds of art deep in the mind

[...] Read more

poem by James Thomson
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The Loves of the Angels

'Twas when the world was in its prime,
When the fresh stars had just begun
Their race of glory and young Time
Told his first birth-days by the sun;
When in the light of Nature's dawn
Rejoicing, men and angels met
On the high hill and sunny lawn,-
Ere sorrow came or Sin had drawn
'Twixt man and heaven her curtain yet!
When earth lay nearer to the skies
Than in these days of crime and woe,
And mortals saw without surprise
In the mid-air angelic eyes
Gazing upon this world below.

Alas! that Passion should profane
Even then the morning of the earth!
That, sadder still, the fatal stain
Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth-
And that from Woman's love should fall
So dark a stain, most sad of all!

One evening, in that primal hour,
On a hill's side where hung the ray
Of sunset brightening rill and bower,
Three noble youths conversing lay;
And, as they lookt from time to time
To the far sky where Daylight furled
His radiant wing, their brows sublime
Bespoke them of that distant world-
Spirits who once in brotherhood
Of faith and bliss near ALLA stood,
And o'er whose cheeks full oft had blown
The wind that breathes from ALLA'S throne,
Creatures of light such as still play,
Like motes in sunshine, round the Lord,
And thro' their infinite array
Transmit each moment, night and day,
The echo of His luminous word!

Of Heaven they spoke and, still more oft,
Of the bright eyes that charmed them thence;
Till yielding gradual to the soft
And balmy evening's influence-
The silent breathing of the flowers-
The melting light that beamed above,
As on their first, fond, erring hours,-
Each told the story of his love,
The history of that hour unblest,
When like a bird from its high nest

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Moore
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Night In The City

Standin at the airport lookin down the strip,
She was cryin her eyes, she was bitin her lip.
Seven-four-seven just left from gate eleven
And theres no turnin round cos its just leavin the ground
And gettin higher higher.
Standin at the dock-side lookin out to sea
When I saw her but she did not see me.
There she stood with no hope because shed missed the boat
And as her dreams sailed away she headed back for the day,
Back to the city city.
Night in the city, o-o-oh,
Madness at mid-mid-mid-midnight,
Night in the city drivin you insane.
In the city city
Night in the city, o-o-oh,
Madness at mid-mid-mid-midnight,
Night in the city drivin you insane.
I was runnin kinda lonely at the city place.
I waited for an hour, I never saw her face.
Crazy ladies that wait and slide around like a snake.
I just cant take anymore, Im going in through the door
Into the city city.
Ill get you, yes, Im gonna get you,
Ill get you, yes, Im gonna get you,
Ill get you, yes, Im gonna get you,
Ill get you, yes, Im gonna get you,
Ill get you, yes, Im gonna get you,
Ill get you, yes, Im gonna get you,
Drivin you insane.
Night in the city, o-o-oh,
Madness at mid-mid-mid-midnight,
Night in the city drivin you insane,
Drivin you insane,
Drivin you insane.

song performed by Electric Light Orchestra
Added by Lucian Velea
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Orlando Furioso Canto 15

ARGUMENT
Round about Paris every where are spread
The assailing hosts of Africa and Spain.
Astolpho home by Logistilla sped,
Binds first Caligorantes with his chain;
Next from Orrilo's trunk divides the head;
With whom Sir Aquilant had warred in vain,
And Gryphon bold: next Sansonet discerns,
Ill tidings of his lady Gryphon learns.

I
Though Conquest fruit of skill or fortune be,
To conquer always is a glorious thing.
'Tis true, indeed, a bloody victory
Is to a chief less honour wont to bring;
And that fair field is famed eternally,
And he who wins it merits worshipping,
Who, saving from all harm his own, without
Loss to his followers, puts the foe to rout.

II
You, sir, earned worthy praise, when you o'erbore
The lion of such might by sea, and so
Did by him, where he guarded either shore
From Francolino to the mouth of Po,
That I, though yet again I heard him roar,
If you were present, should my fear forego.
How fields are fitly won was then made plain;
For we were rescued, and your foemen slain.

III
This was the Paynim little skilled to do,
Who was but daring to his proper loss;
And to the moat impelled his meiny, who
One and all perished in the burning fosse.
The mighty gulf had not contained the crew,
But that, devouring those who sought to cross,
Them into dust the flame reduced, that room
Might be for all within the crowded tomb.

IV
Of twenty thousand warriors thither sent,
Died nineteen thousand in the fiery pit;
Who to the fosse descended, ill content;
But so their leader willed, of little wit:
Extinguished amid such a blaze, and spent
By the devouring flame the Christians lit.
And Rodomont, occasion of their woes,
Exempted from the mighty mischief goes:

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poem by Ludovico Ariosto
Added by Poetry Lover
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