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Personal liberty is not personal license.

quote by Billy Sunday
Added by Lucian Velea
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Personal

Anything you want from me
Ill do
But first
Lets get personal
Personal
Personal
Personal
Lets get personal
Personal
Personal
Personal
Personal with you
Were sittin havin dinner at your parents home
Some of the finest food Ive ever known
But I need some sweetness on my tongue
And it aint a type of sugar oh no
So maybe we can go somewhere
Neighbour room girl I dont care
Wheres the bedroom
(its upstairs)
Ill meet you there in a minute
Girl so we can get
Lets get personal (ooh yeah)
Personal (tight baby)
Personal (maybe we can get)
Personal (just a little, just a little bit)
Lets get personal (ooh yay)
Personal (I wanna get personal)
Personal (come on baby, just trust me)
Personal (I wanna get)
Personal with you
Im behind you in your bedroom with your hands against the wall
But keeping one eye on the door
Got your t-shirt and your panties on
Ooh I feel so right, cant be wrong, no
I know you like it when I touch you there
Girl just keep it quiet or theyll hear
Feel the tremblin all down your leg
Id love to head to your bed
So that we can get
Personal
Shhh
Should I take off my clothes (no)
Put the lock on the door
Let go of your deepest inhibitions
Let me fulfil your fantasies girl
Like me touching you there (yeah)
The way that I play with your hair
Emotions running wild until we stop
Yeah

[...] Read more

song performed by Craig David
Added by Lucian Velea
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Liberty

(if you wanna stay with me, at your liberty
If you wanna be with me, at your liberty)
-
(ahh, ohh, do-doo)
Ill tell you something,
To let you understand the way I feel, just what you mean to me
Thank you for fine times, we nearly made it all -
The way we know, it wasnt meant to be.
You say we feel the same, there aint no blame.. to decide
But if a little time, could change your mind, Ill be here..
And you can call me (if you wanna stay with me) at your liberty.
You can hold me (if you wanna be with me) at your liberty.
(do you, do you)
Do you remember, how lovers right for summers - even nights,
Would never seem to end,
And as december, comes stirring with that finger of desire
To feel it once again
You worry bout youre friends, what if they find whats going on?
But if you want to try to make it come alive, Ill be here..
And you can call me (you wanna stay with me) at your liberty.
You can hold me (you wanna be with me) at your liberty.
And you can call me (you wanna stay with me) at your liberty.
And you can touch me girl (you wanna run to me) at your liberty.
Help me out!
I live in doubt
Sort me out, yeaaaahhhhhhh....
-
Dont make it every night, dont wanna be the love of your life
So if you are inclined to spend a little time, Ill be here..
And you can call me (if you wanna stay with me) at your liberty.
You can hold me (if you wanna be with me) at your liberty.
And you can call me (if you wanna stay with me) at your liberty.
And you can touch me girl (if you wanna run to me) at your liberty.
Touch me girl, (if you wanna stay with me) at your liberty.
Help me out, (if you wanna be with me) at your liberty.
Sort me out, (if you wanna run to me), at your liberty.
Or you can set me free (if you wanna run to me), at your liberty.
(if you wanna stay with me, at your liberty).
(if you wanna be with me, at your liberty).
(if you wanna stay with me, at your liberty).
(if you wanna run to me, at your liberty).
At your liberty...

song performed by Duran Duran
Added by Lucian Velea
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License To Chill

(Jimmy Buffett)
Work, work, work
Big pile of it and the boss is a jerk.
I just want to disappear
Wishin' I was somewhere other than here.
Livin' for the weekend,
Jumpin' off the deep end,
With just enough money to buy
A license to chill
And I believe I will
Let the rat race run, roll around in the sun until
Trouble turns funny, songs get sung
A little bit of money, the night's still young
Leave me alone I've got a license,
A license to chill
(Kenny Chesney)
Girls, girls, girls
Ain't nothin' like them in the whole wide world.
So damn smart and cute,
And it's amazing what they pass off as a bathing suit.
Winners and losers
Sailors and cruisers
We're all qualified, for a license to chill
And I believe I will
Let the rat race run, roll around in the sun until
Trouble turns funny, songs get sung
A little bit of money, the night's still young
Leave me alone I've got a license,
A license to chill
(Both)
License to chill
And I believe I will
Let the rat race run, roll around in the sun until
Trouble turns funny, songs get sung
One good samba lasts all night long
Leave me alone I've got a license,
A license to chill
A license to chill
(Jimmy spoken)
Ramos go rent me a coupe deville
Hey KL, where's that barbecue grill
Head on down to Margaritaville
Have me a cheeseburger with a big pickle dill
Jesus, I sound kinda mentally ill
I guess I better go turn on Dr Phil

song performed by Jimmy Buffett
Added by Lucian Velea
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Elegiac Feelings American

1
How inseparable you and the America you saw yet was never
there to see; you and America, like the tree and the
ground, are one the same; yet how like a palm tree
in the state of Oregon. . . dead ere it blossomed,
like a snow polar loping the
Miami—
How so that which you were or hoped to be, and the
America not, the America you saw yet could
not see
So like yet unlike the ground from which you stemmed;
you stood upon America like a rootless
Hat-bottomed tree; to the squirrel there was no
divorcement in its hop of ground to its climb of
tree. . . until it saw no acorn fall, then it knew
there was no marriage between the two; how
fruitless, how useless, the sad unnaturalness
of nature; no wonder the dawn ceased being
a joy. . . for what good the earth and sun when
the tree in between is good for nothing. . . the
inseparable trinity, once dissevered, becomes a
cold fruitless meaningless thrice-marked
deathlie in its awful amputation. . . O butcher
the pork-chop is not the pig—The American
alien in America is a bitter truncation; and even
this elegy, dear Jack, shall have a butchered
tree, a tree beaten to a pulp, upon which it'll be
contained—no wonder no good news can be
written on such bad news—
How alien the natural home, aye, aye, how dies the tree when
the ground is foreign, cold, unfree—The winds
know not to blow the seed of the Redwood where
none before stood; no palm is blown to Oregon,
how wise the wind—Wise
too the senders of the prophet. . . knowing the
fertility of the designated spot where suchmeant
prophecy be announced and answerable—the
sower of wheat does not sow in the fields of cane;
for the sender of the voice did also send the ear.
And were little Liechtenstein, and not America, the
designation. . . surely then we'd the tongues of
Liechtenstein—
Was not so much our finding America as it was America finding
its voice in us; many spoke to America as though
America by land-right was theirs by law-right
legislatively acquired by materialistic coups of
wealth and inheritance; like the citizen of society
believes himself the owner of society, and what he
makes of himself he makes of America and thus when
he speaks of America he speaks of himself, and quite

[...] Read more

poem by Gregory Corso
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Lucky Man

Happiness
Happiness
More or less
More or less
Its just a change in me
Its just a change in me
Something in my liberty
Something in my liberty
Oh, my, my
Oh, my, my
Happiness
Happiness
Coming and going
Coming and going
I watch you look at me
I watch you look at me
Watch my fever growing
Watch my fever growing
I know just where I am
I know just where I am
But how many corners do I have to turn?
How many times do I have to learn
But how many corners do I have to turn?
All the love I have is in my mind?
How many times do I have to learn
All the love I have is in my mind?
Well, Im a lucky man
With fire in my hands
Well, Im a lucky man
Happiness
With fire in my hands
Something in my own place
Im standing naked
Smiling, I feel no disgrace
Happiness
With who I am
Something in my own place
Im standing naked
Happiness
Smiling, I feel no disgrace
Coming and going
With who I am
I watch you look at me
Watch my fever growing
I know just who I am
Happiness
Coming and going
But how many corners do I have to turn?
I watch you look at me
How many times do I have to learn

[...] Read more

song performed by Verve
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lucky Man

Happiness
Happiness
More or less
More or less
Its just a change in me
Its just a change in me
Something in my liberty
Something in my liberty
Oh, my, my
Oh, my, my
Happiness
Happiness
Coming and going
Coming and going
I watch you look at me
I watch you look at me
Watch my fever growing
Watch my fever growing
I know just where I am
I know just where I am
But how many corners do I have to turn?
How many times do I have to learn
But how many corners do I have to turn?
All the love I have is in my mind?
How many times do I have to learn
All the love I have is in my mind?
Well, Im a lucky man
With fire in my hands
Well, Im a lucky man
Happiness
With fire in my hands
Something in my own place
Im standing naked
Smiling, I feel no disgrace
Happiness
With who I am
Something in my own place
Im standing naked
Happiness
Smiling, I feel no disgrace
Coming and going
With who I am
I watch you look at me
Watch my fever growing
I know just who I am
Happiness
Coming and going
But how many corners do I have to turn?
I watch you look at me
How many times do I have to learn

[...] Read more

song performed by Verve
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Task: Book V. -- The Winter Morning Walk

‘Tis morning; and the sun, with ruddy orb
Ascending, fires the horizon; while the clouds,
That crowd away before the driving wind,
More ardent as the disk emerges more,
Resemble most some city in a blaze,
Seen through the leafless wood. His slanting ray
Slides ineffectual down the snowy vale,
And, tinging all with his own rosy hue,
From every herb and every spiry blade
Stretches a length of shadow o’er the field.
Mine, spindling into longitude immense,
In spite of gravity, and sage remark
That I myself am but a fleeting shade,
Provokes me to a smile. With eye askance
I view the muscular proportion’d limb
Transform’d to a lean shank. The shapeless pair
As they design’d to mock me, at my side
Take step for step; and as I near approach
The cottage, walk along the plaster’d wall,
Preposterous sight! the legs without the man.
The verdure of the plain lies buried deep
Beneath the dazzling deluge; and the bents
And coarser grass, upspearing o’er the rest,
Of late unsightly and unseen, now shine
Conspicuous, and in bright apparel clad,
And fledged with icy feathers, nod superb.
The cattle mourn in corners, where the fence
Screens them, and seem half petrified to sleep
In unrecumbent sadness. There they wait
Their wonted fodder; not like hungering man,
Fretful if unsupplied; but silent, meek,
And patient of the slow-paced swain’s delay.
He from the stack carves out the accustom’d load,
Deep plunging, and again deep plunging oft,
His broad keen knife into the solid mass:
Smooth as a wall the upright remnant stands,
With such undeviating and even force
He severs it away: no needless care,
Lest storms should overset the leaning pile
Deciduous, or its own unbalanced weight.
Forth goes the woodman, leaving unconcern’d
The cheerful haunts of man; to wield the axe
And drive the wedge in yonder forest drear,
From morn to eve his solitary task.
Shaggy, and lean, and shrewd, with pointed ears
And tail cropp’d short, half lurcher and half cur,
His dog attends him. Close behind his heel
Now creeps he slow; and now, with many a frisk
Wide scampering, snatches up the driften snow
With ivory teeth, or ploughs it with his snout;

[...] Read more

poem by William Cowper
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Bang Your Pans If You Wish

Bang your pans,
If you wish...
With empty cans,
If you wish...
And then demand,
If you wish...

To make your situation,
Like a personal damnation.

Bang your pans,
If you wish...
With empty cans,
If you wish...
And then demand,
If you wish...

To make your situation,
Like a personal damnation.

You're not the only one,
Who has loaded shoulders.
Today the young and older ones...
Have little to eat.

You're not the only one,
Whose shoulders are bent over.
Who needs to lay their head somewhere,
And get some sleep!

Bang your pans,
If you wish...
With empty cans,
If you wish...
And then demand,
If you wish...

To make your situation,
Like a personal damnation.

Bang your pans,
If you wish...
With empty cans,
If you wish...
And then demand,
If you wish...

To make your situation,
Like a personal damnation.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance

When liberty valance came to town
The women folk would hide
Theyd hide
When liberty valance walked around
The men would step aside
Because the point of a gun
Was the only law that liberty understood
When it came to shooting
Straight and fast
He was mighty good
From out of the east a stranger came
A law book in his hand
A man the kind of man
The west would need to ease a troubled land
Because the point of a gun
Was the only law that liberty understood
When it came to shooting
Straight and fast
He was mighty good
Many a man would face his gun
And many a man would fall
The man who shot liberty valance
He shot liberty valance
He was the bravest of them all
Now the love of a woman can make a man
Stay on when he should go
Stay on
Just trying to build a peaceful life
Where love is free to go
But the point of a gun
Was the only law that liberty understood
When it came to shooting
Straight and fast
He was mighty good
Alone and afraid she prayed that hed
Return that fateful night
That night
When nothing she said could keep her man
From going out to fight
But the point of a gun
Was the only law that liberty understood
When the final showdown came to pass
A law book was no good
Out in the sun two shots rang out
The shots made liberty fall
The man who shot liberty valance
He shot liberty valance
He was the bravest of them all

song performed by James Taylor
Added by Lucian Velea
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Table Talk

A. You told me, I remember, glory, built
On selfish principles, is shame and guilt;
The deeds that men admire as half divine,
Stark naught, because corrupt in their design.
Strange doctrine this! that without scruple tears
The laurel that the very lightning spares;
Brings down the warrior’s trophy to the dust,
And eats into his bloody sword like rust.
B. I grant that, men continuing what they are,
Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war,
And never meant the rule should be applied
To him that fights with justice on his side.
Let laurels drench’d in pure Parnassian dews
Reward his memory, dear to every muse,
Who, with a courage of unshaken root,
In honour’s field advancing his firm foot,
Plants it upon the line that Justice draws,
And will prevail or perish in her cause.
‘Tis to the virtues of such men man owes
His portion in the good that Heaven bestows.
And, when recording History displays
Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days,
Tells of a few stout hearts, that fought and died,
Where duty placed them, at their country’s side;
The man that is not moved with what he reads,
That takes not fire at their heroic deeds,
Unworthy of the blessings of the brave,
Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.
But let eternal infamy pursue
The wretch to nought but his ambition true,
Who, for the sake of filling with one blast
The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste.
Think yourself station’d on a towering rock,
To see a people scatter’d like a flock,
Some royal mastiff panting at their heels,
With all the savage thirst a tiger feels;
Then view him self-proclaim’d in a gazette
Chief monster that has plagued the nations yet.
The globe and sceptre in such hands misplaced,
Those ensigns of dominion how disgraced!
The glass, that bids man mark the fleeting hour,
And Death’s own scythe, would better speak his power;
Then grace the bony phantom in their stead
With the king’s shoulder-knot and gay cockade;
Clothe the twin brethren in each other’s dress,
The same their occupation and success.
A. ‘Tis your belief the world was made for man;
Kings do but reason on the self-same plan:
Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn,
Who think, or seem to think, man made for them.

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poem by William Cowper
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An Essay on Criticism

Part I

INTRODUCTION. That it is as great a fault to judge ill as to write ill, and a more dangerous one to the public. That a true Taste is as rare to be found as a true Genius. That most men are born with some Taste, but spoiled by false education. The multitude of Critics, and causes of them. That we are to study our own Taste, and know the limits of it. Nature the best guide of judgment. Improved by Art and rules, which are but methodized Nature. Rules derived from the practice of the ancient poets. That therefore the ancients are necessary to be studied by a Critic, particularly Homer and Virgil. Of licenses, and the use of them by the ancients. Reverence due to the ancients, and praise of them.

'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill
Appear in writing or in judging ill;
But of the two less dangerous is th'offence
To tire our patience than mislead our sense:
Some few in that, but numbers err in this;
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;
A fool might once himself alone expose;
Now one in verse makes many more in prose.

'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In Poets as true Genius is but rare,
True Taste as seldom is the Critic's share;
Both must alike from Heav'n derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who themselves excel,
And censure freely who have written well;
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not Critics to their judgment too?

Yet if we look more closely, we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind:
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right:
But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced,
Is by ill col'ring but the more disgraced,
So by false learning is good sense defaced:
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools:
In search of wit these lose their common sense,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can or cannot write,
Or with a rival's or an eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side.
If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite,
There are who judge still worse than he can write.

Some have at first for Wits, then Poets pass'd;
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain Fools at last.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learn'd witlings, numerous in our isle,
As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,

[...] Read more

poem by Alexander Pope
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License To Thrill

Breath of life
For which a man must grieve
Blood of love
Into my heart
Tonight well dream
A license to thrill
Ill sing you on girl
Ill make you high world
Lovers turn again to dreams
Oh tonight
A license to thrill
I hear voices
Screaming louder
Seem to break a spell
Watcha gonna do
I hear voices
Singing louder
Oh yeah oh yeah
Breathe tonight
And slowly come down
Into my heart
Tonight well dream
A license to thrill
Oh sleeper
Yes, restless dreamer,
She comes, face her
Untie your lips
Ill turn you on girl
You make me high world
Turn again to dreams
Untie your hips
And with
Animal grace
Embrace her
Oh the taste
A license to thrill
I hear voices
Screaming louder
Seem to break a spell
Watcha gonna do
I hear voices
Screaming louder
Sing a farewell
Watcha gonna do
I hear voices
Screaming louder
Screaming louder into the night
Try to break a spell
I say yeah
Sing a last farewell

[...] Read more

song performed by Billy Idol
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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Liberty In Christ

In God Believers have liberty, going beyond what the eye can see,
We get this liberty in Jesus Christ, liberty gained through New Life.
Freedom from sin and The Law, bestowed upon the believing soul,
This freedom we have in God’s Son, is available today to everyone.

The liberty that we have from sin, gives Believers His peace within,
As sin’s desire died on the cross, God now purges remaining dross,
And God replaces old sinfulness, with Jesus Christ’s righteousness.
Even though we’re tempted by sin, in Christ we have victory in Him.

As Believers we use our liberty, to point the entire world to Calvary,
Where New Life for all the lost, begins for all at The Savior’s Cross.
As God judged sin and shame, on the cross bearing Christ’s name,
Where we left the bondage of sin, and freedom we received in Him.

This liberty we receive in this life, is used for honoring Jesus Christ,
Not for pursuing our own desires, but His will which is much higher.
We’ve been freed from religion friend, to point souls to a better end,
With God’s Truth that sets men free, with God’s Promise of Eternity.

My friend, The God of all Eternity, desires to give all men this liberty,
A liberty found only in His Son, who upon the cross said “It is done”,
Finished is the work of God’s salvation, by His Son, for every nation.
So all men can receive this liberty, with God’s assurance of Eternity.

(Copyright ©11/2006)

poem by Bob Gotti
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The Flower of Liberty

WHAT flower is this that greets the morn,
Its hues from Heaven so freshly born?
With burning star and flaming band
It kindles all the sunset land:
Oh tell us what its name may be,--
Is this the Flower of Liberty?

It is the banner of the free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!

In savage Nature's far abode
Its tender seed our fathers sowed;
The storm-winds rocked its swelling bud,
Its opening leaves were streaked with blood,
Till lo! earth's tyrants shook to see
The full-blown Flower of Liberty!

Then hail the banner of the free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!

Behold its streaming rays unite,
One mingling flood of braided light,--
The red that fires the Southern rose,
With spotless white from Northern snows,
And, spangled o'er its azure, see
The sister Stars of Liberty!

Then hail the banner of the free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!

The blades of heroes fence it round,
Where'er it springs is holy ground;
From tower and dome its glories spread;
It waves where lonely sentries tread;
It makes the land as ocean free,
And plants an empire on the sea!

Then hail the banner of the free,
The starry Flower of Liberty!

Thy sacred leaves, fair Freedom's flower,
Shall ever float on dome and tower,
To all their heavenly colors true,
In blackening frost or crimson dew,--
And God love us as we love thee,
Thrice holy Flower of Liberty!

Then hail the banner of the free,
The starry FLOWER OF LIBERTY!

poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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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!

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Book Eleventh: France [concluded]

FROM that time forth, Authority in France
Put on a milder face; Terror had ceased,
Yet everything was wanting that might give
Courage to them who looked for good by light
Of rational Experience, for the shoots
And hopeful blossoms of a second spring:
Yet, in me, confidence was unimpaired;
The Senate's language, and the public acts
And measures of the Government, though both
Weak, and of heartless omen, had not power
To daunt me; in the People was my trust:
And, in the virtues which mine eyes had seen,
I knew that wound external could not take
Life from the young Republic; that new foes
Would only follow, in the path of shame,
Their brethren, and her triumphs be in the end
Great, universal, irresistible.
This intuition led me to confound
One victory with another, higher far,--
Triumphs of unambitious peace at home,
And noiseless fortitude. Beholding still
Resistance strong as heretofore, I thought
That what was in degree the same was likewise
The same in quality,--that, as the worse
Of the two spirits then at strife remained
Untired, the better, surely, would preserve
The heart that first had roused him. Youth maintains,
In all conditions of society,
Communion more direct and intimate
With Nature,--hence, ofttimes, with reason too--
Than age or manhood, even. To Nature, then,
Power had reverted: habit, custom, law,
Had left an interregnum's open space
For 'her' to move about in, uncontrolled.
Hence could I see how Babel-like their task,
Who, by the recent deluge stupified,
With their whole souls went culling from the day
Its petty promises, to build a tower
For their own safety; laughed with my compeers
At gravest heads, by enmity to France
Distempered, till they found, in every blast
Forced from the street-disturbing newsman's horn,
For her great cause record or prophecy
Of utter ruin. How might we believe
That wisdom could, in any shape, come near
Men clinging to delusions so insane?
And thus, experience proving that no few
Of our opinions had been just, we took
Like credit to ourselves where less was due,
And thought that other notions were as sound

[...] Read more

poem by William Wordsworth
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Liberty

Theres a gentleness within
Theres a kindness that shell bring
Through her eyes of sadness lies
All her love for him
Imprisoned every day
A handsome price to pay
Even when shes done her time
Shell insist that lifes just fine
Someday soon shell make her move
Seize her chance to shine
Its all that she can do
To free herself from you
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Where has all her life blood gone
Will you ever see
Even if she understood
Is it written that she should
Come and see him when shes gone
Hes surprised but knows hes wrong
A simple case of do or die
And now shes cut and run
Your vision let you down
You almost let her drown
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Where has all her life blood gone
Will you ever see
Even if she understood
Is it written that she should
Where has all her life blood gone
Wil you ever see
Even if she understood
Is it written that she should
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Where has all her life blood gone
Will you ever see
Even if she understood
Is it written that she should
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Its her liberty ( that she wants you to see )
Where has all her life blood gone
Will you ever see
Even if she understood
Is it written that she should

song performed by Olive
Added by Lucian Velea
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Wat Tyler - Act I

ACT I.

SCENE, A BLACKSMITH'S-SHOP

Wat Tyler at work within. A May-pole
before the Door.

ALICE, PIERS, &c.

SONG.

CHEERFUL on this holiday,
Welcome we the merry May.

On ev'ry sunny hillock spread,
The pale primrose rears her head;
Rich with sweets the western gale
Sweeps along the cowslip'd dale.
Every bank with violets gay,
Smiles to welcome in the May.

The linnet from the budding grove,
Chirps her vernal song of love.
The copse resounds the throstle's notes,
On each wild gale sweet music floats;
And melody from every spray,
Welcomes in the merry May.

Cheerful on this holiday,
Welcome we the merry May.

[Dance.

During the Dance, Tyler lays down his
Hammer, and sits mournfully down before
his Door.

[To him.

HOB CARTER.

Why so sad, neighbour?—do not these gay sports,
This revelry of youth, recall the days
When we too mingled in the revelry;
And lightly tripping in the morris dance
Welcomed the merry month?

TYLER.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Southey
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License To Kill

Man thinks cause he rules the earth he can do with it as he please
And if things dont change soon, he will.
Oh, man has invented his doom,
First step was touching the moon.
Now, theres a woman on my block,
She just sit there as the night grows still.
She say who gonna take away his license to kill?
Now, they take him and they teach him and they groom him for life
And they set him on a path where hes bound to get ill,
Then they bury him with stars,
Sell his body like they do used cars.
Now, theres a woman on my block,
She just sit there facin the hill.
She say who gonna take away his license to kill?
Now, hes hell-bent for destruction, hes afraid and confused,
And his brain has been mismanaged with great skill.
All he believes are his eyes
And his eyes, they just tell him lies.
But theres a woman on my block,
Sitting there in a cold chill.
She say who gonna take away his license to kill?
Ya may be a noisemaker, spirit maker,
Heartbreaker, backbreaker,
Leave no stone unturned.
May be an actor in a plot,
That might be all that you got
til your error you clearly learn.
Now he worships at an altar of a stagnant pool
And when he sees his reflection, hes fulfilled.
Oh, man is opposed to fair play,
He wants it all and he wants it his way.
Now, theres a woman on my block,
She just sit there as the night grows still.
She say who gonna take away his license to kill?

song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
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