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How much easier is it to be generous than just.

quote by Junius
Added by Lucian Velea
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Did You Pass or Fail?

Why is it easier to be arrogant?
Why is it easier to be cruel?
Why is it easier to be evil?
Why is it easier to hurt?
Why is it easier to an asshole?
Why is it easier to victimize?
Why is it easier to abuse?
Why is it easier to use?
Why is it easier to be greedy?
Why is it easier to be selfish?
Why is it easier to be self centered?
Why is it easier to steal?
Why is it easier to manipulate?
Why is it easier to lie?
My thoughts is it is a test to all man kind
Did you pass or fail?

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Fingal - Book V

ARGUMENT.

Cuthullin and Connal still remain on the hill. Fingal and Swaran meet: the combat is described. Swaran is overcome, bound, and delivered over as a prisoner to the care of Ossian, and Gaul, the son of Morni; Fingal, his younger sons and Oscar still pursue the enemy. The episode of Orla, a chief of Lochlin, who was mortally wounded in the battle, is introduced. Fingal, touched with the death of Orla, orders the pursuit to be discontinued; and calling his sons together, he is informed that Ryno, the youngest of them, was slain. He laments his death, hears the story of Lamderg and Gelchossa, and returns towards the place where he had left Swaran. Carril, who had been sent by Cuthullin to congratulate Fingal on his victory, comes in the mean time to Ossian. The conversation of the two poets closes the action of the fourth day.

On Cromla's resounding side Connal spoke to the chief of the noble car. Why that gloom, son of Semo? Our friends are the mighty in fight. Renowned art thou, O warrior! many were the deaths of thy steel. Often has Bragéla met, with blue-rolling eyes of joy: often has she met her hero returning in the midst of the valiant, when his sword was red with slaughter, when his foes were silent in the fields of the tomb. Pleasant to her ears were thy bards, when thy deeds, arose in song.

But behold the king of Morven! He moves, below, like a pillar of fire. His strength is like the stream of Lubar, or the wind of the echoing Cromla, when the branchy forests of night are torn from all their rocks. Happy are thy people, O Fingal! thine arm shall finish their wars. Thou art the first in their dangers: the wisest in the days of their peace. Thou speakest, and thy thousands obey: armies tremble at the sound of thy steel. Happy are thy people, O Fingal! king of resounding Selma. Who is that so dark and terrible coming in the thunder of his course? who but Starno's son, to meet the king of Morven? Behold the battle of the chiefs! it is the storm of the ocean, when two spirits meet far distant, and contend for the rolling of waves. The hunter hears the noise on his bill. He sees the high billows advancing to Ardven's shore.

Such were the words of Connal when the heroes met in fight. There was the clang of arms! there every blow, like the hundred hammers of the furnace! Terrible is the battle of the kings; dreadful the look of their eyes. Their dark-brown shields are cleft in twain. Their steel flies, broken, from their helms. They fling their weapons down. Each rushes to his hero's grasp; their sinewy arms bend round each other: they turn from side to side, and strain and stretch their large-spreading limbs below. But when the pride of their strength arose they shook the hill with their heels. Rocks tumble from their places on high; the green-headed bushes are overturned. At length the strength of Swaran fell; the king of the groves is bound. Thus have I seen on Cona; but Cona I behold no more! thus have I seen two dark hills removed from their place by the strength of their bursting stream. They turn from side to side in their fall; their tall oaks meet one another on high. Then they tumble together with all their rocks and trees. The streams are turned by their side. The red ruin is seen afar.

"Sons of distant Morven, "said Fingal, "guard the king of Lochlin. He is strong as his thousand waves. His hand is taught to war. His race is of the times of old. Gaul, thou first of my heroes; Ossian, king of songs attend. He is the friend of Agandecca; raise to joy his grief. But Oscar, Fillan, and Ryno, ye children of the race, pursue Lochlin over Lena, that no vessel may hereafter bound on the dark-rolling waves of Inistore."

They flew sudden across the heath. He slowly moved, like a cloud of thunder, when the sultry plain of summer is silent and dark. His sword is before him as a sunbeam; terrible as the streaming meteor of night. He came towards a chief of Lochlin. He spoke to the son of the wave. — "Who is that so dark and sad, at the rock of the roaring stream? He cannot bound over its course. How stately is the chief! His bossy shield is on his side; his spear like the tree f the desert. Youth of the dark-red hair, art thou of the foes of Fingal?"

"I am a son of Lochlin," he cries; "strong is my arm in war. My spouse is weeping at home. Orla shall never return!" "Or fights or yields the hero?" said Fingal of the noble deeds; "foes do not conquer in my presence: my friends are renowned in the hall. Son of the wave, follow me: partake the feast of my shells: pursue the deer of my desert: be thou the friend of Fingal." "No," said the hero: "I assist the feeble. My strength is with the weak in arms. My sword has been always unmatched, O warrior! let the king of Morven yield!" "I never yielded, Orla. Fingal never yielded to man. Draw thy sword, and choose thy foe. Many are my heroes!"

"Does then the king refuse the fight?" said Orla of the dark-brown shield. "Fingal is a match for Orla; and he alone of all his race! But, king of Morven, if I shall fall, as one time the warrior must die; raise my tomb in the midst: let it be the greatest on Lena. Send over the dark-blue wave, the sword of Orla to the spouse of his love, that she may show it to her son, with tears to kindle his soul to war." "Son of the mournful tale," said Fingal, "why dost thou awaken my tears! One day the warriors must die, and the children see their useless arms in the hall. But, Orla, thy tomb shall rise. Thy white-bosomed spouse shall weep over thy sword."

They fought on the heath of Lena. Feeble was the arm of Orla. The sword of Fingal descended, and cleft his shield in twain. It fell and glittered on the ground, as the moon on the ruffled stream. "King of Morven," said the hero, "lift thy sword and pierce my breast. Wounded and faint from battle, my friends have left me here. The mournful tale shall come to my love on the banks of the streamy Lota, when she is alone in the wood, and the rustling blast in the leaves!"

"No," said the king of Morven: "I will never wound thee, Orla. On the banks of Lota let her see thee, escaped from the hands of war. Let thy gray-haired father, who, perhaps, is blind with age, let him hear the sound of thy voice, and brighten within his hall. With joy let the hero rise, and search for the son with his hands!" "But never will he find him, Fingal," said the youth of the streamy Lota: "on Lena's heath I must die: foreign bards shall talk of me. My broad belt covers my wound of death. I give it to the wind!"

The dark blood poured from his side; he fell pale on the heath of Lena. Fingal bent over him as he died, and. called his younger chiefs. "Oscar and Fillan, my sons, raise high the memory of Orla. Here let the dark-haired hero rest, far from the spouse of his love. Here let him rest in his narrow house, far from the sound of Lota. The feeble will find his bow at home, but will not be able to bend it. His faithful dogs howl on his hills; his boars which he used to pursue, rejoice. Fallen is the arm of battle! the mighty among the valiant is low! Exalt the voice, and blow the horn, ye sons of the king of Morven! Let us go back to Swaran, to send the night away in song. Fillan, Oscar, and Ryno, fly over the heath of Lena. Where, Ryno, art thou, young son of fame? thou art not wont to be the last to answer thy father's voice!"

"Ryno," said Ullin, first of bards, "is with the awful forms of his fathers. With Trathal, king of shields; with Trenmor of mighty deeds. The youth is low, the youth is pale, he lies on Lena's heath!" "Fell the swiftest of the race," said the king, "the first to bend the bow? Thou scarce hast been known to me! Why did young Ryno fall? But sleep thou softly on Lena; Fingal shall soon behold thee. Soon shall my voice be heard no more, and my footsteps cease to be seen. The bards will tell of Fingal's name. The stones will talk of me. But, Ryno, thou art low, indeed: thou hast not received thy fame. Ullin, strike the harp for Ryno; tell what the chief would have been. Farewell, thou first in every field. No more shall I direct thy dart. Thou that hast been so fair! I behold thee not. Farewell." The tear is on the cheek of the king, for terrible was his son in war. His son that was like a beam of fire by night on a hill, when the forests sink down in its course, and the traveller trembles at the sound. But the winds drive it beyond the steep. It sinks from sight, and darkness prevails.

"Whose fame is in that dark-green tomb?" began the king of generous shells: "four stones with their heads of moss stand there. They mark the narrow house of death. Near it let Ryno rest. A neighbor to the brave let him lie. Some chief of fame is here, to fly with my son on clouds. O Ullin! raise the songs of old. Awake their memory in their tomb. If in the field they never fled, my son shall rest by their side. He shall rest, far distant from Morven, on Lena's resounding plains."

"Here," said the bard of song, "here rest the first of heroes. Silent is Lamderg in this place, dumb is Ullin, king of swords. And who, soft smiling from her cloud, shows me her face of love? Why, daughter, why so pale art thou, first of the maids of Cromla? Dost thou sleep with the foes in battle, white-bosomed daughter of Tuathal? Thou hast been the love of thousands, but Lamderg was thy love. He came to Tura's mossy towers, and striking his dark buckler, spoke: 'Where is Gelchossa, my love, the daughter of the noble Tuathal? I left her in the hall of Tura, when I fought with the great Ulfada. Return soon, O Lamderg! she said, for here I sit in grief. Her white breast rose with sighs. Her cheek was wet with tears. But I see her not coming to meet me to soothe my soul after war. Silent is the hull of my joy. I near not the voice of the bard. Bran does not shake his chains at the gate, glad at the coming of Lamderg. Where is Gelchossa, my love, the mild daughter of generous Tuathal?'

"'Lamderg,' says Ferchios, son of Aidon, 'Gelchossa moves stately on Cromla. She and the maids of the bow pursue the flying deer!' 'Ferchios!' replied the chief of Cromla, 'no noise meets the ear of Lamderg! No sound is in the woods of Lena. No deer fly in my sight. No panting dog pursues. I see not Gelchossa, my love, fair as the full moon setting on the hills.. Go, Ferchios, go to Allad, the gray-haired son of the rock. His dwelling is in the circle of stones He may know of the bright Gelchossa!'

"The son of Aidon went. He spoke to the ear of age. 'Allad, dweller of rocks, thou that tremblest alone, what saw thine eyes of age?' 'I saw,' answered Allad the old, 'Ullin the son of Cairbar. He came, in darkness, from Cromla. He hummed a surly song, like a blast in a leafless wood. He entered the hall of Tura. "Lamderg," he said, "most dreadful of men, fight or yield to Ullin." "Lamderg," replied Gelchossa, "the son of battle is not here. He fights Ulfada, mighty chief. He is not here, thou first of men! But Lamderg never yields. He will fight the son of Cairbar!" "Lovely thou," said terrible Ullin, "daughter of the generous Tuathal. I carry thee to Cairbar's halls. The valiant shall have Gelchossa. Three days I remain on Cromla, to wait that son of battle, Lamderg. On the fourth Gelchossa is mine, if the mighty Lamderg flies."'

"'Allad,' said the chief of Cromla, 'peace to thy dreams in the cave! Ferchios, sound the horn of Lamderg, that Ullin may hear in his halls.' Lamderg, like a roaring storm ascended the hill from Tura. He hummed a surly song as he went, like the noise of a falling stream. He darkly stood upon the hill, like a cloud varying its form to the wind. He rolled a stone, the sign of war. Ullin heard in Cairbar's hall. The hero heard, with joy, his foe. He took his father's spear. A smile brightens his dark-brown cheek, as he places his sword by his side. The dagger glittered in his hand, he whistled as he went.

"Gelchossa saw the silent chief, as a wreath of mist ascending the hill. She struck her white and heaving breast; and silent, tearful, feared for Lamderg. 'Cairbar, hoary chief of shells,' said the maid of the tender hand, 'I must bend the bow on Cromla. I see the dark-brown hinds.' She hasted up the hill. In vain the gloomy heroes fought. Why should I tell to Selma's king how wrathful heroes fight? Fierce Ullin fell. Young Lamderg came, all pale, to the daughter of generous Tuathal! 'What blood, my love;' she trembling said, 'what blood runs down my warrior's side?' ' It is Ullin's blood,' the chief replied, 'thou fairer than the snow! Gelchossa, let me rest here a little while.' The mighty Lamderg died! 'And sleepest thou so soon on earth, O chief of shady Tura?' Three days she mourned beside her love. The hunters found her cold. They raised this tomb above the three. Thy son, O king of Morven, may rest here with heroes!"

"And here my son shall rest," said Fingal. "The voice of their fame is in mine ears. Fillan and Fergus, bring hither Orla, the pale youth of the stream of Lota! not unequalled shall Ryno lie in earth, when Orla is by his side. Weep, ye daughters of Morven! ye maids of the streamy Lota, weep! Like a tree they grew on the hills. They have fallen like the oak of the desert, when it lies across a stream, and withers in the wind. Oscar, chief of every youth, thou seest how they have fallen. Be thou like them on earth renowned. Like them the song of bards. Terrible were their forms in battle; but calm was Ryno in the days of peace. He was like the bow of the shower seen far distant on the stream, when the sun is setting on Mora, when silence dwells on the hill of deer. Rest, youngest of my sons! rest, O Ryno! on Lena. We too shall be no more. Warriors one day must fall!"

Such was thy grief, thou king of swords, when Ryno lay on earth. What must the grief of Ossian be, for thou thyself art gone! I hear not thy distant voice on Cona. My eyes perceive thee not. Often forlorn and dark I sit at thy tomb, and feel it with my hands. When I think I hear thy voice, it is but the passing blast. Fingal has long since fallen asleep, the ruler of the war!

Then Gaul and Ossian sat with Swaran, on the soft green banks of Lubar. I touched the harp to please the king; but gloomy was his brow. He rolled his red eyes towards Lena. The hero mourned his host. I raised mine eyes to Cromla's brow. I saw the son of generous Semo. Sad and slow he retired from his hilt, towards the lonely cave of Tura. He saw Fingal victorious, and mixed his joy with grief. The sun is bright on his armor. Connal slowly strode behind. They sunk behind the hill, like two pillars of the fire of night, when winds pursue them over the mountain, and the flaming death resounds! Beside a stream of roaring foam his cave is in a rock. One tree bends above it. The rushing winds echo against its sides. Here rests the chief of Erin, the son of generous Semo. His thoughts are on the battles he lost. The tear is on his cheek. He mourned the departure of his fame, that fled like the mist of Cona. O Bragéla! thou art too far remote to cheer the soul of the hero. But let him see thy bright form in his mind, that his thoughts may return to the lonely sunbeam of his love!

Who comes with the locks of age? It is the son of songs. "Hail, Carril of other times! Thy voice is like the harp in the halls of Tura. Thy words are pleasant as the shower which falls on the sunny field. Carril of the times of old, why comest thou from the son of the generous Semo?"

"Ossian, king of swords," replied the bard, "thou best canst raise the song. Long hast thou been known to Carril, thou ruler of war! Often have I touched the harp to lovely Everallin. Thou too hast often joined my voice in Branno's hall of generous shells. And often, amidst our voices, was heard the mildest Everallin. One day she sung of Cormac's fall, the youth who died for her love. I saw the tears on her cheek, and on thine, thou chief of men. Her soul was touched for the unhappy, though she loved him not. How fair among a thousand maids was the daughter of generous Branno!"

[...] Read more

poem by James Macpherson
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The Golden Age

Long ere the Muse the strenuous chords had swept,
And the first lay as yet in silence slept,
A Time there was which since has stirred the lyre
To notes of wail and accents warm with fire;
Moved the soft Mantuan to his silvery strain,
And him who sobbed in pentametric pain;
To which the World, waxed desolate and old,
Fondly reverts, and calls the Age of Gold.

Then, without toil, by vale and mountain side,
Men found their few and simple wants supplied;
Plenty, like dew, dropped subtle from the air,
And Earth's fair gifts rose prodigal as prayer.
Love, with no charms except its own to lure,
Was swiftly answered by a love as pure.
No need for wealth; each glittering fruit and flower,
Each star, each streamlet, made the maiden's dower.
Far in the future lurked maternal throes,
And children blossomed painless as the rose.
No harrowing question `why,' no torturing `how,'
Bent the lithe frame or knit the youthful brow.
The growing mind had naught to seek or shun;
Like the plump fig it ripened in the sun.
From dawn to dark Man's life was steeped in joy,
And the gray sire was happy as the boy.
Nature with Man yet waged no troublous strife,
And Death was almost easier than Life.
Safe on its native mountains throve the oak,
Nor ever groaned 'neath greed's relentless stroke.
No fear of loss, no restlessness for more,
Drove the poor mariner from shore to shore.
No distant mines, by penury divined,
Made him the sport of fickle wave or wind.
Rich for secure, he checked each wish to roam,
And hugged the safe felicity of home.

Those days are long gone by; but who shall say
Why, like a dream, passed Saturn's Reign away?
Over its rise, its ruin, hangs a veil,
And naught remains except a Golden Tale.
Whether 'twas sin or hazard that dissolved
That happy scheme by kindly Gods evolved;
Whether Man fell by lucklessness or pride,-
Let jarring sects, and not the Muse, decide.
But when that cruel Fiat smote the earth,
Primeval Joy was poisoned at its birth.
In sorrow stole the infant from the womb,
The agëd crept in sorrow to the tomb.
The ground, so bounteous once, refused to bear
More than was wrung by sower, seed, and share.

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Austin
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It Was Easier To Hurt Him

(jerry ragavoy / bert russell)
I should have told him
That I needed him
When I had the chance
And now hes left me
And its all over
Goodbye romance
I should have told him then
Over and over again
That I love him
But, it was easier to hurt him, ooh
It was easier to hurt him, ooh
It was easier to hurt him
Thats what I thought
Was being so smart
The way I cheated him
And mistreated him
How could I forget?
I was so sure that he
Would always trust in me
Oh, that Id take a bet, no, no, no
Hed never say goodbye
But here all alone am i
He is gone now, ahh, cause
It was easier to hurt him
What could I do?
(it was) easier to hurt him
I should have known better
Thats what I thought
Was being so smart, oh, oh
It was easier to hurt him
I need him so bad
(it was) easier to hurt him
What did I do?
(it was) easier to hurt him
I should have known better
(it was) easier to hurt him
I need him so bad

song performed by Dusty Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
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See Yourself

Its easier to tell a lie than it is to tell the truth
Its easier to kill a fly than it is to turn it loose
Its easier to criticize somebody else
Than to see yourself
Its easier to give a sigh and be like all the rest
Who stand around and crucify you while you do your best
Its easier to see the books upon the shelf
Than to see yourself
Its easier to hurt someone and make them cry
Than it is to dry their eyes
I got tired of fooling around with other peoples lies
Rather Id find someone thats true
Its easier to say you wont than it is to feel you can
Its easier to drag your feet than it is to be a man
Its easier to look at someone eless wealth
Than to see yourself

song performed by George Harrison
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian

We Are Generous

Please the poor with some money and riches of high nature,
These people need love, full of loveliness, and we are generous.

To individuals of highest repute I look at their heads
And then their hearts and wait for the day to arrive with achiness, when are they generous?

I am not poor or anything to do with the poor who are poverty,
Hearts of theirs gain momentum, we merely pass our test that is gorgeous, for we are generous.

The spoken tongue carries society further, and those without money bring
Us more money, but bring them no poverty, and bring gracefulness, we are so generous.

The tailor needed cloth, the blacksmith needs his metal, and the accountant also needs,
What of those with the flame in Hell? Their heaven is not their greatness, but we are generous.

Money has no objection to the riches being found, to the oil being discovered,
But fun is in the very life where living is explored with incisiveness, we are so generous.

Then talk never today but mutter with huge meaning, and never sleep too long,
But meet your creator with a giving heart and the soul is incredulous, for it is generous.

May we be heartiness, sweetness, and merry-making with all this wealth
Understood by men, by the kings and queens of infallibleness, for they are all generous.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Easier To Run

Its easier to run
Replacing this pain with something long
Its so much easier to run
Replace all this pain here all alone
Something has been taken from deep inside of me
The secret Ive been locked away where one could never see
Look so different, never show,
They never go away
Like moving pictures in my head
? ?
[mikes part]
If I could change I would
Take all the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
If I could take all the shame and the pain I would
If I could change I would
Take all the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
I would take all the shame and the blame
Its easier to run replacing this pain with something long
Its so much easier to run
Replace all this pain here all alone
Some things I remember but thought the soul bypassed
Bringing back these memories I wish I didnt have
Sometimes I think Im letting go and never looking back
I never really thought so, I never realized?
[mikes part]
If I could change I would
Take all the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
If I could take all the shame and the pain I would
If I could change I would
Take all the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
I would take all the shame and the blame
Just watch it in the sun
All of the helplessness as ive
Pretending I dont feel misplaced
Its so much simpler to change
Its easier to run replacing this pain with something long
Its so much easier to run
Replace all this pain here all alone
Its easier to run
If I could change I would
Take all the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made

[...] Read more

song performed by Linkin Park
Added by Lucian Velea
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O-o-h Child

(1970) stan vincent
O-o-h child things are gonna get easier
O-o-h child things ll get brighter
O-o-h child things are gonna get easier
O-o-h child things ll get brighter
Someday well get it toghether and well get it undone
Someday when the world is much brighter
Someday well walk in the rays of a beautiful sun
Someday when the world is much lighter
O-o-h child things are gonna get easier
O-o-h child things ll get brighter
O-o-h child things are gonna get easier
O-o-h child things ll get brighter
Someday well get it toghether and well get it undone
Someday when the world is much brighter
Someday well walk in the rays of a beautiful sun
Someday when the world is much lighter
O-o-h child things are gonna get easier
O-o-h child things ll get brighter
O-o-h child things are gonna get easier
O-o-h child things ll get brighter
Someday well get it toghether and well get it undone
Someday when the world is much brighter
Someday well walk in the rays of a beautiful sun
Someday when the world is much lighter
O-o-h child things are gonna get easier
O-o-h child things ll get brighter
O-o-h child things are gonna get easier
O-o-h child things ll get brighter
Right now right now

song performed by Nina Simone
Added by Lucian Velea
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You Aint Got The Right

(locorriere/sawyer/haffkine)
You aint got the right to tell me Im not lonely
You dont understand what Ive been through
He had every right to do the wrong that he done to me
But that dont make it easier to lose
No that dont make it easier to lose
I woke up monday morning
With the feeling he was gone
And I turned to face an empty place and I realized
That I didnt smell no coffee and all his pretty clothes were gone
I cried the first of the many tears youll see me crying from now on
And you aint got the right to tell me Im not lonely
You dont understand what Ive been through
He had every right to do the wrong that he done to me
But that dont make it easier to lose
No that dont make it easier to lose
I know his list of lovers was just as long as mine
But the sometime friend of a natural woman is to settle down
But the one time ways of that man
Have done busted up my mind
Now hes out the door, hes got one more
On his list than I got on mine
And you aint got the right to tell me Im not lonely
You dont understand what Ive been through
He had every right to do the wrong that he done to me
But that dont make it easier to lose
No that dont make it easier to lose
Well, its gonna be a long time before I pass this way again
I been dragged through school and Ive learned the rules
And it seems to me
That a manll love to fool ya
And he wont always fool you nice
Yes he had his turn, I guess Ive learned
And no he aint gonna fool me twice
And you still aint got the right to tell me Im not lonely
You dont understand what Ive been through
He had every right to do the wrong that he done to me
But that dont make it easier to lose
No that dont make it easier to lose

song performed by Olivia Newton-John
Added by Lucian Velea
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Follow The Format

make a big scene
make this glass house my coffin
you missed the big picture
well its the words that youre coughing out on your sleeve
so forge my sins here in song
well i'm telling you now what youve known all along
and its tired, so true, more subtle than you
theres a lull in the stereo
its calling for you (calling for you)
its calling for you
well i'm a slave to my vices (its true)
theyve all been renamed as a crutch
so drag my name and my face through the mud
flattery can flatter me (flattery can flatter me)
showing just how vicious you could be
do what you came here to do (do what you came here to do)
trigger finger gets you pointed in the right direction
my new found discretion
its not a lie if you believe it
its no mistake if its always repeated
its not a lie if you believe it
its no mistake if its always repeated
shall we call it quits or just wait? (its not a lie if you believe it)
even, even if my last name rhymes with your rescue of hear say
do not say you know (its no mistake if its repeated)
call me out
its not a lie (its such a lie)
but I dont need to hear it from you
so whats another word for (i dont need to hear it from you)
whats another word for (dont need to hear it from you)
whats another word for (i dont need to hear it from you)
whats another word for (dont need to hear it from you)
it gets easier with doses of time (easier with doses of time)
easier with doses of time (easier with doses of time)
easier with doses of time (easier with doses of time)
easier with doses of time (easier with doses of time)
Show us just how vicious you could be

song performed by Taking Back Sunday
Added by Lucian Velea
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Difficulties with women

It’s difficult to dress a woman

According to her wish,

It’s easier to undress a woman

Against her wish.

It’s difficult to argue with a woman

Because she is always right,

It’s easier to agree with her

Without any fight.

It’s difficult to find the words

A woman would like to hear,

It’s easier to keep silent

If you want to be her dear.

It’s difficult to guess her mood

So that to be understood,

It’s easier to tell her a funny story

And once more to say: sorry.

It’s difficult to explain

How much you miss her

It’s easier to give her a kiss

For her to remember you and miss.

[...] Read more

poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Ninth Book

EVEN thus. I pause to write it out at length,
The letter of the Lady Waldemar.–

'I prayed your cousin Leigh to take you this,
He says he'll do it. After years of love,
Or what is called so,–when a woman frets
And fools upon one string of a man's name,
And fingers it for ever till it breaks,–
He may perhaps do for her such thing,
And she accept it without detriment
Although she should not love him any more
And I, who do not love him, nor love you,
Nor you, Aurora,–choose you shall repent
Your most ungracious letter, and confess,
Constrained by his convictions, (he's convinced)
You've wronged me foully. Are you made so ill,
You woman–to impute such ill to me?
We both had mothers,–lay in their bosom once.
Why, after all, I thank you, Aurora Leigh,
For proving to myself that there are things
I would not do, . . not for my life . . nor him . .
Though something I have somewhat overdone,–
For instance, when I went to see the gods
One morning, on Olympus, with a step
That shook the thunder in a certain cloud,
Committing myself vilely. Could I think,
The Muse I pulled my heart out from my breast
To soften, had herself a sort of heart,
And loved my mortal? He, at least, loved her;
I heard him say so; 'twas my recompence,
When, watching at his bedside fourteen days,
He broke out ever like a flame at whiles
Between the heats of fever . . . 'Is it thou?
'Breathe closer, sweetest mouth!' and when at last
The fever gone, the wasted face extinct
As if it irked him much to know me there,
He said, Twas kind, 'twas good, 'twas womanly,'
(And fifty praises to excuse one love)
'But was the picture safe he had ventured for?'
And then, half wandering . . 'I have loved her well,
Although she could not love me.'–'Say instead,'
I answered, 'that she loves you.'–'Twas my turn
To rave: (I would have married him so changed,
Although the world had jeered me properly
For taking up with Cupid at his worst,
The silver quiver worn off on his hair.)
'No, no,' he murmured, 'no, she loves me not;
'Aurora Leigh does better: bring her book
'And read it softly, Lady Waldemar,
'Until I thank your friendship more for that,

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Somme-France 1916, From A 15 Year Olds Perspective

They said welcome to the warzone kid,
Now run along and don't get killed,
War was easier said then done,
With shrapnel flying,
And your best mates dying
War was easier said then done,
We're disadvantaged, The Boche have Hill 60, that very important mound,
I wish i was at home, safe and sound,
War was easier said then done,
The trenches are dirty, cold and wet,
I can't take off my boots, in mud they're set,
War was easier said then done,
You never know if your next breath will be your last,
Use your legs, run and run fast,
War was easier said then done,
I've only been here for about one week,
I'm still alive, so i guess this is a winning streak?
War was easier said then done,
My bayonet is bloody and red,
I'm glad it's him and not me that is dead
War was easier said then done...

poem by Harrison Bishop
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Love and Honor

Sed neque Medorum silvae, ditissima terra
Nec pulcher Ganges, atque auro turbidus Haemus,
Laudibus Angligenum certent; non Bactra, nec Indi,
Totaque thuriferis Panchaia pinguis arenis.

Imitation.

Yet let not Median woods, (abundant track!)
Nor Ganges fair, nor Haemus, miser-like,
Proud of his hoarded gold, presume to vie
With Britain's boast and praise; nor Persian Bactra,
Nor India's coasts, nor all Panchaia's sands,
Rich, and exulting in their lofty towers.

____

Let the green olive glad Hesperian shores;
Her tawny citron, and her orange groves,
These let Iberia boast; but if in vain,
To win the stranger plant's diffusive smile,
The Briton labours, yet our native minds,
Our constant bosoms, these the dazzled world
May view with envy; these Iberian dames
Survey with fix'd esteem and fond desire.
Hapless Elvira! thy disastrous fate
May well this truth explain, nor ill adorn
The British lyre; then chiefly, if the Muse,
Nor vain, nor partial, from the simple guise
Of ancient record catch the pensive lay,
And in less grovelling accents give to Fame.
Elvira! loveliest maid! the Iberian realm
Could boast no purer breast, no sprightlier mind,
No race more splendent, and no form so fair.
Such was the chance of war, this peerless maid,
In life's luxuriant bloom, enrich'd the spoil
Of British victors, victory's noblest pride!
She, she alone, amid the wailful train
Of captive maids, assign'd to Henry's care,
Lord of her life, her fortune, and her fame!
He, generous youth! with no penurious hand,
The tedious moments, that unjoyous roll
Where Freedom's cheerful radiance shines no more,
Essay'd to soften; conscious of the pang
That Beauty feels, to waste its fleeting hours
In some dim fort, by foreign rule restrain'd,
Far from the haunts of men, or eye of day!
Sometimes, to cheat her bosom of its cares,
Her kind protector number'd o'er the toils
Himself had worn; the frowns of angry seas,
Or hostile rage, or faithless friend, more fell

[...] Read more

poem by William Shenstone
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She Left On A Monday

She left on a Monday
She's a siren down the road
In your herringbone overcoat
That you don't expect to get back

And it's an ordinary sky
Today's like any other day
When all of the aeroplanes
Write her name in the clouds

And nothing's wrong
But it's already Sunday
And you know just how Sunday
Was the day that she would come around?

Go to her foolish man
What's the use of having pride if you don't have her?
She'll endure all she can
But you could make this easier on her

It's all like sinking
You're trying to stay afloat
Like a wind blown paper boat
Over uncharted sea

There's no question why
You're driving to kill some time
Racing the power lines
Back into town

Go to her foolish man
What's the use of having pride if you don't have her?
She'll endure all she can
But you could make this easier on her

Go to her foolish man
What's the use of having pride if you don't have her?
She'll endure all she can
But you could make this easier on her
Make this easier on her
Make this easier on her
Make this easier on her

song performed by Bic Runga from Beautiful Collision
Added by Lucian Velea
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Rear View Mirror

Uh Yeah
A Keys
Rear View
Uh Oh Uh Oh
Uh Oh Uh Oh
AK 2000
Oh Uh Oh
It happened quickly
All of a sudden
I was caught up with another man
Who wanted
To be closer
But now
I know better and I'm
Hoping
We Can
Start Again
I know that there's nothing for me what I have done
So
Let me show how deep my love goes
For you
Cos you'll really live and learn and that's how you find out who is true
And I found out that you were the one
I was deceived
Baby please forgive me
Don't know what we had to change
It's easier for us to get further
Don't look in the rear view mirror
Now that we are
Back again together
I want to show you
How I'm made from heaven
I'll do my best to shower
You with a bit of 'tention
Don't ever have to mention
This song if it ends
I know that there's nothing for me what I have done
So
Let me show how deep my love goes
For you
Cuz you'll really live and learn and that's how you find out who is true
And I found out that you were the one
I was deceived
Baby please forgive me
Don't know what we had to change
It's easier for us to get further
Don't look in the rear view mirror
I can't change what I had done before
But now I know that you love me so much more
Than anything that had ever come my way

[...] Read more

song performed by Alicia Keys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Idea Track

Dear Hugh Miller
Ive thought it through for a while but it doesnt get any easier
And three months on in this bad design wont make it feel any easier
Your grave, its your grave
Dear Hugh Miller
Its four months now from when we started and nothing feels much easier.
I sit and stare in a cork tiled room and it doesnt get much easier.
Your grave, its your grave
Pretend it works a while, its transmitted live
Pretend it works a while (you dont try)
Pretend it works a while, its transmitted live
Pretend it works a while (dont try)
Dear Hugh Miller,
its four months now from when we started and nothing feels much easier.
I sit and stare in a cork tiled room and it doesnt get much easier.
Your grave, its your grave
Pretend it works a while, its transmitted live
Pretend it works a while (you dont try)
Pretend it works a while, its transmitted live
Pretend it works a while (dont try)
Your grave, its your grave
Pretend it works a while, its transmitted live
Pretend it works a while (you dont try)
Pretend it works a while, its transmitted live
Pretend it works a while (dont try)
I dont care if I dont have an idea track, its an idea track, its an idea
I dont care if I dont have an idea track, its an idea track, its an idea
Your grave, its your grave.

song performed by Idlewild
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet- Which Is Easier?

Which is easier, to shave off your face-hair
Or to maintain a long and flowing beard?
Which is easier, to cycle like a hare,
Or to trudge your way uphill with the herd?

Which is easier, to float the logs downstream,
Or to tusk them one by one to the mill?
Which is easier, to shoot lion in dream,
Or to fight it in its den and to kil1?

Which is easier, to break a whole mountain,
Or to make it crumble into small stones?
Which is easier, to set a lit fountain,
Or to produce a grave of human bones?
Unnatural things are quite easy to do,
Natural ones sometimes, impossible too.

poem by John Celes
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Which is easier?

Which is easier, to shave off your face-hair
Or to maintain a long and flowing beard?
Which is easier, to cycle like a hare,
Or to trudge your way uphill with the herd?

Which is easier, to float the logs downstream,
Or to tusk them one by one to the mill?
Which is easier, to shoot lion in dream,
Or to fight it in its den and to kil1?

Which is easier, to break a whole mountain,
Or to make it crumble into small stones?
Which is easier, to set a lit fountain,
Or to produce a grave of human bones?
Unnatural things are quite easy to do,
Natural ones sometimes, impossible too.

poem by John Celes
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Second Book

TIMES followed one another. Came a morn
I stood upon the brink of twenty years,
And looked before and after, as I stood
Woman and artist,–either incomplete,
Both credulous of completion. There I held
The whole creation in my little cup,
And smiled with thirsty lips before I drank,
'Good health to you and me, sweet neighbour mine
And all these peoples.'
I was glad, that day;
The June was in me, with its multitudes
Of nightingales all singing in the dark,
And rosebuds reddening where the calyx split.
I felt so young, so strong, so sure of God!
So glad, I could not choose be very wise!
And, old at twenty, was inclined to pull
My childhood backward in a childish jest
To see the face of't once more, and farewell!
In which fantastic mood I bounded forth
At early morning,–would not wait so long
As even to snatch my bonnet by the strings,
But, brushing a green trail across the lawn
With my gown in the dew, took will and way
Among the acacias of the shrubberies,
To fly my fancies in the open air
And keep my birthday, till my aunt awoke
To stop good dreams. Meanwhile I murmured on,
As honeyed bees keep humming to themselves;
'The worthiest poets have remained uncrowned
Till death has bleached their foreheads to the bone,
And so with me it must be, unless I prove
Unworthy of the grand adversity,–
And certainly I would not fail so much.
What, therefore, if I crown myself to-day
In sport, not pride, to learn the feel of it,
Before my brows be numb as Dante's own
To all the tender pricking of such leaves?
Such leaves? what leaves?'
I pulled the branches down,
To choose from.
'Not the bay! I choose no bay;
The fates deny us if we are overbold:
Nor myrtle–which means chiefly love; and love
Is something awful which one dare not touch
So early o' mornings. This verbena strains
The point of passionate fragrance; and hard by,
This guelder rose, at far too slight a beck
Of the wind, will toss about her flower-apples.
Ah–there's my choice,–that ivy on the wall,
That headlong ivy! not a leaf will grow

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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