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I must be like the princess who felt the pea through seven mattresses; each book is a pea.

quote by C.S. Forester
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The Princess Betrothed To The King Of Garba

WHAT various ways in which a thing is told
Some truth abuse, while others fiction hold;
In stories we invention may admit;
But diff'rent 'tis with what historick writ;
Posterity demands that truth should then
Inspire relation, and direct the pen.

ALACIEL'S story's of another kind,
And I've a little altered it, you'll find;
Faults some may see, and others disbelieve;
'Tis all the same:--'twill never make me grieve;
Alaciel's mem'ry, it is very clear,
Can scarcely by it lose; there's naught to fear.
Two facts important I have kept in view,
In which the author fully I pursue;
The one--no less than eight the belle possessed,
Before a husband's sight her eyes had blessed;
The other is, the prince she was to wed
Ne'er seemed to heed this trespass on his bed,
But thought, perhaps, the beauty she had got
Would prove to any one a happy lot.

HOWE'ER this fair, amid adventures dire,
More sufferings shared than malice could desire;
Though eight times, doubtless, she exchanged her knight
No proof, that she her spouse was led to slight;
'Twas gratitude, compassion, or good will;
The dread of worse;--she'd truly had her fill;
Excuses just, to vindicate her fame,
Who, spite of troubles, fanned the monarch's flame:
Of eight the relict, still a maid received ;--
Apparently, the prince her pure believed;
For, though at times we may be duped in this,
Yet, after such a number--strange to miss!
And I submit to those who've passed the scene,
If they, to my opinion, do not lean.

THE king of Alexandria, Zarus named,
A daughter had, who all his fondness claimed,
A star divine Alaciel shone around,
The charms of beauty's queen were in her found;
With soul celestial, gracious, good, and kind,
And all-accomplished, all-complying mind.

THE, rumour of her worth spread far and wide,
The king of Garba asked her for his bride,
And Mamolin (the sov'reign of the spot,)
To other princes had a pref'rence got.

THE fair, howe'er, already felt the smart

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poem by La Fontaine
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The Cap And Bells; Or, The Jealousies: A Faery Tale -- Unfinished

I.
In midmost Ind, beside Hydaspes cool,
There stood, or hover'd, tremulous in the air,
A faery city 'neath the potent rule
Of Emperor Elfinan; fam'd ev'rywhere
For love of mortal women, maidens fair,
Whose lips were solid, whose soft hands were made
Of a fit mould and beauty, ripe and rare,
To tamper his slight wooing, warm yet staid:
He lov'd girls smooth as shades, but hated a mere shade.

II.
This was a crime forbidden by the law;
And all the priesthood of his city wept,
For ruin and dismay they well foresaw,
If impious prince no bound or limit kept,
And faery Zendervester overstept;
They wept, he sin'd, and still he would sin on,
They dreamt of sin, and he sin'd while they slept;
In vain the pulpit thunder'd at the throne,
Caricature was vain, and vain the tart lampoon.

III.
Which seeing, his high court of parliament
Laid a remonstrance at his Highness' feet,
Praying his royal senses to content
Themselves with what in faery land was sweet,
Befitting best that shade with shade should meet:
Whereat, to calm their fears, he promis'd soon
From mortal tempters all to make retreat,--
Aye, even on the first of the new moon,
An immaterial wife to espouse as heaven's boon.

IV.
Meantime he sent a fluttering embassy
To Pigmio, of Imaus sovereign,
To half beg, and half demand, respectfully,
The hand of his fair daughter Bellanaine;
An audience had, and speeching done, they gain
Their point, and bring the weeping bride away;
Whom, with but one attendant, safely lain
Upon their wings, they bore in bright array,
While little harps were touch'd by many a lyric fay.

V.
As in old pictures tender cherubim
A child's soul thro' the sapphir'd canvas bear,
So, thro' a real heaven, on they swim
With the sweet princess on her plumag'd lair,
Speed giving to the winds her lustrous hair;

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poem by John Keats
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Eighth Book

ONE eve it happened when I sate alone,
Alone upon the terrace of my tower,
A book upon my knees, to counterfeit
The reading that I never read at all,
While Marian, in the garden down below,
Knelt by the fountain (I could just hear thrill
The drowsy silence of the exhausted day)
And peeled a new fig from that purple heap
In the grass beside her,–turning out the red
To feed her eager child, who sucked at it
With vehement lips across a gap of air
As he stood opposite, face and curls a-flame
With that last sun-ray, crying, 'give me, give,'
And stamping with imperious baby-feet,
(We're all born princes)–something startled me,–
The laugh of sad and innocent souls, that breaks
Abruptly, as if frightened at itself;
'Twas Marian laughed. I saw her glance above
In sudden shame that I should hear her laugh,
And straightway dropped my eyes upon my book,
And knew, the first time, 'twas Boccaccio's tales,
The Falcon's,–of the lover who for love
Destroyed the best that loved him. Some of us
Do it still, and then we sit and laugh no more.
Laugh you, sweet Marian! you've the right to laugh,
Since God himself is for you, and a child!
For me there's somewhat less,–and so, I sigh.

The heavens were making room to hold the night,
The sevenfold heavens unfolding all their gates
To let the stars out slowly (prophesied
In close-approaching advent, not discerned),
While still the cue-owls from the cypresses
Of the Poggio called and counted every pulse
Of the skyey palpitation. Gradually
The purple and transparent shadows slow
Had filled up the whole valley to the brim,
And flooded all the city, which you saw
As some drowned city in some enchanted sea,
Cut off from nature,–drawing you who gaze,
With passionate desire, to leap and plunge,
And find a sea-king with a voice of waves,
And treacherous soft eyes, and slippery locks
You cannot kiss but you shall bring away
Their salt upon your lips. The duomo-bell
Strikes ten, as if it struck ten fathoms down,
So deep; and fifty churches answer it
The same, with fifty various instances.
Some gaslights tremble along squares and streets
The Pitti's palace-front is drawn in fire:

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poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
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The Bakchesarian Fountain

A TALE OF THE TAURIDE.
Mute sat Giray, with downcast eye,
As though some spell in sorrow bound him,
His slavish courtiers thronging nigh,
In sad expectance stood around him.
The lips of all had silence sealed,
Whilst, bent on him, each look observant,
Saw grief's deep trace and passion fervent
Upon his gloomy brow revealed.
But the proud Khan his dark eye raising,
And on the courtiers fiercely gazing,
Gave signal to them to begone!
The chief, unwitnessed and alone,
Now yields him to his bosom's smart,
Deeper upon his brow severe
Is traced the anguish of his heart;
As full fraught clouds on mirrors clear
Reflected terrible appear!

What fills that haughty soul with pain?
What thoughts such madd'ning tumults cause?
With Russia plots he war again?
Would he to Poland dictate laws?
Say, is the sword of vengeance glancing?
Does bold revolt claim nature's right?
Do realms oppressed alarm excite?
Or sabres of fierce foes advancing?
Ah no! no more his proud steed prancing
Beneath him guides the Khan to war,-
Such thoughts his mind has banished far.

Has treason scaled the harem's wall,
Whose height might treason's self appal,
And slavery's daughter fled his power,
To yield her to the daring Giaour?

No! pining in his harem sadly,
No wife of his would act so madly;
To wish or think they scarcely dare;
By wretches, cold and heartless, guarded,
Hope from each breast so long discarded;
Treason could never enter there.
Their beauties unto none revealed,
They bloom within the harem's towers,
As in a hot-house bloom the flowers
Which erst perfumed Arabia's field.
To them the days in sameness dreary,

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poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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I. The Ring and the Book

Do you see this Ring?
'T is Rome-work, made to match
(By Castellani's imitative craft)
Etrurian circlets found, some happy morn,
After a dropping April; found alive
Spark-like 'mid unearthed slope-side figtree-roots
That roof old tombs at Chiusi: soft, you see,
Yet crisp as jewel-cutting. There's one trick,
(Craftsmen instruct me) one approved device
And but one, fits such slivers of pure gold
As this was,—such mere oozings from the mine,
Virgin as oval tawny pendent tear
At beehive-edge when ripened combs o'erflow,—
To bear the file's tooth and the hammer's tap:
Since hammer needs must widen out the round,
And file emboss it fine with lily-flowers,
Ere the stuff grow a ring-thing right to wear.
That trick is, the artificer melts up wax
With honey, so to speak; he mingles gold
With gold's alloy, and, duly tempering both,
Effects a manageable mass, then works:
But his work ended, once the thing a ring,
Oh, there's repristination! Just a spirt
O' the proper fiery acid o'er its face,
And forth the alloy unfastened flies in fume;
While, self-sufficient now, the shape remains,
The rondure brave, the lilied loveliness,
Gold as it was, is, shall be evermore:
Prime nature with an added artistry—
No carat lost, and you have gained a ring.
What of it? 'T is a figure, a symbol, say;
A thing's sign: now for the thing signified.

Do you see this square old yellow Book, I toss
I' the air, and catch again, and twirl about
By the crumpled vellum covers,—pure crude fact
Secreted from man's life when hearts beat hard,
And brains, high-blooded, ticked two centuries since?
Examine it yourselves! I found this book,
Gave a lira for it, eightpence English just,
(Mark the predestination!) when a Hand,
Always above my shoulder, pushed me once,
One day still fierce 'mid many a day struck calm,
Across a Square in Florence, crammed with booths,
Buzzing and blaze, noontide and market-time,
Toward Baccio's marble,—ay, the basement-ledge
O' the pedestal where sits and menaces
John of the Black Bands with the upright spear,
'Twixt palace and church,—Riccardi where they lived,
His race, and San Lorenzo where they lie.

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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A princess' ordeal

In a backward forgotten land,
Where magic was yielded by man,
Lived a princess who wasn't bland,
Yet she was ignored by her clan,
She often craved to hear a rant,
She tried everything that one can,
But soon learned she'd no confidant,
With which to talk and gallivant,
Had she had someone she'd have been,
Less adventurous and caprice,
And ready for dangers unseen,
So she could live her life in peace,
A wizard that'd been made a flea,
By a foe that he tried to fleece,
Craved to reclaim what used to be,
So that he could quell his envy,

He hijacked the princess's life,
By filling her head up with advice,
With the intent of causing strife,
But his sway could not quite suffice,
So he took control of her mind,
And used the girl like a device,
Then proved himself a mastermind,
By changing how some were inclined,
But before he could pose a threat,
His deed had an adverse effect,
Which rightfully caused him to fret,
As it could be seen as suspect,
Changes which were hard to accept,
Soon made the princess imperfect,
All wished her beauty could be kept,
And as a result many wept,

The king wanted a cure found quick,
So he sought a witch to enlist,
Who claimed that she could heal the sick,
And knew all spells that did exist,
The cause of the blight stayed secret,
As the witch had been dishonest,
Such failure was hard to permit,
So she was put in a casket,
The course of action seemed quite rash,
But it made the problem vanish,
Which then caused the king to act brash,
And plan something yet more fiendish,
Within a nearby dragon's crèche,
The princess was left to perish,
The king was sure she'd lose her flesh,
As the beasts craved meat that was fresh,

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poem by Christian Lacdael
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Truth and the Devil

The devil unstoppably took pride in salaciously writing; the book of
obnoxious caste-creed and venomously penalizing hatred,

The devil unstoppably took pride in acrimoniously writing; the book of
indiscriminate bloodshed and disastrously traumatizing ruthlessness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in vengefully writing; the book of
tyrannical devastation and lecherously bellicose orphaning,

The devil unstoppably took pride in fretfully writing; the book of
vindictive war and satanically criminal holocausts,

The devil unstoppably took pride in maliciously writing; the book of
coldblooded barbarism and manipulatively bizarre malice,

The devil unstoppably took pride in forlornly writing; the book of
worthless
ghosts and mortuaries brutally anointed with fresh blood,

T The devil unstoppably took pride in indigently writing; the book of
nonchalant spuriousness and fecklessly insipid meaninglessness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in torturously writing; the book of
ominous
animosity and hedonistically pugnacious illwill,

The devil unstoppably took pride in dictatorially writing; the book of
licentious bawdiness and insanely threadbare nothingness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in heinously writing; the book of
lascivious poverty and baselessly crippling uncertainty,

The devil unstoppably took pride in savagely writing; the book of
despicable
defeat and lethally ballistic atrociousness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in raunchily writing; the book of
dolorous
delinquency and insidiously slandering betrayal,

The devil unstoppably took pride in preposterously writing; the book of
scurrilous lunatism and barbarously incarcerating fiendishness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in frigidly writing; the book of
jejune
mockery and impudently castigating brazenness,

The devil unstoppably took pride in heartlessly writing; the book of
ghastly
bloodshed and indefatigably bombarding politics,

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Hey Now Princess (demo Version)

by Jack Bruce and Pete Brown
Look here Princess
I'm not just here for you
So take off in your new Rolls Royce
I've got things to do
Look here Princess
I gave you everything
But now I want it all back
So I can start some living
Look here Princess
I want to be famous and rich
So I can be empty and bitter like you
Sitting home with nothing to do
Princess look now
I've got 15 women called Sue
20 women called Jane
And I'm sad
Look here Princess
Now I'm singin' this sad song
About a man in a kennel
Who cries all day long
Look here Princess
Don't shut me out for good
But keep me in mind for later
Like I always knew you would
Look here Princess
I'm in a desert now
I don't see no way out
You've got to show me how
Look here now Princess
I've got 15 women called Sue
20 women called Jane
And I'm sad
Look here Princess
I'm not just here for you
So take off in your new Rolls Royce
I've got things to do
Look here Princess
I gave you everything
But now I want it all back
So I can start some living
Look here Princess
I want to be famous and rich
So I can be empty and bitter like you
Sitting home with nothing to do
Princess look now
I've got 15 women called Sue
20 women called Jane
And I'm sad

song performed by Cream
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For All Princesses

Of being a fairytale princess; every little girl has dreams
So real to them, it all really seems
By her mean stepmother, Cinderella was made to work so hard every day
Her fairy godmother helped her out in the best possible way
She met her handsome prince charming at the ball
Losing her glass slipper; on the ladies of the land; he had to call
Everyone of them tried it on their foot
She became a princess without her soot
Snow White cleaned the house for the seven dwarfs in the wood
The wicked queen tried the poison apple trick to kill her; if she could
Into a deep sleep Snow White drifted
From her side the loyal little men; never shifted
Along came her prince; with a kiss awakened her
Living happily ever after; they all were
To prick her finger on a spinning wheel, an evil fairy made
Princess Aurora for one hundred years; asleep, stayed
To break the spell; a good fairy tried
After a great length of time; her prince was by her side
He had broken through the tanglement of branches; that did surround
The castle everywhere
Then he saw sleeping beauty lying there
A princess in a long white gown
On his knee and bending down
Her lips with his; the prince did touch softly
He stepped back; awake, was she
Rejoicement went throughout the land
The prince and princess together did stand
All these fairytale princesses had so many trials to go through
Before their wishes came true
Even the princess who on a mountain of mattresses had to sleep
Her awake all night, this did keep
She proved that she was a princess with a delicate skin; absolutely
As under all the heap of foam was a little pea
My daughter Sarah is a princess to me
That's how it will always be

poem by Rose Angel H
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Fifth Book

AURORA LEIGH, be humble. Shall I hope
To speak my poems in mysterious tune
With man and nature,–with the lava-lymph
That trickles from successive galaxies
Still drop by drop adown the finger of God,
In still new worlds?–with summer-days in this,
That scarce dare breathe, they are so beautiful?–
With spring's delicious trouble in the ground
Tormented by the quickened blood of roots.
And softly pricked by golden crocus-sheaves
In token of the harvest-time of flowers?–
With winters and with autumns,–and beyond,
With the human heart's large seasons,–when it hopes
And fears, joys, grieves, and loves?–with all that strain
Of sexual passion, which devours the flesh
In a sacrament of souls? with mother's breasts,
Which, round the new made creatures hanging there,
Throb luminous and harmonious like pure spheres?–
With multitudinous life, and finally
With the great out-goings of ecstatic souls,
Who, in a rush of too long prisoned flame,
Their radiant faces upward, burn away
This dark of the body, issuing on a world
Beyond our mortal?–can I speak my verse
So plainly in tune to these things and the rest,
That men shall feel it catch them on the quick,
As having the same warrant over them
To hold and move them, if they will or no,
Alike imperious as the primal rhythm
Of that theurgic nature? I must fail,
Who fail at the beginning to hold and move
One man,–and he my cousin, and he my friend,
And he born tender, made intelligent,
Inclined to ponder the precipitous sides
Of difficult questions; yet, obtuse to me,–
Of me, incurious! likes me very well,
And wishes me a paradise of good,
Good looks, good means, and good digestion!–ay,
But otherwise evades me, puts me off
With kindness, with a tolerant gentleness,–
Too light a book for a grave man's reading! Go,
Aurora Leigh: be humble.
There it is;
We women are too apt to look to one,
Which proves a certain impotence in art.
We strain our natures at doing something great,
Far less because it's something great to do,
Than, haply, that we, so, commend ourselves
As being not small, and more appreciable
To some one friend. We must have mediators

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poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
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Seventh Book

'THE woman's motive? shall we daub ourselves
With finding roots for nettles? 'tis soft clay
And easily explored. She had the means,
The moneys, by the lady's liberal grace,
In trust for that Australian scheme and me,
Which so, that she might clutch with both her hands,
And chink to her naughty uses undisturbed,
She served me (after all it was not strange,;
'Twas only what my mother would have done)
A motherly, unmerciful, good turn.

'Well, after. There are nettles everywhere,
But smooth green grasses are more common still;
The blue of heaven is larger than the cloud;
A miller's wife at Clichy took me in
And spent her pity on me,–made me calm
And merely very reasonably sad.
She found me a servant's place in Paris where
I tried to take the cast-off life again,
And stood as quiet as a beaten ass
Who, having fallen through overloads, stands up
To let them charge him with another pack.

'A few months, so. My mistress, young and light,
Was easy with me, less for kindness than
Because she led, herself, an easy time
Betwixt her lover and her looking-glass,
Scarce knowing which way she was praised the most.
She felt so pretty and so pleased all day
She could not take the trouble to be cross,
But sometimes, as I stooped to tie her shoe,
Would tap me softly with her slender foot
Still restless with the last night's dancing in't,
And say 'Fie, pale-face! are you English girls
'All grave and silent? mass-book still, and Lent?
'And first-communion colours on your cheeks,
'Worn past the time for't? little fool, be gay!'
At which she vanished, like a fairy, through
A gap of silver laughter.
'Came an hour
When all went otherwise. She did not speak,
But clenched her brows, and clipped me with her eyes
As if a viper with a pair of tongs,
Too far for any touch, yet near enough
To view the writhing creature,–then at last,
'Stand still there, in the holy Virgin's name,
'Thou Marian; thou'rt no reputable girl,
'Although sufficient dull for twenty saints!
'I think thou mock'st me and my house,' she said;
'Confess thou'lt be a mother in a month,

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poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
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The Rose of England

'Twas a most solemn day
Of that most the world would say.
The Rose of England would pass
Her still form in a gun carriage alas.

Many called it the event of the years
As the cortege the Royal Standard bears.
The clip clop of the horses thru Hyde Park
As on history the Princess leaves her mark.

John Bull's joie de vivre now diminished
It seemed to many that an era had finished.
The clip clop of the horses thru Hyde Park
As on history the Princess leaves her mark.

Yet, even in dying she still lives on
In the heart of many, a love already born.
The clip clop of the horses thru Hyde Park
As on History the Princess leaves her mark.

They'd come from near and far
This massive crowd there'd been no par.
Bless you.Bless you.They cried
For the Queen of their hearts had died.

Many a funeral there had been
But nothing like this the world had seen.
The multitude weepingly lined the way
There was hardly anything you can say.

Two young princes with solemn look
Their precious mother the angels took.
The clip clop of the horses thru Hyde Park
As on History the Princess leaves her mark.

A day one could almost feel wintry's cold
Merry ole England had lost her gold.
Now the winsome princess to be seen no more
Her loving fans no more could adore!

The Queen, Her Majesty, stood at her Palace gate
Had her compassion and caring come too late?
The clip clop of the horses thru Hyde Park
As on History the Princess leaves her mark!

And the bell at the abbey tolls
As the cortege bearing the fallen Rose rolls.
The clip clop of the horses thru Hyde Park
As on History the Princess leaves her mark!

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poem by Enoch John
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Princess Of The Posse

Basslines affect me when my rhymes direct me
Forgive the crowds, o lord, they know not why they sweat me
Bitings against the law in the place that I live
So I lock up the door with the keys to my crib
The call me the high priestess of this hasta
Although Im not a dread and not a rasta
Theres never been a word I cant master
Ive always been, a piddly pastor
I reign, the lesson of today
You have to listen to each and every single word I have to say
Because the ruler lord ramsey is on my side
And Im the princess of the posse, so yo, take it light
The princess of the posse, me say she a cool one
She rhyme on my record and she ram jam me gun
The princess of the posse, me say she a cool girl
She rhyme brooklyn, the bronx, usa, the world
You try to dissect my rhymes to see if theres a pattern
I bounced it all around you like the rings around saturn
Let me know now if youd like to protest
And proceeding a greeting, or would you rather progress
Onto a higher plateau, to the peak and Im taking it slow
Enough for you to see the knowledge and to know
Im the q-u-e-e-n, l-a-t-i-f-a-h
Queen of the army posse, the dla which is
Get live alright, you standing there chewing on your fingernails
Nervous, watching me doing the live thing
Singing like a bird sing, ringing like the phone ring
Im the queen and youre the underling
Im never following, I follow nothing
The princess of the posse is a cool one
The princess of the posse, me say she a cool one
She rhyme on my record and she ram jam me gun
The princess of the posse, me say she a cool girl
She rhyme brooklyn, the bronx, usa, the world
Im the queen of the clan, with a mic in my hand
I step over suckers to position myself to rule this land
Its a concoction, for my ability
To show the skeezers the meaning of humility
Cause they dont know Im the one to fly one or two
Im snatching hearts cause Im latifah and I want to
I find it necessary to tell you to get off my tip
Im kicking gold, so grab a hoe and get a good grip
Stop the lying, the trying
The time buying, youve been denying
Youre dependent on me, the princess of the posse
I got the cards, so Im dealing a death blow
Youre taking no crowns, put that on cease
My djs name is mark the 45 king to the posse
Peace, got to let you know where I come from
The princess of the posse is a cool one

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song performed by Queen Latifah
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Journey To The Kingdom Of Dark Prince(Sun Princess-VI)

The Princess awe-stuck asked the Dark-prince at once
'But how could you reach our kingdom as my horse? '
'In Wizi-quizy -witchy fair, your court sorceress,
bought me though, I couldn't tell her as days were worse!
Told the Prince and pleaded princess to touch him then,
with her magic wand, to turn him to, the large-winged bird.
Princess, felt very ashamed, how could she ride on his back?
The Prince laughed, and said -'Princess, I'm your guard.
But I need you to dispel the dark-spell of evil wizard.
My parents are captivated in his prison, under his spell.
We have to get before night falls, with all black-art.
Touch, touch me with your magic stick without any fail.'
Reluctantly, Princess did so, and rode on the mythical bird.
They whispered all the way and the prince told how did he,
fall in love with the princess since he saw her in her realm!
Then the princess said, 'O, O my prince! 'ashamed was she!
As they were going near Dark-realm, the light of the sun was
Fading out, fading out and fading out, the vista thus changed.
The woods, rivers, seas and hills lost their color natural...
Only black, and black and black, also darkness there reigned.
The prince in form of bird, could not keep his wings opened.
Rewinding wings meant, going down, down, to earth's surface.
Princess, told to land him soon, in any place which may be safe.
They darted down near a den, occupied by a primordial lioness.
She rushed roaring but the princess then sprinkled the love ray
calling her-'Dear, lioness, we are the guest of Dark-realm,
come and greet him with honor, and show us king's palace's way.'
The lioness said with tearful eyes, 'My husband is no more king
of kingdom, the Black Magician has made us animal'she did say.

poem by Nilakshi Das
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My beautiful diamond princess

Ho my beautiful diamond princess! Ho my beautiful diamond princess! ! Ho my beautiful diamond princess! ! ! calling you three times make my head swell A princess should come from a royal family A princess should have a royal blood flowing through her vain A princess is recognized in the mist of great multitude as a royal person A princess should have wealth and influence rubbed on her by her father A princess is noticed afar as a royal personality worthy of honor in which i have given to you personally as somebody of great value in my life A title i have given to you from the dept of my heart When i look into your eyes what i see is a diamond of special value calling for attention Who else will i give my attention if not you, you are the only sugar in my tea The only honey in my life You are the reason why i am alive You are the reason for my survival You gave hope to the hopeless while others have lost hope in me, you kept my hope burning while other peoples dream were truncated along the way, you kept my dreams flying higher and higher You gave my dreams an accelerated step to victory, victory is sure, victory at last While darkness comes like a scary monster frighten me at night, you made a light in that scary path for my dreams to come true If i have a wings i will fly, If i have a wings i will fly, long long way far away over the blue sea, over the hilltop, over the mountain where i will be waiting for you Ho my beautiful diamond princess here i bow for you to show my heart felt appreciation Thank you for standing by me through tick and thin Thank you very much

poem by Olayemi Ayo
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Robin Hood and the Prince of Aragon

NOW Robin Hood, Will Scadlock and Little John
Are walking over the plain,
With a good fat buck which Will Scadlock
With his strong bow had slain.

`Jog on, jog on,' cries Robin Hood,
`The day it runs full fast;
For though my nephew me a breakfast gave,
I have not yet broke my fast.

`Then to yonder lodge let us take our way,
I think it wondrous good,
Where my nephew by my bold yeomen
Shall be welcomd unto the green wood.'

With that he took the bugle-horn,
Full well he could it blow;
Streight from the woods came marching down
One hundred tall fellows and mo.

`Stand, stand to your arms!' crys Will Scadlock,
`Lo! the enemies are within ken:'
With that Robin Hood he laughd aloud,
Crys, They are my bold yeomen.

Who, when they arriv'd and Robin espy'd,
Cry'd, Master, what is your will?
We thought you had in danger been,
Your horn did sound so shrill.

`Now nay, now nay,' quoth Robin Hood,
`The danger is past and gone;
I would have you to welcome my nephew here,
That hath paid me two for one.'

In feasting and sporting they passed the day,
Till Phoebus sunk into the deep;
Then each one to his quarters hy'd,
His guard there for to keep.

Long had they not walked within the green wood,
But Robin he was espy'd
Of a beautiful damsel all alone,
That on a black palfrey did ride.

Her riding-suit was of sable hew black,
Sypress over her face,
Through which her rose-like cheeks did blush,
All with a comely grace.

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Princess (part 3)

Morn in the wake of the morning star
Came furrowing all the orient into gold.
We rose, and each by other drest with care
Descended to the court that lay three parts
In shadow, but the Muses' heads were touched
Above the darkness from their native East.

There while we stood beside the fount, and watched
Or seemed to watch the dancing bubble, approached
Melissa, tinged with wan from lack of sleep,
Or grief, and glowing round her dewy eyes
The circled Iris of a night of tears;
'And fly,' she cried, 'O fly, while yet you may!
My mother knows:' and when I asked her 'how,'
'My fault' she wept 'my fault! and yet not mine;
Yet mine in part. O hear me, pardon me.
My mother, 'tis her wont from night to night
To rail at Lady Psyche and her side.
She says the Princess should have been the Head,
Herself and Lady Psyche the two arms;
And so it was agreed when first they came;
But Lady Psyche was the right hand now,
And the left, or not, or seldom used;
Hers more than half the students, all the love.
And so last night she fell to canvass you:
~Her~ countrywomen! she did not envy her.
"Who ever saw such wild barbarians?
Girls?--more like men!" and at these words the snake,
My secret, seemed to stir within my breast;
And oh, Sirs, could I help it, but my cheek
Began to burn and burn, and her lynx eye
To fix and make me hotter, till she laughed:
"O marvellously modest maiden, you!
Men! girls, like men! why, if they had been men
You need not set your thoughts in rubric thus
For wholesale comment." Pardon, I am shamed
That I must needs repeat for my excuse
What looks so little graceful: "men" (for still
My mother went revolving on the word)
"And so they are,--very like men indeed--
And with that woman closeted for hours!"
Then came these dreadful words out one by one,
"Why--these--~are~--men:" I shuddered: "and you know it."
"O ask me nothing," I said: "And she knows too,
And she conceals it." So my mother clutched
The truth at once, but with no word from me;
And now thus early risen she goes to inform
The Princess: Lady Psyche will be crushed;
But you may yet be saved, and therefore fly;
But heal me with your pardon ere you go.'

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Prince Dorus

In days of yore, as Ancient Stories tell,
A King in love with a great Princess fell.
Long at her feet submiss the Monarch sigh'd,
While she with stern repulse his suit denied.
Yet was he form'd by birth to please the fair,
Dress'd, danc'd, and courted, with a Monarch's air;
But Magic Spells her frozen breast had steel'd
With stubborn pride, that knew not how to yield.

This to the King a courteous Fairy told,
And bade the Monarch in his suit be bold;
For he that would the charming Princess wed,
Had only on her cat's black tail to tread,
When straight the Spell would vanish into air,
And he enjoy for life the yielding fair.

He thank'd the Fairy for her kind advice.-
Thought he, 'If this be all, I'll not be nice;
Rather than in my courtship I will fail,
I will to mince-meat tread Minon's black tail.'

To the Princess's court repairing strait,
He sought the cat that must decide his fate;
But when he found her, how the creature stared!
How her back bristled, and her great eyes glared!
That tail, which he so fondly hop'd his prize,
Was swell'd by wrath to twice its usual size;
And all her cattish gestures plainly spoke,
She thought the affair he came upon, no joke.

With wary step the cautious King draws near,
And slyly means to attack her in her rear;
But when he thinks upon her tail to pounce,
Whisk-off she skips-three yards upon a bounce-
Again he tries, again his efforts fail-
Minon's a witch-the deuce is in her tail.-

The anxious chase for weeks the Monarch tried,
Till courage fail'd, and hope within him died.
A desperate suit 'twas useless to prefer,
Or hope to catch a tail of quicksilver.-
When on a day, beyond his hopes, he found
Minon, his foe, asleep upon the ground;
Her ample tail hehind her lay outspread,
Full to the eye, and tempting to the tread.

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Lamb
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Joy & Pain

Heaven aint your place girl , not now anyways
And in this hell yeah yeah , you cant erase
All of the pain , that youve been given
That aint the reason yeah , that youve been driven
Watch the hand as its movin ,
24 times around
Every seconds like a minute ,
Till youre back on the ground
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (girl Im sorry)
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (girl Im sorry)
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (girl Im sorry)
But I know Im gonna see you again
Girl we had our chances , we knew from the start
That we could take heaven yeah and tear it apart tear it apart
You gotta take a chance girl , you gotta lead me by the hand
And turn this wild one , into a family man..come on
Many miles been between us since I walked away
Girl Im sorry what I did to you , this time Im here to stay
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (girl Im sorry)
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (girl Im sorry)
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (girl Im sorry)
But I know baby Im gonna see you again
But I know yeah
Ive felt pain Ive felt joy yeah
Heaven aint your place girl , not now anyways
And in this hell yeah yeah , you cant erase
All of the pain , that youve been given
That aint the reason yeah , that youve been driven
Watch the hand as its movin ,
24 times around
Every seconds like a minute ,
Till youre back on the ground
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (and the girls say)
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (and the girls say)
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (girl Im sorry)
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (girl Im sorry [x3])
But I know Im gonna see you again

song performed by Ronan Keating
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Young Princess -- A Ballad Of Old Laws Of Love

1--I

When the South sang like a nightingale
Above a bower in May,
The training of Love's vine of flame
Was writ in laws, for lord and dame
To say their yea and nay.

II

When the South sang like a nightingale
Across the flowering night,
And lord and dame held gentle sport,
There came a young princess to Court,
A frost of beauty white.

III

The South sang like a nightingale
To thaw her glittering dream:
No vine of Love her bosom gave,
She drank no wine of Love, but grave
She held them to Love's theme.

IV

The South grew all a nightingale
Beneath a moon unmoved:
Like the banner of war she led them on;
She left them to lie, like the light that has gone
From wine-cups overproved.

V

When the South was a fervid nightingale,
And she a chilling moon,
'Twas pity to see on the garden swards,
Against Love's laws, those rival lords
As willow-wands lie strewn.

VI

The South had throat of a nightingale
For her, the young princess:
She gave no vine of Love to rear,
Love's wine drank not, yet bent her ear
To themes of Love no less.

2--I

[...] Read more

poem by George Meredith
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