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Umberto Eco

I felt like poisoning a monk.

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I felt like a butterfly

I felt like a butterfly
Flying around aimless in wonder
I could fly on anyone, but not the right flower
The flower of my destine

It bloomed for me and only me
I wish I could be there always
My flower, my rose-bud
I wish we could start our winter together

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That House Once Felt Like Home Has Gone

You may never know,
What it's like to fly.
Or come to know,
What makes the change of seasons.
You may never know,
The reasons 'how' or 'why'
Some stay together.
And some no longer try.

Some people who had broken hearts,
Don't deny
They have had it with it,
That love once had admitted to quit.

And others are at home alone
Hoping love comes by,
With patience just to sit and listen
That love that was missed is now fulfilled as wished.

Yet,
Those who have had broken hearts don't deny
A house is not a home.
When they sit home alone.
Even when love had been known and flown
They know they feel alone,
And that house once felt like home has gone.

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On A Day That Felt Like Any Other

On a day that felt like any other,
where the sun was hot
in a Pretoria spring,
when the jasmine and almost every flower
were open and flowering

suddenly and unexpected,
three black men rushed
into a house in Pretoria’s Capital Park,
found a woman painter busy in her studio,
painting a rural scene.

A pistol was trying to drill
a hole into the side of her head,
before a big black hand covered
the sudden scream
coming from her mouth.

Her clothes was ripped from her body
and for moments she was blinded in shock
smelled the stinking hot breath in her face,
while her body felt as if paralysed

and not being able to move,
the first black man entered her womanhood,
penetrating violently, tearing
and ripping her open
while his left hand
groped at her breasts
one after the other,
with the others laughing
and waiting for their turns.

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Christmas Never Felt Like This

(tena clark/olivia newton-john/annie roboff)
I can hear her small feet running
Past my bedroom down the hallway
Trying not to wake me
As she races for the tree
Her sleepy eyes are wide with wonder
Cause santa drank his milk and left his crumbs
I cant miss this moment
Wait for me, wait for me
Shes filled with joy and innocence
She reminds me of myself
Cause watching her I see
How my mothers eyes saw me
And christmas never felt like this
Im reliving all shes feeling
Seeing reindeers and believing
Maybe santa left me
The doll that I wished for
Through her life Ive found the reason
Why we celebrate the season
Cause the gift I treasure most
Is standing next to me
Shes filled with joy and innocence
She reminds me of myself
Cause watching her I see
How my mothers eyes saw me
And christmas never felt like this
In my dreams
I see a kinder world
This is my christmas wish
For my little girl
Shes filled with joy and innocence
She reminds me of myself
Cause watching her I see
How my mothers eyes saw me
And christmas never felt like this

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I Felt Like Smashing My Face In A Clear Glass Window

All day long I felt like
Smashing my face in a clear glass window.
But instead, I went out
And smashed up a phone box round the corner.
I never had a chance to choose my own parents,
Id never know why I should be stuck with mine.
Mommys always trying not to eat
And daddys always smelling like hes pickled in booze.
I never had a chance to choose my own name,
Id never know why I should be stuck with mine.
Mommys always talkin bout family pride
And daddys always hiding bout his week-end rides.
All day long I felt like
Smashing my face in a clear glass window.
But instead, I went out
And smashed up a station wagon round the block.
I looked at the mirror and told myself,
Im glad I still dont look like them at least.
Mommys like a film star in a distorted mirror,
Daddys like a guy who lost his stomach in the war.
I went to shake hands with the president in miami,
I went to a rock show to see mick jagger.
And youd never believe it, surprise to my life,
They had paint on their faces just like mommys.
Am I going crazy or is it just you, daddy?
Am I going nuts or is it just you, mommy?
Am I plain gone or is it the world?
Daddy, Id rather have you dead than crazy.
Trying to talk to them is like eating tv dinner when youre angry,
Trying to get their love is like watching ice cream ad when youre hungry.
They gave me a watch thats guaranteed not to break
But my mommy and daddy broke up last fall.
Am I going crazy or is it just you, daddy?
Am I going nuts or is it just you, mommy?
Am I plain gone or is it the world?
Mommy, Id rather have you dead than crazy.
All day long I felt like
Smashing my face in a clear glass window.
But instead, I went out
And smashed up a church yard round the corner.

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Stupid She Felt

stupid she must have felt
like the way i do
but she must know that
last night was so
sweet
that no regret or remorse
can spoil it

watching the rain
and smiling again
letting
the consequences pass
away
and then move on for
another sweet
mistake

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018 ~ Like A Kite

a robust south wind blew today
caught my baggy clothes
from behind, the arms
of my sweater and pants legs
flailed briskly in the breeze

closing my eyes, I felt like a kite
putting hands in my pockets,
I let go of my body
and went to that child
in my subconscious

the wind in my hair,
rocking back and forth
in my shoes,
I was floating above everything
soaring not to see or be seen
but to catch more wind,
surf the skies, escape

a wide smile on my face
as the wind died down
gliding gently down
back to earth
like a kite

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Just Like Yesterday

Seems just like yesterday
The cry of a woman,
A beautiful African woman
Was heard, bound by labour,
Of fulfilling the countinuity of life.

Seems like yesterday
A child squealed his first cry
Submitting to the suffering of the world
To acknowlwedge the strength of the mother

Seems just like yesterday
She felt like a woman
As she heard the cry of her baby
Cudding him at her breasts
And acknowledging the beauty of nature

Seems just like yesterday
I, myself was born by a woman
Breast fed by a woman
And, I acknowledge the beauty
Of a Woman and nature and God.

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I Feel Like A Leaf In Autumn

I feel like a leaf in Autumn borne along by flooded rill
Running down the silent valley down along the moonlit hill
Down to join the flooded river towards it's final destiny
To it's deep grave in salt water in the bosom of the sea.

I felt like that leaf in Springtime on it's lovely mother tree
With it's brothers and it's sisters one big happy family
A bright green leaf in a green World dancing in the wind and rain
Give me back what's gone forever give me back my youth again.

I felt like that leaf in Summer when the sun shone in the sky
And the world was full of colour and wild songbirds piped for joy
And bright wildflowers in green meadow fit home for fair butterfly
Oh but all that's young and beautiful has one day got to die.

I feel like a leaf in Autumn borne along by flooded stream
Running down the moonlit valley that was once so very green
Down to join the flooded river towards it's final destiny
To be gone and lost forever in the bosom of the sea.

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Like An Angel

Oohh, do-do do-do-do
Da da da da da
Things that you used to say now take on different meanings you realise
Cant be to careful about the lines.
Come on you know youre not so young you cannot hide behind disguise
Listen to your own desire.
Eyes like an angel - so wise, dont lie
You never felt like this before.
Fly like an angel - so high this time,
You send your senses streaming free.
-
Places you used to go when you were young look different in the dark,
Dont you worry its o.k.
And maybe I can help you find your way tonight I think you will agree
Summer reasons run away.
Eyes like an angel - so wise, dont lie
You never felt like this before
Fly like an angel - so high this time
Youve got your senses streaming free
-
Oh I hear your heart beating even faster now than mine
Now you know just what I mean.
So take your place among those twilight gleaming rivers that you read
Give me reasons to believe
Eyes like an angel - so wise dont lie
You never feel like this again
Fly like an angel - so high this time
You send my senses streaming free
Like an angel... da da da-da
Like an angel... da da daa

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Like A Rock

Words and music by bob seger
Stood there boldly
Sweatin in the sun
Felt like a million
Felt like number one
The height of summer
Id never felt that strong
Like a rock
I was eighteen
Didnt have a care
Working for peanuts
Not a dime to spare
But I was lean and
Solid everywhere
Like a rock
My hands were steady
My eyes were clear and bright
My walk had purpose
My steps were quick and light
And I held firmly
To what I felt was right
Like a rock
Like a rock, I was strong as I could be
Like a rock, nothin ever got to me
Like a rock, I was something to see
Like a rock
And I stood arrow straight
Unencumbered by the weight
Of all these hustlers and their schemes
I stood proud, I stood tall
High above it all
I still believed in my dreams
Twenty years now
Whered they go?
Twenty years
I dont know
Sit and I wonder sometimes
Where theyve gone
And sometimes late at night
When Im bathed in the firelight
The moon comes callin a ghostly white
And I recall
Recall
Like a rock. standin arrow straight
Like a rock, chargin from the gate
Like a rock, carryin the weight
Like a rock
Lihe a rock, the sun upon my skin
Like a rock, hard against the wind
Like a rock, I see myself again
Like a rock

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You Shouldn't Kiss Me Like This

(toby keith)
I've got a funny feeling
The moment that your lips touched mine
Something shot right through me
My heart skipped a beat in time
There's a different feel about you tonight
It's got me thinkin' lots of crazy things
I even think i saw a flash of light
It felt like electricity
You shouldn't kiss me like this
Unless you mean it like that
Cause i'll just close my eyes
And i won't know where i'm at
We'll get lost on this dance floor
Spinnin' around
And around
And around
And around
They're all watchin' us now
They think we're falling in love
They'd never believe we're just friends
When you kiss me like this
I think you mean it like that
If you do maybe kiss me again
Everybody swears we make the perfect pair
But dancing is as far as it goes
Girl you've never moved me quite
The way you moved me tonight
I just wanted you to know
I just wanted you to know
You shouldn't kiss me like this
Unless you mean it like that
Cause i'll just close my eyes
And i won't know where i'm at
We'll get lost on this dance floor
Spinnin' around
And around
And around
And around
They're all watchin' us now
They think we're falling in love
They'd never believe we're just friends
When you kiss me like this
I think you mean it like that
If you do baby kiss me again
Kiss me again

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The Thing I Like

Hmmm 1993
Yo liyah why dont you do me a favour
Why dont you let all of the fellas out there know
That they got a thing that you like, yeah
Here we go, here we go, here we go
Chorus
Youve got that thing I like 4x
Verse 1
Boy you know just what to do
When it comes down to lovin me
That is why Im into you
Cause weve got a love thats guaranteed
I got to let you know just how I feel
Cause I never felt like this before
And when you touch me where you touch me
When you call my name
I get a little weak, cause boy youve got that thing
Chorus
Verse 2
Im so glad we got together
Cause Ive been jockin you for so long
And it seems that you feel the same about me
How could something like this feel so strong
Something about the way you smile at me
It takes away my worries and my doubts
And when you kiss me wher you kiss me
When you call my name
I get a little weak, cause boy youve got that thing
Chorus
R kelly wont you rap for me
Rap (r kelly)
Mmm-wa heres a little kiss for you honey dip
Now I know you got a thing for me
Mmmm. heres my number so call me
And we can get together and catch a movie
I like the things you like about me
Its good to know we got something in common see
So if lovin yous wrong I dont wanna be right
Because you got the thing that I like, Im our
Chorus till fade...

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Like Shooting Stars

I heard him say,
When asked
What it felt like when love was lost
When depression overcame,

'Like no love was left in my heart
I checked other parts of my body
It's no longer there either
I'm not sure when it burned out

It was there once
Felt by the rest of my body
Intensified by proximity
To its intended target

Love generated its own light
Created its own heat
I looked for words to describe it
Landed on shooting stars

A thrill to see
Something special
While flying by
But where do they go

That's the problem
I found out
They aren't going
Indefinitely anywhere

For a short time
We see a visable light
Created by them
Then the light is gone

Small pieces of dust rock ice
Debris from the tail of a passing comet
Ignited by friction visable part a meteor
Just passing through our atmosphere

We only see the light
Meteoroids are what causes it
Not as romatic sounding
As Shooting Stars

If by chance one's unusally large
Over a few kilograms
Some parts will
Survive the burning

What's left
That falls to earth
Some say is
Just a piece of cold rock

What was on the outside
Heated up
Burned up
And is gone

What hits earth
Is now called a meteorite
Differnent names
For the different stages

Actually the term
Falling in love
Is a pretty accurate metaphor
When compared to shooting stars

Made up of dust rock and ice
Made visable when heated by friction
Then either slams to earth leaving a scarr
Or is vaporized and is gone.'

That's what he said,
In so many words.

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Like Her Mum

She's just like her mum
Her dad did say,
As we sat and spoke for a bit.
So sad are the things
That she has done to you,
In my heart there is another candle unlit.
My poor little lassie
She has done it again
That son, is why that I am crying,
As what she has done to you
Was also done to me before,
And I too, felt like dying.
Her Mum whom I loved
With all of my heart
Did to me the very same things.
She went behind my back
More than once in our life
Then forgot about me and our rings.
All these excuses that she gave
And all the times that she lied
Finally came, and caught up with her.
Now she walks in her shame
From day unto day,
Never knowing what has, occurred.
But my poor young lassie
I pity her so
And the life that she is trying to live,
She will blame all of her faults
On her Mum and maybe even me
And now probably you, I do believe.
Inside of my own heart
As to me, her dad did speak
There are many candles that are unlit,
From the sadness that she caused
And the pain that she had dealt
My heart has became an empty pit.
And sadly I know one day
And it will be because of my Lassie
The candles will be gone, and I will had cried,
And this you will know my son
When my light and sunshine are gone
Of course so will I, as I will had died.
She is just like her Mum
Again her dad did say
As we had just finished our talk,
I can see it in her eyes
And I hear it when she speaks
I can even see it in her walk.
I feel so very sorry for you
What you have seen and what you have felt
Of all the wickedness my Lassie has done,
But sadly you are not the first
And you will not be the last,
As She is, just like Her Mum.

Randy L. McClave

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Black America (The Story Of Pain And Glory)

From the rich land of Africa where we were King's of our soil dripped in gold brought to you beaten, battered, and sold.America, we sailed across your rippling seas against our will as we sought survival while thousands of us lay desolate, demoralized, and dead before arrival.America, finally here where we forced to work without pay as our blood, sweat, and tears trickled against our brown skin from sun up till the break of day.America, to pass the crawling time spent on our ragged heels we let our voices ring out across the cotton fields. America, we sang, oh yes! we sang. About our captivity as well as are spirituality. America, song expressed our inner hope and sorrow for yesterday, today, and even tomorrow. America, your Constitution states that all men are created equal as we stood chained and lacerated from the leather, so tell me what holds more weight the Constitution or a feather? America, One nation under God indivisible with liberty and justice for all that's what we were taught. One nation under God indivisible with liberty and justice for y'all that's what we thought. America, your sun didn't shine so bright or fast while our fight we just had to outlast. And the struggle poured like Seattle rain, but 1863 finally free of those chains. America, but you didn't stop your hatred while many fled to the North where we felt the safest. In these days we still couldn't progress just an inch, it felt like a bad dream only we couldn't be pinched, as every waking morning the news read 'Another Negro Lynched'. America, throughout all the hardships we always had the music, music which bled through the depths of our souls, from the early spirituals of our ancestors singing 'Wade in the Water' to the muddy banks of the Mississippi where Men like Son House, Charley Patton, Muddy Waters, and Howlin' Wolf were playing all night in Juke Joints as liquor spilled, smoke rose, and sweat poured to the heartbeat of the Blues. Robert Johnson...ahhh...Robert Johnson the incomparable Blues-man who howled at the dusty moon! Broken ax slung over his shoulder, voice trembling at the crossroads as he wrapped his spider-like fingers around his guitar, picking with fury, singing 'I'm a steady rollin' man, I roll both night and day but I don't have no sweet woman to be rollin' this-a-way'. These Blues which began in the cotton fields and the Delta South made their way to the concrete jungle, the rhythm pulsating streets of Harlem where cool cats like Thelonious Monk, Dizzy Gillespie, and Charlie Parker were composing the wild and mystical sounds of Bop, (Be-Bop Be-Bop) Miles...ahhh...Miles Davis, the epitome of hip- dark shades, golden trumpet blowing in the streets of eternity, sweat dripping, veins screaming, his look- brooding and low externally blowing internal blues, his melody- colorful and vibrant as the most perfect hue, his notes- which would bend at his very will, his sound- captured and momentarily made still. And, the music well it's still something I can't quite explain, something that stabs you in the heart but feels so good! America, why all the suffering, why all the pain? here it is 1963 and your still the same. Segregated laws, segregated halls, man we couldn't catch a break even segregated stalls. Soon enough leaders for a new change arose out of the ashes of bigotry and etched there names into the walls of history. Huey P. Newton, Rosa Parks, Malcolm X illuminated the spirit of our youth and aged alike. Dr. King...ahhh...Martin Luther King Jr. our own worldly king of peace. Pah, Pah, ! two bullets cut across the Memphis sky, dream deceased. America, why when a King emerges you dethrone them? Is it because when the people don't have a voice you know you can control them? 1968 the years progressed tension rose creating stress, buildings burned as the country turned to a blank page of restless and un-godly rage. America, you killed our leaders but you could never kill our spirit.1975- we came to a period of self-empowerment and once again the music shined through us emphasizing the way we spoke and acted. 'Say it loud I'm Black and I'm proud' rang out through the inner city where poverty whispered around every corner. Gil-Scott Heron, Parliament Funkadelic, Curtis Mayfield, and Issac Hayes gave us a sense of belonging with their soul-stirring words and rhythm. The Godfather of soul...ahhh...James Brown the funkiest man in America, who grooved and shuffled across the stage, cape flowing across his back singing: 'It's a mans world oh but it wouldn't be nothing, nothing without a Woman or a girl' The black woman- Mother of Earth, nurturer of child, teacher of love, where would our story be without you? 1994- The times they were a-changin' (as Dylan's prophecy read) the inner city, well the poverty wasn't whispering anymore rather howling through the street corners and the music reflected the times. Big Daddy Kane, Rakim, Run DMC, and Tupac rapped the images they seen in their everyday existence. Christopher Wallace...ahhh... The Notorious B.I.G. rapped from the depths of his belly providing us with imagery and story which have yet to be rivaled. 'It was all a dream I used to read word up magazine salt n pepa and Heavy D up in the limousine' pah! pah! two bullets cut across the L.A. sky dream deceased. America, it hasn't been a dream rather a nightmare. America we can forgive but we can't forget. It's been nearly 600 years since you brought us here, men and women driven away from our family and peers.2012- America, look how far we've come from Kings to shackles back to Kings. America, your root of existence is planted by our seed and finally it's beginning to sprout. For so many years we were looked at as just an un-worthy resident, now look at us Barack Obama first Black president. America I am you, America we are you, America we are your story- Black America pain and glory.

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Patrick White

Chewing On Memories Like Broken Mirrors In Her Sleep

Chewing on memories like broken mirrors in her sleep
tears of blood run from her eyes.
She doesn't know I'm watching
but I've got windows everywhere.
But for her
just for her
because nobody else cares
third eye satellites with unlimited airspace
in her choice of skies to match her eyes.
A haemorrhage of sunsets.
Fly little bird fly
as if you weren't the shattered sparrow
God took his eye off
when you fell.
Sometimes the mystic oversights
have more to say
about the great revelations of the world
than all the burning bushes in the valley of Tuwa.
Rumours and news.
Fly little bird fly.
Be an apostate waterbird
and let your skull skip out over the lake
like the moon through a glass house
that's been asking for it for years.
There must be stars
that haven't bloomed yet
somewhere in the corner of a leftover garden
that no one's trampled on
like moon rocks
on a firewalk with a spoon
that hisses like the head of a viper
boiling with venom
at the tip of the tongue of a Zippo lighter.
Fly little bird fly
into a state of grace
that isn't tainted by your experience
of the taste of humanity
that threw you like bad meat
down your own wishing well.
How they pried your innocence out of you
like a flower before it was ready to open
like a keepsake from a locket
your mother gave to you on her death bed
like a silver bullet that would keep you safe
from the grave robbers
the moment you used it on yourself.
Fly little bird fly.
I don't know why
people attach more of an emergency
to the exit
than they do to the entrance
but I guess you'd have to ask a junkie about that
who's used to coming in through the back door
with a ticket to ride
that's better than a forged passport
to Disneyland
after you've done business with the Pentagon.
Fly little bird fly.
Don't lose your nerve for enlightenment.
There's the Bodhi tree.
There's Venus in the dawn.
And there's all this emptiness.
Isn't it sweeter
than a hot fix
once you've gone beyond
the last judgment between right and wrong
like the pick up sticks of the I Ching
into the nirvanic bliss
of discovering nothing
was your best guess after all?
Fly little bird fly.
Disappear into your own eyes
like a candle
that's stopped sticking its tongue out at the darkness
looking for a new place to hit.
Fly little bird fly
as if you weren't tarred and feathered like Icarus.
And may the sun that shines at midnight
find you a lot more approachable
than apple blossoms
scattered like ashes on the wind
or fireflies that can't hold their fixed positions
like the stars.
O it's so anatomically true
that life on earth hurts
especially when you've fallen
out of love with love
like a baby out of the nest of a lullaby.
Down will come baby
shaman and all.
I see your bruised body on the bed
like the embryo of some past miscarriage
that taught you how flesh
can grieve for its own death
while it's still alive.
I see the black haloes.
I see the bright horns.
I see the butterfly feelers
that have burnt out
like the short-lived filaments
of your average light bulb
and the place where you were anointed
with holy oil that hissed.
And it's hard to miss where the apple sat
when William Burroughs
shot you through the head
pretending he was William Tel
like your crackhead boyfriend did last night.
Luckily he missed your heart.
He should have hired a firing squad
instead of relying on a sniper.
You don't send a single viper
to do the job
of the whole snakepit
when you take out a contract
on anything as elusive as that.
I've made the bed
and you can lie in it alone
for as long as you want.
I'll keep watch over you
like a mongoose or a lighthouse
over a bird that was stared to stone by snakes
and I won't have anything to expiate
if I see their shadows
sliding hate mail under the door.
Fly little bird fly.
No more skies that lie like windows
about what you're going through.
No more pretending
those bruises on your arm
are rare orchids of jungle love.
When you went to sleep
tangled up in the powerlines
you couldn't teach to dance to your flute
and the rhythm of your body
like bullwhips
you might have felt
like a broken kite on a funeral pyre
but if my magic still works
by the time you wake up
I'll make sure
you open your eyes like a phoenix.
So fly little bird fly.
The world won't heal while you sleep.
Your lover won't have a change of heart.
He broke you like a chandelier
he threw down the road
in a drunken rage
on a Friday night
like a bottle of beer.
One solitude denies another theirs.
Lovers take each other hostage.
The rest is the Stockholm syndrome.
One fanatic.
One addict.
It looks like devotion
It looks like a life raft on the sea of love
but the ocean's gone rabid and mad.
Just look at the way it foams at the mouth.
Things are bad.
Fly little bird fly.
You're not caught in the chimney
with no way out.
You're the genie of the lamp.
You're the one that tunes the power lines
that are humming along with you
like Mozart with a sparrow.
You're the silence
that times the rhythm of the music.
You're the tuning fork
not the lightning rod
of a wanna be god
in a pick-up truck
who keeps you around
to beat on like a false idol
who shalt not come before him.
Stop pecking at the crumbs of your dreams
like the leftovers of a garden
that used to be secret
That's no way to get out of a labyrinth
when you've got wings.
So fly little bird fly.
Disappear into the depths of a starmap
that breaks into flames as you approach
the creative intensities of your own shining
like sumac in the fall.
Here's the dead branch.
Here's the green one.
You be the moon.
You be the blossom.
You be the firefly.
You be the hidden night bird
with the faraway call
that doesn't make the distinction at all
because you're too far gone to tell
by any feature of the light
you can often see things deeper
in a black mirror
than you can in a white.

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Patrick White

The Painting Finished

for Sally

The painting finished, I sit at my desk
and go on painting windows and computer screens.
My body is grateful and my heart a submarine.
I don't know if I expressed what I meant to mean
but there it is and that's an end of it for the night.
Time now to rely on my resident metaphors.
Stop looking at things that flower in space like stars
and coercing the light into compliance.
Sit in my apartment and watch the weave of the rain
unravelling the loom of the window in tears.

Feel like a seance trying to talk to an exorcism
when I address myself in my solitude
at cruising altitude over the sirens and car horns,
the wailing of long distance freight trains
like graffiti art shows on the road all the way
from North Carolina, the land of talented spray bombs,
and the gleeful shrieking of a gaggle of girls
as shrill as apostate nuns of narcissi in the rain
that have just broken their vow of silence
and are making up for lost time impishly.

Relatively serene, the composure of chaos,
I let the starmud settle in the puddle
until my mind becomes as clear as
a refracting telescope without chromatic aberration.
And then you show up in a blur of stars
like the Andromeda galaxy,
a smudge of shining, a gust of wavelengths
and what had been unfocused in me,
like the cosmic background hiss
when I'm sitting here like this,
the afterbirth of a man wondering
where the rest of me is, and suddenly
I'm whole and focused again on an old wound
I had thought was scarred over forever
some time ago by the moon
that keeps re-opening every spring like a rose
as I realize that love isn't done with me yet.

And I say to myself, here comes the mystery again,
the fire, the desire, the moon with its black pearl
and its white, its eclipse and its harvest,
and the one blue one that's too shy to come into the light,
but everyone sings and dances under just the same,
the harvest in and the labour done.

With love. That valley of a word that can wound mountains
when they get lost in it, as their lifestreams bleed out
like gold from the undiscovered ore of their darkness,
and they become snowmen riding their own melting like glaciers.
Love when it isn't just a sound beavers make
when they slap their tails on the water like a warning
there are wolves around. And everyone takes a nose-dive
and heads for the lodge like Montezuma's capitol in the middle of a lake.

Love. That ghost of an abstraction that holds everyone in its wake
like a symphony of seagulls at the stern of a moonboat
navigating waterways through the mountains of the moon
like a muse or a voice coach, or a lapwing with a broken rudder.
Imagine that. A word so mute it doesn't have any senses of its own,
and yet it can enflame even an old growth forest with desire.

And I've had banshees wailing, and ravens saying nevermore
at my window before, and felt every beat of my heart
like the dull thud of small birds who mistook
the mirage of the sky in the window for the real thing
and thought even in the body of a swallow, what immensites
are contained within such a tiny locket of a heart
barely the size of a raspberry, if that, and yet
this small thing could ride out a hurricane if it had to,
and not even a Boeing 767 can do that.
And I buried it in my heart with reverence
like an obsidian Clovis-point arrowhead.

Love is the third wing on a bird, the third edge on a sword
of Damascene steel forged and folded like the first crescent
of a metal from the ore of love-struck moonrocks
to kill you deeper into the rapture of life
like a loveletter you weren't expecting.

Engendered from two extremes, love's the intensity
in the middle, the rebel of a third eye between
and slightly above the other two, like a star
you're trying to point out to the child within you.
And then someone comes along out of the anthracite blue
of a spring night like a comet
out of the black halo around the sun,
you can identify with as a radiant omen of things to come.

And you can't believe it, it's inconceivable
given the badlands you've just cowboyed your way through
like a dinosaur on its own waiting for the sign of a meteor
heading toward its extinction like a prophetic skull.
And then comes love with its starmaps
like this last-minute change of flightplan
and you're a warm-blooded mammal again
and all your scales turn into the feathers of songbirds
waiting for the return of Quetzalcoatl, the plumed serpent,

in which is conjoined the highest and the lowest
in a godhead of opposites that can't be explained
any more than desire can explain
why it's a soggy matchbook in the rain one moment
and the next it breaks into flame like a poppy with big dreams.

And just look at me now, sitting here like a Zen monk
in the pagoda of a pine-cone germinating
a whole new wilderness to explore
out of the seed thoughts under my half closed eyelids
sprouting in fire and putting down roots in the rain at the same time.

Love's doing it to me again, and the mirrors
are beginning to thaw like Mayan observatories
as they open their eyelids at the first sign of a star
to make contact with them like astronomers who've
been buried in the mines of their prophecies
and cosmological calendrical theories for lightyears now.
And suddenly the urge to jump zodiacs like orbitals
comes upon me like a homeless photon of insight
on the threshold of a whole new house of life
it's attracted to like a lost starless stranger
to a porchlight in the distance
in the shadows of the mountains of the moon

And when I'm in love I smile like the white
but in my heart I'm the black Taj Mahal reflected
in pool of liquid moonlight. Everything is
mystical and intense, full of wonderment
in the smallest details, in the cosmic uniqueness
of every event, however seemingly insignificant
and raises the trivial out of the dirt
into the stardust of the universally sublime,
and even the antheap of day to day life
gets turned into a shrine I lay poems on the stairs of
in the name of love, where yesterday I lay like an orphan
on the steps of a halfway house to heaven and back.

Love. That can turn your head and your vision of life
from a computer screen into an Arizona moonrise
of a woman in the Sonora desert, a siren in the sands
of an hourglass full of stars that pay no attention to time,
and me an old sailor on a ghostship who should know better
drunk on the delirium of the song she's singing to me
like a seance to summon me back to the living
and my whole life flashing before my eyes as they drown
in the wellsprings of hers, like a poet in the tears of a muse.

Love and the lack thereof taught me a long time ago
there are dark jewels in the ashes, and secret sorrows
in the crowns of life, and mystic terrors in every piece
of the broken mirrors and exalted chandeliers of love
that reflect the radiance of the Beloved
after a storm has passed over the distant hills
in every dropp of rain that hangs
like the sun and the moon and the Pleiades from her earlobes,
as if they were the personal Faberge jewellers of her light
or as Elizabeth the First said ascending the throne
at the beginning of her reign, thanking her god,
this is your doing and it is marvellous in our eyes.

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Cassandra Southwick

To the God of all sure mercies let my blessing rise today,
From the scoffer and the cruel He hath plucked the spoil away;
Yes, he who cooled the furnace around the faithful three,
And tamed the Chaldean lions, hath set His handmaid free!

Last night I saw the sunset melt though my prison bars,
Last night across my damp earth-floor fell the pale gleam of stars;
In the coldness and the darkness all through the long night-time,
My grated casement whitened with autumn's early rime.

Alone, in that dark sorrow, hour after hour crept by;
Star after star looked palely in and sank adown the sky;
No sound amid night's stillness, save that which seemed to be
The dull and heavy beating of the pulses of the sea;

All night I sat unsleeping, for I knew that on the morrow
The ruler said the cruel priest would mock me in my sorrow,
Dragged to their place of market, and bargained for and sold,
Like a lamb before the shambles, like a heifer from the fold!

Oh, the weakness of the flesh was there¯the shrinking and the shame;
And the low voice of the Tempter like whispers to me came,
'Why sit'st thou thus forlornly,' the wicked murmur said,
'Damp walls thy bower beauty, cold earth thy maiden bed?

'Where be the smiling faces, and voices soft and sweet,
Seen in thy father's dwelling, hoard in the pleasant street?
Where be the youths whose glances, the summer Sabbath through,
Turned tenderly and timidly unto thy father's pew?

'Why sit'st thou here, Cassandra? Bethink thee with what mirth
Thy happy schoolmates gather around the warm, dark hearth;
How the crimson shadows tremble on foreheads white and fair,
On eyes of merry girlhood, half hid in golden hair.

'Not for thee the hearth-fire brightens, not for thee kind words are spoken,
Not for thee the nuts of Wenham woods by laughing boys are broken;
No first-fruits of the orchard within thy lap are laid,
For thee no flowers of autumn the youthful hunters braid.

'O weak, deluded maiden!¯by crazy fancies led,
With wild and raving railers an evil path to tread;
To leave a wholesome worship, and teaching pure and sound,
And mate with maniac women, loose-haired and sackcloth-bound,

'And scoffers of the priesthood, who mock at things divine,
Who rail against thy pulpit, and holy bread and wine;
Bore from their cart-tail scourgings, and from the pillory lame,
Rejoicing in their wretchedness, and glorying in their shame.

'And what a fate awaits thee!¯a sadly toiling slave,
Dragging the slowly lengthening chain of bondage to the grave!
Think of thy woman's nature, subdued in hopeless thrall,
The easy prey of any, the scoff and scorn of all!'

Oh, ever as the Tempter spoke, and feecle Nature's fears
Wrung drop by drop the scalding flow of unavailing tears,
I wrestled down the evil thoughts, and strove in silent prayer
To feel, O Helper of the weak! that Thou indeed wert there!

I thought of Paul and Silas, within Philippi's call,
And how from Peter's sleeping limbs the prison shackles fell,
Till I seemed to hear the trailing of an Angel's robe of white,
And to feel a blessed presence invisible to sight.

Bless the Lord for all his mercies!¯for the peace and love I felt,
Like the dew of Hermon's holy hill, upon my spirit melt;
When 'Get behind me, Satan! ' was the language of my heart,
And I felt the Evil Tempter with all his doubts depart.

Slow broke the gray cold morning; again the sunshine fell,
Flocked with the shade of bar and grate within my lonely cell;
The hoar-frost melted on the wall, and upward from the street
Came careless laugh and idle word, and tread of passing feet.

At length the heavy bolts fell back, my door was open cast,
And slowly at the sheriff's side, up the long street I passed;
I heard the murmur round me, and felt, but dared not see,
How, from every door and window, the people gazed on me.

And doubt and fear fell on me, shame burned upon my cheek,
Swam earth and sky around me, my trembling limbs grew weak;
'Oh Lord, support thy handmaid, and from her soul cast out
The fear of men, which brings a snare, the weakness and the doubt.

Then the dreary shadows scattered, like a cloud in morning's breeze,
And a low deep voice within me seemed whispering words like these:
'Though thy earth be as the iron, and thy heaven a brazen wall,
Trust still His loving-kindness whose power is over all.'

We paused at length, where at my feet the sunlit waters broke
On glaring roach of shining beach, and shingly wall of rock;
The merchant-ships lay idle there, in hard clear lines on high,
Treeing with rope and slender spar their network on the sky.

And there were ancient citizens, cloak-wrapped and grave and cold,
And grim and stout sea-captains with faces bronzed and old,
And on his horse, with Rawson, his cruel clerk at hand,
Sat dark and haughty Endicott, the ruler of the land.

And poisoning with his evil words the ruler's ready ear,
The priest leaned over his saddle, with laugh and scoff and jeer;
It stirred my soul, and from my lips the soul of silence broke,
As if through woman's weakness a warning spirit spoke.

I cried 'The Lord rebuke thee, thou smiter of the meek,
Thou robber of the righteous, thou trampler of the weak!
Go light the cold, dark hearth-stones,¯go turn the prison lock
Of the poor hearts though hast hunted, thou wolf amid the flock!'

Dark lowered the brows of Endicott, and with a deeper red
O'er Rawson's wine-empurpled cheek the flash of anger spread;
'Good people, ' quoth the white-lipped priest, 'heed not her words so wild,
Her Master speaks within her¯ the Devil owns his child!'

But gray heads shook, and young brows knit, the while the sheriff read
That law the wicked rulers against the poor have made,
Who to their house of Rimmon and idol priesthood bring
No bonded knee of worship, nor gainful offering.

Then to the stout sea-captains the sheriff, turning, said¯
'Wish of ye, worthy seamen, will take this Quaker maid?
On the Isle of fair Barbados, or on Virginia's shore
You may hold her at a higher price than Indian girl or Moor!'

Grim and silent stood the captains; and when again he cried,
'Speak out my worthy seamen!' no voice, no sign replied;
But I felt a hard hand press my own, and kind words met my ear,¯
'God bless thee, and preserve thee, my gentle girl and dear!'

A weight seemed lifted from my heart, a pitying friend was nigh,
I felt it in his hard, rough hand, and saw it in his eye;
And when again the sheriff spoke, that voice, so kind to me,
Growled back its stormy answer like the roaring of the sea.

'Pile my ship with bars of silver, pack with coins of Spanish gold
From keel-piece up to deck-plank, the roomage of her hold,
By the living God that made me! I would sooner in your bay
Sink ship and crew and cargo, than bear this child away!'

'Well answered, worthy captain, shame on their cruel laws!'
Ran through the crowd in murmurs loud the people's just applause.
'Like the herdsmen of Tekoa, In Israel of old,
Shall we see the poor and righteous again for silver sold ?'

I looked on haughty Endicott; with weapon half-way drawn,
Swept around the throng his lion glare of bitter hate and scorn;
Fiercely he drew his bridle-rain, and turned in silence back,
And sneering priest and baffled clerk rode murmuring in his track.

Hard after them the sheriff looked, in bitterness of soul,
Thrice smote his staff upon the ground, and crushed his parchment-roll.
'Good friends,' he said, 'since both have fled, the ruler and the priest
Judge ye, if from their further work I be not well released.'

Loud was the cheer which, full and clear, swept round the silent bay,
As, with kind words and kinder looks, he bade me go my way;
For he who turns the courses of the streamlet of the glen,
And the river of great waters, had turned the hearts of men.

Oh, at that hour the very earth seemed changed beneath my eye,
A holier wonder round no rose the blue walls of the sky,
A lovelier light on rock and hill and stream and woodland lay,
And softer lapsed on sunnier sands the waters of the bay.

Thanksgiving to the Lord of life! To him all praises be,
Who from the hands of evil men hath set his handmaid free;
All praise to Him before whose power the mighty are afraid,
Who take the crafty in the snare which for the poor is laid!

Sing, O my soul, rejoicingly, on evening's twilight calm
Uplift the loud thanksgiving, pour forth the grateful psalm;
Let all dear hearts with me rejoice, as did the saints of old,
When of the Lord's good angel the rescued Peter told.

And weep and howl, ye evil priests and mighty men of wrong,
The lord shall smite the proud, and lay His hand upon the strong.
Woe to the wicked rulers in his avenging hour!
Woe to the wolves who seek the flocks to raven and devour!

But let the humble ones arise, the poor in heart be glad,
And let the mourning ones again with robes of praise be clad,
For he who cooled the furnace, and smoothed the stormy wave,
And tamed the Chaldean lions, is mighty still to save!

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Book Twelfth [Imagination And Taste, How Impaired And Restored ]

LONG time have human ignorance and guilt
Detained us, on what spectacles of woe
Compelled to look, and inwardly oppressed
With sorrow, disappointment, vexing thoughts,
Confusion of the judgment, zeal decayed,
And, lastly, utter loss of hope itself
And things to hope for! Not with these began
Our song, and not with these our song must end.
Ye motions of delight, that haunt the sides
Of the green hills; ye breezes and soft airs,
Whose subtle intercourse with breathing flowers,
Feelingly watched, might teach Man's haughty race
How without Injury to take, to give
Without offence; ye who, as if to show
The wondrous influence of power gently used,
Bend the complying heads of lordly pines,
And, with a touch, shift the stupendous clouds
Through the whole compass of the sky; ye brooks,
Muttering along the stones, a busy noise
By day, a quiet sound in silent night;
Ye waves, that out of the great deep steal forth
In a calm hour to kiss the pebbly shore,
Not mute, and then retire, fearing no storm;
And you, ye groves, whose ministry it is
To interpose the covert of your shades,
Even as a sleep, between the heart of man
And outward troubles, between man himself,
Not seldom, and his own uneasy heart:
Oh! that I had a music and a voice
Harmonious as your own, that I might tell
What ye have done for me. The morning shines,
Nor heedeth Man's perverseness; Spring returns,--
I saw the Spring return, and could rejoice,
In common with the children of her love,
Piping on boughs, or sporting on fresh fields,
Or boldly seeking pleasure nearer heaven
On wings that navigate cerulean skies.
So neither were complacency, nor peace,
Nor tender yearnings, wanting for my good
Through these distracted times; in Nature still
Glorying, I found a counterpoise in her,
Which, when the spirit of evil reached its height,
Maintained for me a secret happiness.

This narrative, my Friend! hath chiefly told
Of intellectual power, fostering love,
Dispensing truth, and, over men and things,
Where reason yet might hesitate, diffusing
Prophetic sympathies of genial faith:
So was I favoured--such my happy lot--
Until that natural graciousness of mind
Gave way to overpressure from the times
And their disastrous issues. What availed,
When spells forbade the voyager to land,
That fragrant notice of a pleasant shore
Wafted, at intervals, from many a bower
Of blissful gratitude and fearless love?
Dare I avow that wish was mine to see,
And hope that future times 'would' surely see,
The man to come, parted, as by a gulph,
From him who had been; that I could no more
Trust the elevation which had made me one
With the great family that still survives
To illuminate the abyss of ages past,
Sage, warrior, patriot, hero; for it seemed
That their best virtues were not free from taint
Of something false and weak, that could not stand
The open eye of Reason. Then I said,
'Go to the Poets, they will speak to thee
More perfectly of purer creatures;--yet
If reason be nobility in man,
Can aught be more ignoble than the man
Whom they delight in, blinded as he is
By prejudice, the miserable slave
Of low ambition or distempered love?'

In such strange passion, if I may once more
Review the past, I warred against myself--
A bigot to a new idolatry--
Like a cowled monk who hath forsworn the world,
Zealously laboured to cut off my heart
From all the sources of her former strength;
And as, by simple waving of a wand,
The wizard instantaneously dissolves
Palace or grove, even so could I unsoul
As readily by syllogistic words
Those mysteries of being which have made,
And shall continue evermore to make,
Of the whole human race one brotherhood.

What wonder, then, if, to a mind so far
Perverted, even the visible Universe
Fell under the dominion of a taste
Less spiritual, with microscopic view
Was scanned, as I had scanned the moral world?

O Soul of Nature! excellent and fair!
That didst rejoice with me, with whom I, too,
Rejoiced through early youth, before the winds
And roaring waters, and in lights and shades
That marched and countermarched about the hills
In glorious apparition, Powers on whom
I daily waited, now all eye and now
All ear; but never long without the heart
Employed, and man's unfolding intellect:
O Soul of Nature! that, by laws divine
Sustained and governed, still dost overflow
With an impassioned life, what feeble ones
Walk on this earth! how feeble have I been
When thou wert in thy strength! Nor this through stroke
Of human suffering, such as justifies
Remissness and inaptitude of mind,
But through presumption; even in pleasure pleased
Unworthily, disliking here, and there
Liking; by rules of mimic art transferred
To things above all art; but more,--for this,
Although a strong infection of the age,
Was never much my habit--giving way
To a comparison of scene with scene,
Bent overmuch on superficial things,
Pampering myself with meagre novelties
Of colour and proportion; to the moods
Of time and season, to the moral power,
The affections and the spirit of the place,
Insensible. Nor only did the love
Of sitting thus in judgment interrupt
My deeper feelings, but another cause,
More subtle and less easily explained,
That almost seems inherent in the creature,
A twofold frame of body and of mind.
I speak in recollection of a time
When the bodily eye, in every stage of life
The most despotic of our senses, gained
Such strength in 'me' as often held my mind
In absolute dominion. Gladly here,
Entering upon abstruser argument,
Could I endeavour to unfold the means
Which Nature studiously employs to thwart
This tyranny, summons all the senses each
To counteract the other, and themselves,
And makes them all, and the objects with which all
Are conversant, subservient in their turn
To the great ends of Liberty and Power.
But leave we this: enough that my delights
(Such as they were) were sought insatiably.
Vivid the transport, vivid though not profound;
I roamed from hill to hill, from rock to rock,
Still craving combinations of new forms,
New pleasure, wider empire for the sight,
Proud of her own endowments, and rejoiced
To lay the inner faculties asleep.
Amid the turns and counterturns, the strife
And various trials of our complex being,
As we grow up, such thraldom of that sense
Seems hard to shun. And yet I knew a maid,
A young enthusiast, who escaped these bonds;
Her eye was not the mistress of her heart;
Far less did rules prescribed by passive taste,
Or barren intermeddling subtleties,
Perplex her mind; but, wise as women are
When genial circumstance hath favoured them,
She welcomed what was given, and craved no more;
Whate'er the scene presented to her view
That was the best, to that she was attuned
By her benign simplicity of life,
And through a perfect happiness of soul,
Whose variegated feelings were in this
Sisters, that they were each some new delight.
Birds in the bower, and lambs in the green field,
Could they have known her, would have loved; methought
Her very presence such a sweetness breathed,
That flowers, and trees, and even the silent hills,
And everything she looked on, should have had
An intimation how she bore herself
Towards them and to all creatures. God delights
In such a being; for, her common thoughts
Are piety, her life is gratitude.

Even like this maid, before I was called forth
From the retirement of my native hills,
I loved whate'er I saw: nor lightly loved,
But most intensely; never dreamt of aught
More grand, more fair, more exquisitely framed
Than those few nooks to which my happy feet
Were limited. I had not at that time
Lived long enough, nor in the least survived
The first diviner influence of this world,
As it appears to unaccustomed eyes.
Worshipping them among the depth of things,
As piety ordained, could I submit
To measured admiration, or to aught
That should preclude humility and love?
I felt, observed, and pondered; did not judge,
Yea, never thought of judging; with the gift
Of all this glory filled and satisfied.
And afterwards, when through the gorgeous Alps
Roaming, I carried with me the same heart:
In truth, the degradation--howsoe'er
Induced, effect, in whatsoe'er degree,
Of custom that prepares a partial scale
In which the little oft outweighs the great;
Or any other cause that hath been named;
Or lastly, aggravated by the times
And their impassioned sounds, which well might make
The milder minstrelsies of rural scenes
Inaudible--was transient; I had known
Too forcibly, too early in my life,
Visitings of imaginative power
For this to last: I shook the habit off
Entirely and for ever, and again
In Nature's presence stood, as now I stand,
A sensitive being, a 'creative' soul.

There are in our existence spots of time,
That with distinct pre-eminence retain
A renovating virtue, whence--depressed
By false opinion and contentious thought,
Or aught of heavier or more deadly weight,
In trivial occupations, and the round
Of ordinary intercourse--our minds
Are nourished and invisibly repaired;
A virtue, by which pleasure is enhanced,
That penetrates, enables us to mount,
When high, more high, and lifts us up when fallen.
This efficacious spirit chiefly lurks
Among those passages of life that give
Profoundest knowledge to what point, and how,
The mind is lord and master--outward sense
The obedient servant of her will. Such moments
Are scattered everywhere, taking their date
From our first childhood. I remember well,
That once, while yet my inexperienced hand
Could scarcely hold a bridle, with proud hopes
I mounted, and we journeyed towards the hills:
An ancient servant of my father's house
Was with me, my encourager and guide:
We had not travelled long, ere some mischance
Disjoined me from my comrade; and, through fear
Dismounting, down the rough and stony moor
I led my horse, and, stumbling on, at length
Came to a bottom, where in former times
A murderer had been hung in iron chains.
The gibbet-mast had mouldered down, the bones
And iron case were gone; but on the turf,
Hard by, soon after that fell deed was wrought,
Some unknown hand had carved the murderer's name.
The monumental letters were inscribed
In times long past; but still, from year to year
By superstition of the neighbourhood,
The grass is cleared away, and to this hour
The characters are fresh and visible:
A casual glance had shown them, and I fled,
Faltering and faint, and ignorant of the road:
Then, reascending the bare common, saw
A naked pool that lay beneath the hills,
The beacon on the summit, and, more near,
A girl, who bore a pitcher on her head,
And seemed with difficult steps to force her way
Against the blowing wind. It was, in truth,
An ordinary sight; but I should need
Colours and words that are unknown to man,
To paint the visionary dreariness
Which, while I looked all round for my lost guide,
Invested moorland waste and naked pool,
The beacon crowning the lone eminence,
The female and her garments vexed and tossed
By the strong wind. When, in the blessed hours
Of early love, the loved one at my side,
I roamed, in daily presence of this scene,
Upon the naked pool and dreary crags,
And on the melancholy beacon, fell
A spirit of pleasure and youth's golden gleam;
And think ye not with radiance more sublime
For these remembrances, and for the power
They had left behind? So feeling comes in aid
Of feeling, and diversity of strength
Attends us, if but once we have been strong.
Oh! mystery of man, from what a depth
Proceed thy honours. I am lost, but see
In simple childhood something of the base
On which thy greatness stands; but this I feel,
That from thyself it comes, that thou must give,
Else never canst receive. The days gone by
Return upon me almost from the dawn
Of life: the hiding-places of man's power
Open; I would approach them, but they close.
I see by glimpses now; when age comes on,
May scarcely see at all; and I would give,
While yet we may, as far as words can give,
Substance and life to what I feel, enshrining,
Such is my hope, the spirit of the Past
For future restoration.--Yet another
Of these memorials:--
One Christmas-time,
On the glad eve of its dear holidays,
Feverish, and tired, and restless, I went forth
Into the fields, impatient for the sight
Of those led palfreys that should bear us home;
My brothers and myself. There rose a crag,
That, from the meeting-point of two highways
Ascending, overlooked them both, far stretched;
Thither, uncertain on which road to fix
My expectation, thither I repaired,
Scout-like, and gained the summit; 'twas a day
Tempestuous, dark, and wild, and on the grass
I sate half-sheltered by a naked wall;
Upon my right hand couched a single sheep,
Upon my left a blasted hawthorn stood;
With those companions at my side, I watched
Straining my eyes intensely, as the mist
Gave intermitting prospect of the copse
And plain beneath. Ere we to school returned,--
That dreary time,--ere we had been ten days
Sojourners in my father's house, he died;
And I and my three brothers, orphans then,
Followed his body to the grave. The event,
With all the sorrow that it brought, appeared
A chastisement; and when I called to mind
That day so lately past, when from the crag
I looked in such anxiety of hope;
With trite reflections of morality,
Yet in the deepest passion, I bowed low
To God, Who thus corrected my desires;
And, afterwards, the wind and sleety rain,
And all the business of the elements,
The single sheep, and the one blasted tree,
And the bleak music from that old stone wall,
The noise of wood and water, and the mist
That on the line of each of those two roads
Advanced in such indisputable shapes;
All these were kindred spectacles and sounds
To which I oft repaired, and thence would drink,
As at a fountain; and on winter nights,
Down to this very time, when storm and rain
Beat on my roof, or, haply, at noon-day,
While in a grove I walk, whose lofty trees,
Laden with summer's thickest foliage, rock
In a strong wind, some working of the spirit,
Some inward agitations thence are brought,
Whate'er their office, whether to beguile
Thoughts over busy in the course they took,
Or animate an hour of vacant ease.

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