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After the first exams, I switched to the Faculty of Philosophy and studied Zoology in Munich and Vienna.

quote by Karl von Frisch
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Interpretation of Nature and

I.

MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.


II.

Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.

III.

Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.

IV.

Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.

V.

The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.

VI.

It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.

VII.

The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.

VIII.

Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.

IX.

The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.

X.

The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.

XI.

As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.

XII.

The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.

XIII.

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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I Switched You

I was alone in my big bed those lonely nights I tried to reach you
Your putting me on
Messed with my head but have you heard Im going to teach you
You will find out that you miss my lovin ways
But dont you know I switched you-switched you
I switched you
I switched you
I switched you
I hear that sound
That clickety-clack
That train returning who bewtiched me
Now youre around you want to come right back
Forget about the way you ditched me
Now you found out that you miss my lovin ways
But dont you know I switched you-switched you
Now you found out that you miss my lovin ways
But dont you know I switched you-switched you
Messed my head messed my head
Why you going putting me why you going putting me why you going putting me on?
T-t-t-tell me why

song performed by Frank Black
Added by Lucian Velea
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Piccolo Valzer Viennese

A Vienna ci sono dieci ragazze,
una spalla dove piange la morte
e un bosco di colombe disseccate.
C'e' un frammento del mattino
nel museo della brina.
C'è un salone con mille vetrate.

Ahi! Ahi! Ahi! Ahi!
Prendi questo valzer con la bocca chiusa.

Questo valzer, questo valzer, questo valzer,
di sì, di morte e di cognac
che si bagna la coda nel mare.

Io ti amo, io ti amo, io ti amo
con la poltrona e con il libro morto,
nel malinconico corridoio,
nell'oscura soffitta del giglio,
nel nostro letto della luna,
nella danza che sogna la tartaruga.

Ahi! Ahi! Ahi! Ahi!
Prendi questo valzer dalla spezzata cintura.
A Vienna ci sono quattro specchi,
vi giocano la tua bocca e gli echi.
C'è una morte per pianoforte
che tinge d'azzurro i giovanotti.
Ci sono mendichi sui terrazzi. E
fresche ghirlande di pianto.

Ahi! Ahi! Ahi! Ahi!
Prendi questo valzer che spira fra le mie braccia.
Perchè io ti amo, ti amo, amore mio,
nella soffitta dove giocano i bambini,
sognando vecchie luci d'Ungheria
nel mormorio di una sera mite,
vedendo agnelli e gigli di neve
nell'oscuro silenzio delle tue tempie.

Ahi! Ahi! Ahi! Ahi!
Prendi questo valzer del "Ti amo per sempre".
A Vienna ballerò con te
con un costume che abbia la testa di fiume.
Guarda queste mie rive di giacinti!
Lascerò la mia bocca tra le tue gambe,
la mia anima in foto e fiordalisi,
e nelle onde oscure del tuo passo io voglio,
amore mio, amore mio, lasciare,
violino e sepolcro, i nastri del valzer.

[...] Read more

poem by Federico García Lorca
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Goodnight Vienna

.....last night, ah-hah-hah,
She was so beautiful, she made me uptight, ah-hah-hah....
-oh gee! Im worn out! can we try another, can you hear what hes saying?
I took my baby to a party last night, ah-hah-hah,
She was so beautiful, she made me uptight, ah-hah-hah,
Up come a butcher with her ju jus alight, ah-hah-hah,
Its all da-da-da-down to goodnight vienna.
Felt like a bohunk but I kept up my cool, ah-hah-hah,
Green as a frog, man, I was back into school, ah-hah-hah,
Zipped up my mouth cause I was starting to drool, ah-hah-hah,
Its all da-da-da-down to goodnight vienna.
Git it up!
Git it up!
Git it up!
Git it up!
Its all da-da-da-down to goodnight vienna.
She said she loved me but I knew she was lying, ah-hah-hah,
Felt like an arab who was dancing through zion, ah-hah-hah,
Dont call no doctor when you just feel like crying, ah-hah-hah,
Its all da-da-da-down to goodnight vienna.
Uhuh-
Git it up!
Git it up!
Git it up!
Git it up!
I took my baby to a party last night, ah-hah-hah,
She was so beautiful, it made me uptight, ah-hah-hah,
Up came a doct.... with his needles in sight, ah-hah-hah,
Its all down to goodnight vienna.

song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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Goodnight Vienna

.....last night, ah-hah-hah,
She was so beautiful, she made me uptight, ah-hah-hah....
-oh gee! Im worn out! can we try another, can you hear what hes saying?
I took my baby to a party last night, ah-hah-hah,
She was so beautiful, she made me uptight, ah-hah-hah,
Up come a butcher with her ju jus alight, ah-hah-hah,
Its all da-da-da-down to goodnight vienna.
Felt like a bohunk but I kept up my cool, ah-hah-hah,
Green as a frog, man, I was back into school, ah-hah-hah,
Zipped up my mouth cause I was starting to drool, ah-hah-hah,
Its all da-da-da-down to goodnight vienna.
Git it up!
Git it up!
Git it up!
Git it up!
Its all da-da-da-down to goodnight vienna.
She said she loved me but I knew she was lying, ah-hah-hah,
Felt like an arab who was dancing through zion, ah-hah-hah,
Dont call no doctor when you just feel like crying, ah-hah-hah,
Its all da-da-da-down to goodnight vienna.
Uhuh-
Git it up!
Git it up!
Git it up!
Git it up!
I took my baby to a party last night, ah-hah-hah,
She was so beautiful, it made me uptight, ah-hah-hah,
Up came a doct.... with his needles in sight, ah-hah-hah,
Its all down to goodnight vienna.

song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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Mostly Slavonic

I.—
Peter Michaelov

It was Peter the Barbarian put an apron in his bag
And rolled up the honoured bundle that Australians call a swag;
And he tramped from Darkest Russia, that it might be dark no more,
Dreaming of a port, and shipping, as no monarch dreamed before.
Of a home, and education, and of children staunch and true,
Like my father in the fifties—and his name was Peter, too.
(He could build a ship—or fiddle, out of wood, or bark, or hide—.
Sail one round the world and play the other one at eventide.)

Russia’s Peter (not my father) went to Holland in disguise,
Where he laboured as a shipwright underneath those gloomy skies;
Later on he went to England (which the Kaiser now—condemns)
Where he studied as a ship-smith by old Deptford on the Thames—
And no doubt he knew the rope-walk—(and the rope’s end too, he knew)—
Learned to build a ship and sail it—learned the business through and through.
And I’d like to say my father mastered navigation too.
(He was born across in Norway, educated fairly well,
And he grafted in a ship-yard by the Port of Arundel.)

“Peter Michaelov” (not Larsen) his work was by no means done;
For he learned to make a ploughshare, and he learned to make a gun.
Russian soldiers must have clothing, so he laboured at the looms,
And he studied, after hours, building forts and building booms.
He would talk with all and sundry, merchants and adventurers—
Whaling men from Nova Scotia, and with ancient mariners.
Studied military systems (of which Austria’s was the best).
Hospitals and even bedlams—class distinctions and the rest.

There was nothing he neglected that was useful to be known—
And he even studied Wowsers, who had no creed of his own.
And, lest all that he accomplished should as miracles appear,
It must always be remembered he’d a secret Fund for Beer.
When he tramped to toil and exile he was only twenty-five,
With a greater, grander object than had any man alive.
And perhaps the lad was bullied, and was sad for all we know—
Though it isn’t very likely that he’d take a second blow.
He had brains amongst the brainless, and, what that thing means I knew,
For before I found my kingdom, I had slaved in workshops too.

But they never dreamed, the brainless, boors that used to sneer and scoff,
That the dreamy lad beside them—known as “Dutchy Mickyloff”—
Was a genius and a poet, and a Man—no matter which—
Was the Czar of all the Russias!—Peter Michaelovich.

Sweden struck ere he was ready—filled the land with blood and tears—
But he broke the power of Sweden though it took him nine long years.

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
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Rubberneckin

(words & music by jones - warren)
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
If your rubberneckin baby well thats all right with me
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Its called rubberneckin baby but thats all right with me
Some people say Im wasting time yeh, but they dont really know
I like what I see I see what I like yeh, it gives me such a glow
First thing in the morning, last thing at night
I look, stare everywhere and see everything inside
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
If your rubberneckin baby well thats all right with me
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Its called rubberneckin baby but thats all right with me
Some people say Im wasting time yeh, but they dont really know
I like what I see I see what I like yeh, it gives me such a glow
Sittin on the back porch all by myself
Along came mary jane with somebody else
Well, stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Its called rubberneckin baby but thats all right with me
Some people say Im wasting time yeh, but I dont really care
I like what I see, I see what I like yeh, it gives me such a glow
Sittin on the back porch all by myself
Along came mary jane with somebody else
Well, stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Its called rubberneckin baby but thats all right with me
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Stop, look and listen baby thats my philosophy
Stop

song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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Rubberneckin (Original)

Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
If your rubberneckin' baby well that's all right with me
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
It's called rubberneckin' baby but that's all right with me
Some people say I'm wasting time yeh, but they don't really know
I like what I see I see what I like yeh, it gives me such a glow
First thing in the morning, last thing at night
I look, stare everywhere and see everything inside
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
If your rubberneckin' baby well that's all right with me
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
It's called rubberneckin' baby but that's all right with me
Some people say I'm wasting time yeh, but they don't really know
I like what I see I see what I like yeh, it gives me such a glow
Sittin' on the back porch all by myself
Along came Mary Jane with somebody else
Well, stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
It's called rubberneckin' baby but that's all right with me
Some people say I'm wasting time yeh, but I don't really care
I like what I see, I see what I like yeh, it gives me such a glow
Sittin' on the back porch all by myself
Along came Mary Jane with somebody else
Well, stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
It's called rubberneckin' baby but that's all right with me
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
Stop, look and listen baby that's my philosophy
Stop

song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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Will I Go To Bed With You

Will I?
I dunno, I might like you enough
in Chicago
enough to go to bed with you
yes, maybe Chicago in the fall
but come to think of it, sorry, no
not even in Chicago, not even in the fall
But perhaps, maybe in Vienna
yes, i'm certain of it now
Definitely in Vienna
yes, in Vienna in the spring,
I would go to bed with you
But Then
it isn't spring, we aren't in Vienna
so No

poem by Cin Sweet Fields
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Degrees Don't Love You

Degrees don't love you so you never went to school!
But your mind writes like a Philosopher to teach many;
And the truth is, Degrees are obtained under a Faculty.

Degrees are obtained after the length of studies,
But without one's Philosophy there is no Faculty!
Because one has to create the ideas for others to follow;
And out of Philosophy came the branches of Faculties.

You don't need any Degree to identify yourself,
Because you have the ability of teaching others;
And Philosophy is always above Faculty! !
For, you are a Philosopher with the magic ink of your mind.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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On The Pleasures Of College Life

With tears I leave these academic bowers,
And cease to cull the scientific flowers;
With tears I hail the fair succeeding train,
And take my exit with a breast of pain.
The Fresh may trace these wonders as they smile;
The stream of science like the river Nile,
Reflecting mental beauties as it flows,
Which all the charms of College life disclose;
This sacred current as it runs refines,
Whilst Byron sings and Shakspeare's mirror shines.
First like a garden flower did I rise,
When on the college bloom I cast my eyes;
I strove to emulate each smiling gem,
Resolved to wear the classic diadem;
But when the Freshman's garden breeze was gone;
Around me spread a vast extensive lawn;
'Twas there the muse of college life begun,
Beneath the rays of erudition's sun,

Where study drew the mystic focus down,
And lit the lamp of nature with renown;
There first I heard the epic thunders roll,
And Homer's light'ning darted through my soul.
Hard was the task to trace each devious line,
Though Locke and Newton bade me soar and shine;
I sunk beneath the heat of Franklin's blaze,
And struck the notes of philosophic praise;
With timid thought I strove the test to stand,
Reclining on a cultivated land,
Which often spread beneath a college bower,
And thus invoked the intellectual shower;
E'en that fond sire on whose depilous crown,
The smile of courts and states shall shed renown;
Now far above the noise of country strife,
I frown upon the gloom of rustic life,
Where no pure stream of bright distinction flows,
No mark between the thistle and the rose;
One's like a bird encaged and bare of food,
Borne by the fowler from his native wood,
Where sprightly oft he sprung from spray to spray,
And cheer'd the forest with his artless lay,

Or fluttered o'er the purling brook at will,
Sung in the dale or soar'd above the hill.
Such are the liberal charms of college life,
Where pleasure flows without a breeze of strife;
And such would be my pain if cast away,
Without the blooms of study to display.
Beware, ye college birds, again beware,
And shun the fowler with his subtile snare;

[...] Read more

poem by George Moses Horton
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Munich Girls

My name is johnnie walker
And i won't wanna make any advertising
You know?
All right honey, honey
Sugar sweet
Komm' hol mich rauf
Mach mir den zuckerhut
Mach mir den zucker
Mach mir ihn obenauf
Dollar oder deutschmark
Never mind
It's allright
Vergi die wsche,
Tu es
And kill the light
Du bist zu schn
Zu schn allein zu sein
There's no way back
Komm nimm den ersten schein
Munich girls
Lookin' for love
Tag und nacht
Lookin' for love
Here she comes
She's lookin' for love
It's the munich thing
Du machst es gut
Du machst es besser
Du machst es mir ganz einfach wunderbar
Mehr champgner auf
Blinis kaviar - na klar
I'm mick the chic
I do it quick
Weie nchte p 1
Kopf oder zahl
I'm the one
I'm the one
Und meins ist deins
Du bist zu schn
Zu schn allein zu sein
There's no way back
Komm nimm den nchsten schein
Tag und nacht
Du bist zu schn
Zu schn allein zu sein
There's no way back
Nimm den letzen,
Nimm den allerletzen schein
Munich girls...
And she's comin'

[...] Read more

song performed by Falco
Added by Lucian Velea
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Munich Girl

My name is Johnnie Walker
And I won't wanna make any advertising
You know?
All right honey, honey
Sugar sweet
Komm' hol mich rauf
Mach mir den Zuckerhut
Mach mir den Zucker
Mach mir ihn obenauf
Dollar oder Deutschmark
Never mind
It's allright
Vergi die Wsche,
Tu es
And kill the light
Du bist zu schn
Zu schn allein zu sein
There's no way back
Komm nimm den ersten Schein
Munich Girls
Lookin' for love
Tag und Nacht
Lookin' for love
Here she comes
She's lookin' for love
It's the Munich thing
Du machst es gut
Du machst es besser
Du machst es mir ganz einfach wunderbar
Mehr Champagner auf
Blinis Kaviar - na klar
I'm Mick the Chic
I do it quick
Weie Nchte P 1
Kopf oder Zahl
I'm the one
I'm the one
Und meins ist deins
Du bist zu schn
Zu schn allein zu sein
There's no way back
Komm nimm den nchsten Schein
Tag und Nacht
Du bist zu schn
Zu schn allein zu sein
There's no way back
Nimm den letzen,
Nimm den allerletzten Schein
Munich Girls
Fade out

[...] Read more

song performed by Falco
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The Hammers

I

Frindsbury, Kent, 1786

Bang!
Bang!
Tap!
Tap-a-tap! Rap!
All through the lead and silver Winter days,
All through the copper of Autumn hazes.
Tap to the red rising sun,
Tap to the purple setting sun.
Four years pass before the job is done.
Two thousand oak trees grown and felled,
Two thousand oaks from the hedgerows of the Weald,
Sussex had yielded two thousand oaks
With huge boles
Round which the tape rolls
Thirty mortal feet, say the village folks.
Two hundred loads of elm and Scottish fir;
Planking from Dantzig.
My! What timber goes into a ship!
Tap! Tap!
Two years they have seasoned her ribs on the ways,
Tapping, tapping.
You can hear, though there's nothing where you gaze.
Through the fog down the reaches of the river,
The tapping goes on like heart-beats in a fever.
The church-bells chime
Hours and hours,
Dropping days in showers.
Bang! Rap! Tap!
Go the hammers all the time.
They have planked up her timbers
And the nails are driven to the head;
They have decked her over,
And again, and again.
The shoring-up beams shudder at the strain.
Black and blue breeches,
Pigtails bound and shining:
Like ants crawling about,
The hull swarms with carpenters, running in and out.
Joiners, calkers,
And they are all terrible talkers.
Jem Wilson has been to sea and he tells some wonderful tales
Of whales, and spice islands,
And pirates off the Barbary coast.
He boasts magnificently, with his mouth full of nails.
Stephen Pibold has a tenor voice,
He shifts his quid of tobacco and sings:

[...] Read more

poem by Amy Lowell
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Conversation

Though nature weigh our talents, and dispense
To every man his modicum of sense,
And Conversation in its better part
May be esteem'd a gift, and not an art,
Yet much depends, as in the tiller’s toil,
On culture, and the sowing of the soil.
Words learn'd by rote a parrot may rehearse,
But talking is not always to converse;
Not more distinct from harmony divine,
The constant creaking of a country sign.
As alphabets in ivory employ,
Hour after hour, the yet unletter’d boy,
Sorting and puzzling with a deal of glee
Those seeds of science call’d his a b c;
So language in the mouths of the adult,
Witness its insignificant result,
Too often proves an implement of play,
A toy to sport with, and pass time away.
Collect at evening what the day brought forth,
Compress the sum into its solid worth,
And if it weigh the importance of a fly,
The scales are false, or algebra a lie.
Sacred interpreter of human thought,
How few respect or use thee as they ought!
But all shall give account of every wrong,
Who dare dishonour or defile the tongue;
Who prostitute it in the cause of vice,
Or sell their glory at a market-price;
Who vote for hire, or point it with lampoon,
The dear-bought placeman, and the cheap buffoon.
There is a prurience in the speech of some,
Wrath stays him, or else God would strike them dumb;
His wise forbearance has their end in view,
They fill their measure and receive their due.
The heathen lawgivers of ancient days,
Names almost worthy of a Christian’s praise,
Would drive them forth from the resort of men,
And shut up every satyr in his den.
Oh, come not ye near innocence and truth,
Ye worms that eat into the bud of youth!
Infectious as impure, your blighting power
Taints in its rudiments the promised flower;
Its odour perish’d, and its charming hue,
Thenceforth ‘tis hateful, for it smells of you.
Not e’en the vigorous and headlong rage
Of adolescence, or a firmer age,
Affords a plea allowable or just
For making speech the pamperer of lust;
But when the breath of age commits the fault,
‘Tis nauseous as the vapour of a vault.

[...] Read more

poem by William Cowper
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Phenomenons Studied

Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.

Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.

Mysteries lived to exist,
Are...
Phenomenons never undone.
And,
The more they're probed confusion sits.
Because we don't see us a part of this.

Why are we here to be neighbors?
With confusion that we can't resist.
Why can't we accept our differences?
Without trying to end conflicts.
Why the fighting to exist...
In a peacefulness ruled by one fist.

Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.

Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.

And why are obelisks ignored?
Why are they there and who are they for?
What is that energy they feed?
And what is it that we can't see?
What is the purpose and the need?

Phenomenons studied by scholars,
Are...
Stunning phenomenons never undone.

Mysteries lived to exist,
Are...
Phenomenons never undone.
And,
The more they're probed confusion sits.
Because we don't see us a part of this.

What blind eye has to open?
To fix what has been broken.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Church of Brou

I

The Castle

Down the Savoy valleys sounding,
Echoing round this castle old,
’Mid the distant mountain chalets
Hark! what bell for church is toll’d?

In the bright October morning
Savoy’s Duke had left his bride.
From the castle, past the drawbridge,
Flow’d the hunters’ merry tide.

Steeds are neighing, gallants glittering;
Gay, her smiling lord to greet,
From her mullion’d chamber casement
Smiles the Duchess Marguerite.

From Vienna, by the Danube,
Here she came, a bride, in spring.
Now the autumn crisps the forest;
Hunters gather, bugles ring.

Hounds are pulling, prickers swearing,
Horses fret, and boar-spears glance:
Off!- They sweep the marshy forests.
Westward, on the side of France.

Hark! the game’s on foot; they scatter!-
Down the forest-ridings lone,
Furious, single horsemen gallop-
Hark! a shout - a crash - a groan!

Pale and breathless, came the hunters;
On the turf dead lies the boar
God! the Duke lies stretch’d beside him,
Senseless, weltering in his gore.

* * * *

In the dull October evening,
Down the leaf-strewn forest-road,
To the castle, past the drawbridge,
Came the hunters with their load.

In the hall, with sconces blazing,
Ladies waiting round her seat,
Clothed in smiles, beneath the dais
Sate the Duchess Marguerite.

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Arnold (1853)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Take This Waltz

Now in vienna theres ten pretty women
Theres a shoulder where death comes to cry
Theres a lobby with nine hundred windows
Theres a tree where the doves go to die
Theres a piece that was torn from the morning
And it hangs in the gallery of frost
Ay, ay, ay, ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws
Oh I want you, I want you, I want you
On a chair with a dead magazine
In the cave at the tip of the lily
In some hallways where loves never been
On a bed where the moon has been sweating
In a cry filled with footsteps and sand
Ay, ay, ay, ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take its broken waist in your hand
This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz
With its very own breath of brandy and death
Dragging its tail in the sea
Theres a concert hall in vienna
Where your mouth had a thousand reviews
Theres a bar where the boys have stopped talking
Theyve been sentenced to death by the blues
Ah, but who is it climbs to your picture
With a garland of freshly cut tears?
Ay, ay, ay, ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz its been dying for years
Theres an attic where children are playing
Where Ive got to lie down with you soon
In a dream of hungarian lanterns
In the mist of some sweet afternoon
And Ill see what youve chained to your sorrow
All your sheep and your lilies of snow
Ay, ay, ay, ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
With its Ill never forget you, you know!
This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz ...
And Ill dance with you in vienna
Ill be wearing a rivers disguise
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder,
My mouth on the dew of your thighs
And Ill bury my soul in a scrapbook,
With the photographs there, and the moss
And Ill yield to the flood of your beauty
My cheap violin and my cross
And youll carry me down on your dancing
To the pools that you lift on your wrist

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song performed by Leonard Cohen
Added by Lucian Velea
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Little Viennese Waltz

In Vienna there are ten little girls,
a shoulder for death to cry on,
and a forest of dried pigeons.
There is a fragment of tomorrow
in the museum of winter frost.
There is a thousand-windowed dance hall.

Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this close-mouthed waltz.

Little waltz, little waltz, little waltz,
of itself of death, and of brandy
that dips its tail in the sea.

I love you, I love you, I love you,
with the armchair and the book of death,
down the melancholy hallway,
in the iris's darkened garret,

Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this broken-waisted waltz.

In Vienna there are four mirrors
in which your mouth and the ehcoes play.
There is a death for piano
that paints little boys blue.
There are beggars on the roof.
There are fresh garlands of tears.

Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this waltz that dies in my arms.

Because I love you, I love you, my love,
in the attic where the children play,
dreaming ancient lights of Hungary
through the noise, the balmy afternoon,
seeing sheep and irises of snow
through the dark silence of your forehead

Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this " I will always love you" waltz

In Vienna I will dance with you
in a costume with
a river's head.
See how the hyacinths line my banks!
I will leave my mouth between your legs,
my soul in a photographs and lilies,
and in the dark wake of your footsteps,
my love, my love, I will have to leave

[...] Read more

poem by Federico García Lorca
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Farewell

_P_. Farewell to Europe, and at once farewell
To all the follies which in Europe dwell;
To Eastern India now, a richer clime,
Richer, alas! in everything but rhyme,
The Muses steer their course; and, fond of change,
At large, in other worlds, desire to range;
Resolved, at least, since they the fool must play,
To do it in a different place, and way.
_F_. What whim is this, what error of the brain,
What madness worse than in the dog-star's reign?
Why into foreign countries would you roam,
Are there not knaves and fools enough at home?
If satire be thy object--and thy lays
As yet have shown no talents fit for praise--
If satire be thy object, search all round,
Nor to thy purpose can one spot be found
Like England, where, to rampant vigour grown,
Vice chokes up every virtue; where, self-sown,
The seeds of folly shoot forth rank and bold,
And every seed brings forth a hundredfold.
_P_. No more of this--though Truth, (the more our shame,
The more our guilt) though Truth perhaps may claim,
And justify her part in this, yet here,
For the first time, e'en Truth offends my ear;
Declaim from morn to night, from night to morn,
Take up the theme anew, when day's new-born,
I hear, and hate--be England what she will,
With all her faults, she is my country still.
_F_. Thy country! and what then? Is that mere word
Against the voice of Reason to be heard?
Are prejudices, deep imbibed in youth,
To counteract, and make thee hate the truth?
'Tis sure the symptom of a narrow soul
To draw its grand attachment from the whole,
And take up with a part; men, not confined
Within such paltry limits, men design'd
Their nature to exalt, where'er they go,
Wherever waves can roll, and winds can blow,
Where'er the blessed sun, placed in the sky
To watch this subject world, can dart his eye,
Are still the same, and, prejudice outgrown,
Consider every country as their own;
At one grand view they take in Nature's plan,
Not more at home in England than Japan.
_P_. My good, grave Sir of Theory, whose wit,
Grasping at shadows, ne'er caught substance yet,
'Tis mighty easy o'er a glass of wine
On vain refinements vainly to refine,
To laugh at poverty in plenty's reign,
To boast of apathy when out of pain,

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poem by Charles Churchill
Added by Poetry Lover
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