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We're helping those children who cannot help themselves and giving a push to those who can. We've done it by working together for a common purpose. I see no reason to stop now.

quote by Jane D. Hull
Added by Lucian Velea
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Push

Step 1... step off to the dance floor
Step 1... step off to the dance floor
Push (hey) ((push up on it))
(good God)
Push - lord (push, yeah) ((push up on it))
Every time u get some
People wanna take it back
They rather see u on the run
Than see u get it like that
Every time they stop u
Change up like a sock
Every time they try 2 clock u
Tick more than they tock
Push I push
Dont let them pull u down, yeah
Push I push
Until u get 2 higher ground
Push
Ure never 2 young, never 2 old
Push
Dont stop until u go
Did u ever stop 2 wonder
Why u put another down?
No man should asunder
The joy that another man found
Maybe bout the business u was worried
Wasnt ever filed in your name
Maybe the cartridge u was playin
Dont fit in your video game
Push I push
Dont let them pull u down
Push I push
Until u get 2 higher ground
Push
Ure never 2 young, never 2 old, yeah
Push
Dont stop until u go, hey
(alright) I push (push) ((push up on it))
(push) I push (push, push, hey)
(push) (come on and push it now, hey push)
((push up on it)) (push) I push
Every time u get some push
People wanna take it back p-push
They rather see u on the run push
Than see u get it like that
Every time they stop u
Change up like a sock push
Every time they try 2 clock u push
U gotta tick more than they can tock
Push I push

[...] Read more

song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
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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)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Help Me Ronda

Well since she put me down I 've been out doin' in my head
Come in late at night and in the mornin' I just lay in bed
Well, Ronda you look so fine (look so fine)
And I know it wouldn't take much time
For you to help me Ronda
Help me get her out of my heart
Help me Ronda
Help, help me Ronda
Help me Ronda
Help, help me Ronda
Help me Ronda
Help, help me Ronda
Help me Ronda
Help, help me Ronda
Help me Ronda
Help, help me Ronda
Help me Ronda
Help, help me Ronda
Help me Ronda yeah
Get her out of my heart
She was gonna be my wife
And I was gonna be her man
But she let another guy come between us
And it ruined our plan
Well, Ronda you caught my eye (caught my eye)
And I can give you lotsa reasons why
You gotta help me Ronda
Help me get her out of my heart
Help me Ronda
Help, help me Ronda
Help me Ronda
Help, help me Ronda
Help me Ronda
Help, help me Ronda
Help me Ronda
Help, help me Ronda
Help me Ronda
Help, help me Ronda
Help me Ronda
Help, help me Ronda
Help me Ronda yeah
Get her out of my heart
Help me Ronda
Help, help me Ronda
Help me Ronda
Help, help me Ronda
Help me Ronda
Help, help me Ronda
Help me Ronda
Help, help me Ronda

[...] Read more

song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Help Me, Rhonda

Well since she put me down Ive been out doin in my head
Come in late at night and in the mornin I just lay in bed
Well, rhonda you look so fine (look so fine)
And I know it wouldnt take much time
For you to help me rhonda
Help me get her out of my heart
Help me rhonda
Help, help me rhonda
Help me rhonda
Help, help me rhonda
Help me rhonda
Help, help me rhonda
Help me rhonda
Help, help me rhonda
Help me rhonda
Help, help me rhonda
Help me rhonda
Help, help me rhonda
Help me rhonda yeah
Get her out of my heart
She was gonna be my wife
And I was gonna be her man
But she let another guy come between us
And it ruined our plan
Well, rhonda you caught my eye (caught my eye)
And I can give you lotsa reasons why
You gotta help me rhonda
Help me get her out of my heart
Help me rhonda
Help, help me rhonda
Help me rhonda
Help, help me rhonda
Help me rhonda
Help, help me rhonda
Help me rhonda
Help, help me rhonda
Help me rhonda
Help, help me rhonda
Help me rhonda
Help, help me rhonda
Help me rhonda yeah
Get her out of my heart
Help me rhonda
Help, help me rhonda
Help me rhonda
Help, help me rhonda
Help me rhonda
Help, help me rhonda
Help me rhonda
Help, help me rhonda

[...] Read more

song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Push It Up

(push it up! push it up!)
Put your hands up c come on (push it up!)
Huh c yeah, this is it, this is it (push it up!)
This is it
I think they got 2 get ready 4 this one here c come on!
(ooh, everybodys here) say what?
(this is the jam of the year)
Huh, what did I hear? (push it up! push it up!)
Uh, wasnt quite clear
(ooh, everybodys here) say what?
(this is the jam of the year)
Oh, huh - I hear ya, huh (push it up! push it up!)
Come on, uh
If ure ever down draggin on the ground
Face twisted with a funky frown
Let me turn u on 2 somethin that I found
2 make u feel good, feel good
Negativity like gravity
Gotcha fallin fast from reality
U gotta get up, put up, move up
And just do what u should, u should
Realize that u are somebody
Come on, yall, and join the party
Everybody grab a body
And feel good, u should
Chorus:
Push it up - push it up - push it up - push it up
(ooh, everybodys here - this is the jam of the year)
(push it up! push it up!)
Push it up - push it up - push it up - push it up
(ooh, everybodys here - this is the jam of the year)
(push it up! push it up!)
Push it up, push it up 2 the sky
U dont have 2 have a plane 2 fly
If u listen 2 the truth and not the lie
Stop cryin, cryin
In harmony, cant u see
Every color all in the same key
And thats the way jah wants us 2 be
Start tryin, a-tryin
Realize that u are somebody
Come on, yall, and join the party
Everybody grab a body
And feel good, u should
Chorus
Come on - wake up your body, wake up your body
Wake up your body and move it around c come on
Yeah, huh
Where the party at in here, yall?
Where the party goin down in here? uh

[...] Read more

song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
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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
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Through the eyes of a Field Coronet (Epic)

Introduction

In the kaki coloured tent in Umbilo he writes
his life’s story while women, children and babies are dying,
slowly but surely are obliterated, he see how his nation is suffering
while the events are notched into his mind.

Lying even heavier on him is the treason
of some other Afrikaners who for own gain
have delivered him, to imprisonment in this place of hatred
and thoughts go through him to write a book.

Prologue

The Afrikaner nation sprouted
from Dutchmen,
who fought decades without defeat
against the super power Spain

mixed with French Huguenots
who left their homes and belongings,
with the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
Associate this then with the fact

that these people fought formidable
for seven generations
against every onslaught that they got
from savages en wild animals

becoming marksmen, riding
and taming wild horses
with one bullet per day
to hunt a wild antelope,

who migrated right across the country
over hills in mass protest
and then you have
the most formidable adversary
and then let them fight

in a natural wilderness
where the hunter,
the sniper and horseman excels
and any enemy is at a lost.

Let them then also be patriotic
into their souls,
believe in and read
out of the word of God

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
Added by Poetry Lover
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I Dont Stop Rappin

Dont stop
Dont stop that rap
Too short
And I dont stop rappin
Just dont stop
Too short
I dont stop rappin
Dont stop that rap
Well Im sir too short
The true mc
Fresh again with the brand new beat
The big bank roller, I know whats happening
I get on the mike and I dont stop rappin
Dont stop
Dont stop that rap
Too short
I dont stop rappin
My rap dont stop, you know it cant
I get on the mic and I make big bank
Unlike some rappers that I know
Trying to get no, but that dont go
Im that rapper, sir too short
I know youve heard my name before
And if you havent, now you have
Sir too short dont stop that rap
Dont stop
I dont stop rappin
Too short
Dont stop that rap
Im so rough so tough when I talk my stuff
I dont stop rappin cuz Im too tough
Telling you rappers what its all about
Most mcs are played out
But not too short, Im the best
You know too short is so so fresh
If thats not short, your mind is snapping
The best is fresh cause I dont stop rappin
Dont stop
Dont stop rappin
Too short
I dont stop rappin
Im sir too short, the rapping man
Im a cold mc and I know I am
Im the big time rapper from east oakland
Into music and making fans
I love young ladies who love my rhymes
Cuz what they say is right on time
The only mc with fresh hits
Its sir too short, he never quits
Thats so so true, what they say

[...] Read more

song performed by Too Short
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Push Push

Come take a ride
Or a slipnside
To sit astridengliden.
....Push!Push!
Please pull the strings
Bees use their stings
Birds spread their wing and
Some things...Push! Push!
A puss that pures
By settinspures
Is this his or her what stirs?
Now: Push! Push!
Unlock the sloice
Bring up the juce
Just let it loose..Producen
Push! Push!
Refrain
Push! Push! Push!Just a little
Push! Push! Push!A little further
Push! Push! Push!Just a little bit
Push! Push! Push!A little bit mooooore!
Ooh what a blow
Yeah, what a show!
Hey, one more throw...
Lets go now! Push! Push!
Another shot
We hit teh spot
Oh that was hot.. a lot
Now: Push! Push!
Refrain
From stick or stone
To the prick an d bone
Im lyinprone, Im nnnot alone
Push!Push!
With a whip and chain
Theres plesuren pain
And no venture, no gain....again
Now Push!! Push!
Refrain
Our fathers who are from heaven
When kings have come thy will be
done Forgive this day - our dailybread Give ahead!!!
Refrain

song performed by Falco
Added by Lucian Velea
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Children Need A Helping Hand

(featuring various artists)
Children need a helping hand
Children need a promise land
Let the children feel again
That love is alive
Children need a helping hand
Children are so innocent
Make this world a wonderland
So give us a sign
So give us a sign
Children have a heart of gold
Sometimes they feel alone and sold
They need someone to be around
Reach out
A helping hand
So many children dont know what to do
cause no ones there to guide em through
Were living in a world so cold
Dont make them sad and sold
They need a helping hand
Children need a helping hand
Children need a promised land
Let the children feel again
That love is alive
That love is alive
Children need a helping hand
Day by day
Children are so innocent
Show them the way
Make this world a wonderland
Join us and stay
So give us a sign
So give us a sign
Children, need a helping hand
We are all called to change
Into a world of hope
Without war, without pain
Children do have fantasies
The thoughts of far away and free
Dreamin of a wonderland
They live
In a childrens world
We could live in perfect harmony
Wonderland could be reality
Without war and without pain
And no one dies in vain
Thats the promised land
Children need a helping hand
Children need a promise land
Let the children feel again

[...] Read more

song performed by Backstreet Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Push Push and Pop It

Push push and pop it!
Don't keep it bottled up!
Or you will dropp like slop to mop.
Leaving specs and pieces left,
To kick and knock your 'ouch' about!

To needle and pick!
You gotta stop it.
To needle and pick!
You gotta stop it.
To needle and pick!
You gotta stop it.

Puuussshhh! Keep pushin'

Push push and pop it!
Don't keep it bottled up!
Or you will dropp like slop to mop.
Leaving specs and pieces left,
To kick and knock your 'ouch' about!

Push push and pop it!
Don't keep it bottled up!
Or you will dropp like slop to mop.
Leaving specs and pieces left,
To kick and knock your 'ouch' about!

Puuussshhh! Keep pushin'

You can refuse to feel remorse or guilt.
And let forgiveness handle it!
No need to flip your lid or top.
Learn to love yourself a lot.
If this is not done...
How can you expect others to start.
You don't have to play a part...
Of that panic brewing in your heart!
Denying it is there.

Just...
Puuussshhh! Keep pushin'
Puuussshhh! Keep pushin
Push push and pop it!
Don't even try to stop it.
Just...
Puuussshhh! Keep pushin'
Puuussshhh! Keep pushin
Push push and pop it!
Don't even try to stop it.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Dont Stop til You Get Enough

Written and composed by michael jackson, 1979.
1st verse
Lovely is the feelin now
Fever, temperatures risin now
Power (ah power) is the force the vow that makes it happen it asks no questions why (ooh)
So get closer (closer now) to my body now just love me til you dont know how (ooh)
Chorus
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
2nd verse
Touch me and I feel on fire
Aint nothin like a love desire (ooh)
Im melting (Im melting) like hot candle wax sensation (ah sensation) lovely where were
At (ooh) so let love take us through the hours I wont be complanin cause this is love
Power (ooh)
Chorus
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
(ooh)
3rd verse
Heartbreak enemy despise
Eternal (ah eternal) love shines in my eyes (ooh) so let love take us through the hours i
Wont be complanin (no no)
cause your love is alright, alright
Chorus
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop
Dont stop til you get enough
Keep on with the force dont stop

[...] Read more

song performed by Michael Jackson
Added by Lucian Velea
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Let The Children Speak

Time - way out of line
A whole nation waits outside
The rhythm of tomorrow
They can dance away their sorrows tonight
Lost - broken and scarred
Prisoner waits outside with his lone heart beating
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Let the children - let the children speak
Aims - dangerous games
Their mother says one false move and we all get hurt
I feel this sense of power I feel it every hour tonight
Lets not get lazy tonight
Things could get crazy cos
One more kick and the door cracks open
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children
Power to the powerless strength unto the weak
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Im begging you now let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children
Power to the powerless, strength unto the weak
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Lets not get lazy tonight
Things could get crazy cos
One last kick and the door cracks open
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Power to the powerless, strength unto the weak
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Things could get crazy tonight
Lets not get lazy cos
One last kick and the door cracks open
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
Im begging you now
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children
Power to the powerless, strength unto the weak
Let the children, let the children
Let the children, let the children speak
The language of this world
Lets not get lazy cos
One false move and we all get hurt
Let the children, let the children

[...] Read more

song performed by Simple Minds
Added by Lucian Velea
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You Keep Pushing That Bash Back

You can push that bitter bash back.
You can push that bitter bash back.
You can push that bitter bash back.
Don't put any pity in a bitter bashed bag.
To weigh you down like a wet rag had.

You can push that bitter bash back.
You can push that bitter bash back.
You can push that bitter bash back.
Don't put any pity in a bitter bashed bag.
To weigh you down like a wet rag had.

You keep pushing that bash back.
You keep pushing that bash back.
You keep pushing that bash back.
Don't drag that bashing or be tagged.

You can push that bitter bash back.
You can push that bitter bash back.
Push it push it,
That bash back!
You keep pushing,
That bash back!
Push it push it,
That bash back!
You keep pushing,
That bash back!
You can push that bitter bash back.

You can push that bitter bash back.
You can push that bitter bash back.
You can push that bitter bash back.
Don't put any pity in a bitter bashed bag.
To weigh you down like a wet rag had.

Don't put any pity in a bitter bashed bag.
To weigh you down like a wet rag had.

Push it push it,
That bash back!
You keep pushing,
That bash back!
Push it push it,
That bash back!
You keep pushing,
That bash back!
You can push that bitter bash back.

You keep pushing,
That bash back!

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Ghost - Book IV

Coxcombs, who vainly make pretence
To something of exalted sense
'Bove other men, and, gravely wise,
Affect those pleasures to despise,
Which, merely to the eye confined,
Bring no improvement to the mind,
Rail at all pomp; they would not go
For millions to a puppet-show,
Nor can forgive the mighty crime
Of countenancing pantomime;
No, not at Covent Garden, where,
Without a head for play or player,
Or, could a head be found most fit,
Without one player to second it,
They must, obeying Folly's call,
Thrive by mere show, or not at all
With these grave fops, who, (bless their brains!)
Most cruel to themselves, take pains
For wretchedness, and would be thought
Much wiser than a wise man ought,
For his own happiness, to be;
Who what they hear, and what they see,
And what they smell, and taste, and feel,
Distrust, till Reason sets her seal,
And, by long trains of consequences
Insured, gives sanction to the senses;
Who would not (Heaven forbid it!) waste
One hour in what the world calls Taste,
Nor fondly deign to laugh or cry,
Unless they know some reason why;
With these grave fops, whose system seems
To give up certainty for dreams,
The eye of man is understood
As for no other purpose good
Than as a door, through which, of course,
Their passage crowding, objects force,
A downright usher, to admit
New-comers to the court of Wit:
(Good Gravity! forbear thy spleen;
When I say Wit, I Wisdom mean)
Where (such the practice of the court,
Which legal precedents support)
Not one idea is allow'd
To pass unquestion'd in the crowd,
But ere it can obtain the grace
Of holding in the brain a place,
Before the chief in congregation
Must stand a strict examination.
Not such as those, who physic twirl,
Full fraught with death, from every curl;

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poem by Charles Churchill
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Salut Au Monde

O TAKE my hand, Walt Whitman!
Such gliding wonders! such sights and sounds!
Such join'd unended links, each hook'd to the next!
Each answering all--each sharing the earth with all.

What widens within you, Walt Whitman?
What waves and soils exuding?
What climes? what persons and lands are here?
Who are the infants? some playing, some slumbering?
Who are the girls? who are the married women?
Who are the groups of old men going slowly with their arms about each
other's necks?
What rivers are these? what forests and fruits are these?
What are the mountains call'd that rise so high in the mists?
What myriads of dwellings are they, fill'd with dwellers?

Within me latitude widens, longitude lengthens;
Asia, Africa, Europe, are to the east--America is provided for in the
west;
Banding the bulge of the earth winds the hot equator,
Curiously north and south turn the axis-ends;
Within me is the longest day--the sun wheels in slanting rings--it
does not set for months;
Stretch'd in due time within me the midnight sun just rises above the
horizon, and sinks again;
Within me zones, seas, cataracts, plants, volcanoes, groups,
Malaysia, Polynesia, and the great West Indian islands.

What do you hear, Walt Whitman?

I hear the workman singing, and the farmer's wife singing;
I hear in the distance the sounds of children, and of animals early
in the day;
I hear quick rifle-cracks from the riflemen of East Tennessee and
Kentucky, hunting on hills;
I hear emulous shouts of Australians, pursuing the wild horse;
I hear the Spanish dance, with castanets, in the chestnut shade, to
the rebeck and guitar;
I hear continual echoes from the Thames;
I hear fierce French liberty songs;
I hear of the Italian boat-sculler the musical recitative of old
poems;
I hear the Virginia plantation-chorus of negroes, of a harvest night,
in the glare of pine-knots;
I hear the strong baritone of the 'long-shore-men of Mannahatta;
I hear the stevedores unlading the cargoes, and singing;
I hear the screams of the water-fowl of solitary north-west lakes;
I hear the rustling pattering of locusts, as they strike the grain
and grass with the showers of their terrible clouds;
I hear the Coptic refrain, toward sundown, pensively falling on the

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poem by Walt Whitman
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VIII. Dominus Hyacinthus de Archangelis, Pauperum Procurator

Ah, my Giacinto, he's no ruddy rogue,
Is not Cinone? What, to-day we're eight?
Seven and one's eight, I hope, old curly-pate!
—Branches me out his verb-tree on the slate,
Amo-as-avi-atum-are-ans,
Up to -aturus, person, tense, and mood,
Quies me cum subjunctivo (I could cry)
And chews Corderius with his morning crust!
Look eight years onward, and he's perched, he's perched
Dapper and deft on stool beside this chair,
Cinozzo, Cinoncello, who but he?
—Trying his milk-teeth on some crusty case
Like this, papa shall triturate full soon
To smooth Papinianian pulp!

It trots
Already through my head, though noon be now,
Does supper-time and what belongs to eve.
Dispose, O Don, o' the day, first work then play!
—The proverb bids. And "then" means, won't we hold
Our little yearly lovesome frolic feast,
Cinuolo's birth-night, Cinicello's own,
That makes gruff January grin perforce!
For too contagious grows the mirth, the warmth
Escaping from so many hearts at once—
When the good wife, buxom and bonny yet,
Jokes the hale grandsire,—such are just the sort
To go off suddenly,—he who hides the key
O' the box beneath his pillow every night,—
Which box may hold a parchment (someone thinks)
Will show a scribbled something like a name
"Cinino, Ciniccino," near the end,
"To whom I give and I bequeath my lands,
"Estates, tenements, hereditaments,
"When I decease as honest grandsire ought."
Wherefore—yet this one time again perhaps—
Shan't my Orvieto fuddle his old nose!
Then, uncles, one or the other, well i' the world,
May—drop in, merely?—trudge through rain and wind,
Rather! The smell-feasts rouse them at the hint
There's cookery in a certain dwelling-place!
Gossips, too, each with keepsake in his poke,
Will pick the way, thrid lane by lantern-light,
And so find door, put galligaskin off
At entry of a decent domicile
Cornered in snug Condotti,—all for love,
All to crush cup with Cinucciatolo!

Well,
Let others climb the heights o' the court, the camp!

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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VII. Pompilia

I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.

All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.

Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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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
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