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I never find sincerity offensive... so, be sincere.

quote by Christopher Meloni
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sincerity

(l. stansfield/i. devaney/ a. morris)
Spoken:
People say they care, but when it come down to it
Do they have what Im singing for
Lets sing it for
Sincerity
Sincerity
People, rushin round in their lonely lives
Theyd like to care for others, but frankly,
They dont have the time
cause theyre always doin the things
They have to do so theyll be alright
Their always lookin out for their own side
People think theyve got priorities right
Chorus:
Sincerity
The road we need to travel for a better way of life
Sincerity
An attitude we need to take if we want to survive
Come on give me (come on) sincerity
Come on give me (come on) sincerity
Heartaches, everybody now and then
Theyre cryin out for others,
To listen to them like a friend
But were always sayin we dont have the time
But we really sympathize, maybe another time
Dont think about tomorrow
Do it while youve got the chance
Chorus
Come on give me (come on) sincerity
Come on give me (come on) sincerity
But were always sayin we dont have the time
We really sympathize, well, maybe another time
Dont think about tomorrow
Do it while youve got the chance
Chorus

song performed by Lisa Stansfield
Added by Lucian Velea
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When in history, stories and poems I read (Sonnet Corona)

(after William Shakespeare)

I

When in history, stories and poems I read
about the greatest, the most fair persons
with the remarkable lives they did lead,
of knights guarding ladies for some reasons

then in you my lovely darling princess,
I see in everything, even your brow
more beauty than pens of old did express
and in the lovely looks that are yours now

is such exceeding glorious, awesome grace,
that all declarations prefigure you
up to this very moment in time and space,
are just substitutes trying to hold true,

to you the world is waiting as if ready,
arise - walk into my arms, my lady.

II

Arise - walk into my arms, my lady,
rise up my beloved true companion
the hot bright summer sun is already
falling with a love filled emotion

on the pure white leaves of the lilies,
the finches are already twittering
the wind is passing quick like young fillies
and outside the entire world is stirring.

Rise up my sweetest white lovely rose
and awake to the blessed bright morning,
arise from you tranquil kind of repose
and experience the greatness of spring,

of everything that’s good, great and living,
hear the joyous songs, the alluring feeling.

III

Hear the joyous songs, the alluring feeling,
from what is held as a true loveliness,
others have just some features been stealing;
your looks, grace, personality do not digress.

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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Where The River Flows

Music : rudolf schenker
Lyrics: klaus meine
Under suburban skies
Where life is bleeding
Where concrete skies are grey
Theres plenty of room for dreaming
I still keep coming here
Follow those traces
I travel back in time
Remember all those places
Feels like I never left
The houses still standing
Down by the river where
The dreams are never ending
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows
Under the silent moon
This industrial city
Is heartland even though
Lifes been not that pretty
I still keep coming here
To that old river
To find my roots just where
The future lives forever
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me, you can find me
By the river where dreams will never die
By the river under suburban skies
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows
By the river where dreams have never died
By the river I look through childrens eyes
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows

[...] Read more

song performed by Scorpions
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Battle of Cuito Cuanavale

I. Outnumbered by armour (A reply to William Shakespeare)

Outnumbered by armour
and by men we met the enemy,
FAPLA and Cubans under Russian leadership
and the men accompanying me
was very worried
and wished for the whole
of the seventh armoured division
to have been deployed.

I said to the men
in the armoured car with me
that if we must die here in vain,
the fewer men it be
but if we grasp the victory
the world will know
that we are brave and honourable men
capable of destroying whatever faces us.

Weary I told them that our ancestors
faced a outnumbering enemy
against Dingaan and won effectively
as they were in the hand of God
and so were we.

Colonel Deon Ferreira send us straight in,
from Rundu
(heading north-west after crossing the border)
to intercept the 47th enemy FAPLA / Cuban (armoured) brigade.

At the same time UNITA were repulsing
the16th FAPLA (infantry) brigade
north of the Lomba River
that was trying to take Cunjamba.

We were hitting hard directly from the south,
surprising the 47th enemy (armoured) Brigade,
virtually destroying it
at the junction
of the Lomba and Cuzizi Rivers

fighting with armoured cars
against tanks
hitting fast and then driving away at speed,
like on commando our ancestors did
during the Anglo Boer war
fighting day and night
till the field, the air was filled with gore

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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Giving In

Giving in may,
Not be a benefit.
Giving in may,
Just be an excuse to quit.
Giving in may,
Not be the end of it
If,
What is done to another is offensive.

Giving in may,
Not be a benefit.
Giving in may,
Just be an excuse to quit.
And giving in may,
Not be the end of it.
If,
What is done to another is offensive.

Saying what is wrong to one,
May not be the right thing.
Especially if the other is a lover.
Who believes what is done,
Is okay and approved.
With an acceptance expected,
To be received as cool.

Giving in may,
Not be a benefit.
Giving in may,
Just be an excuse to quit.
And giving in may,
Not be the end of it.
If,
What is done is offensive.
And it is said and admitted.

Giving in may,
Not be a benefit.
Giving in may,
Just be an excuse to quit.
Giving in may,
Not be the end of it.
If,
What is done is offensive.
And an argument begins,
That is unended.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Task: Book II. -- The Time-Piece

Oh for a lodge in some vast wilderness,
Some boundless contiguity of shade,
Where rumour of oppression and deceit,
Of unsuccessful or successful war
Might never reach me more! My ear is pained,
My soul is sick with every day's report
Of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled.
There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart,
It does not feel for man. The natural bond
Of brotherhood is severed as the flax
That falls asunder at the touch of fire.
He finds his fellow guilty of a skin
Not coloured like his own, and having power
To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause
Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey.
Lands intersected by a narrow frith
Abhor each other. Mountains interposed,
Make enemies of nations who had else
Like kindred drops been mingled into one.
Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys;
And worse than all, and most to be deplored
As human nature's broadest, foulest blot,
Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat
With stripes, that mercy with a bleeding heart
Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast.
Then what is man? And what man seeing this,
And having human feelings, does not blush
And hang his head, to think himself a man?
I would not have a slave to till my ground,
To carry me, to fan me while I sleep,
And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth
That sinews bought and sold have ever earned.
No: dear as freedom is, and in my heart's
Just estimation prized above all price,
I had much rather be myself the slave
And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him.
We have no slaves at home. - Then why abroad?
And they themselves, once ferried o'er the wave
That parts us, are emancipate and loosed.
Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs
Receive our air, that moment they are free,
They touch our country and their shackles fall.
That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud
And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then,
And let it circulate through every vein
Of all your empire! that where Britain's power
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.

Sure there is need of social intercourse,
Benevolence and peace and mutual aid

[...] Read more

poem by William Cowper
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Are You Sincere

(words & music by wayne walker)
Are you sincere when you say I love you
Are you sincere when you say you love me too
Oh and are you really mine every day, all the time
Ive gotta know which way to go
Will our love grow, are you sincere
Are you sincere when you say I love you
Honey, are you sincere when you say you love me too
And are you really mine every day, all the time
Ive gotta know which way to go
Will our love grow, are you sincere

song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Panegyric Of The Dean In The Person Of A Lady In The North

Resolved my gratitude to show,
Thrice reverend Dean, for all I owe,
Too long I have my thanks delay'd;
Your favours left too long unpaid;
But now, in all our sex's name,
My artless Muse shall sing your fame.
Indulgent you to female kind,
To all their weaker sides are blind:
Nine more such champions as the Dean
Would soon restore our ancient reign;
How well to win the ladies' hearts,
You celebrate their wit and parts!
How have I felt my spirits raised,
By you so oft, so highly praised!
Transform'd by your convincing tongue
To witty, beautiful, and young,
I hope to quit that awkward shame,
Affected by each vulgar dame,
To modesty a weak pretence;
And soon grow pert on men of sense;
To show my face with scornful air;
Let others match it if they dare.
Impatient to be out of debt,
O, may I never once forget
The bard who humbly deigns to chuse
Me for the subject of his Muse!
Behind my back, before my nose,
He sounds my praise in verse and prose.
My heart with emulation burns,
To make you suitable returns;
My gratitude the world shall know;
And see, the printer's boy below;
Ye hawkers all, your voices lift;
'A Panegyric on Dean Swift!'
And then, to mend the matter still,
'By Lady Anne of Market-Hill!'
I thus begin: My grateful Muse
Salutes the Dean in different views;
Dean, butler, usher, jester, tutor;
Robert and Darby's coadjutor;
And, as you in commission sit,
To rule the dairy next to Kit;
In each capacity I mean
To sing your praise. And first as Dean:
Envy must own, you understand your
Precedence, and support your grandeur:
Nor of your rank will bate an ace,
Except to give Dean Daniel place.
In you such dignity appears,
So suited to your state and years!

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Swift
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Find Your Way Back

You know its been a long long road
Since I packed up and left on my own
And I can carry a heavy load
Just try n get back to her heart
I sure aint got no home
I seem to find love where I ramble
And when its time to go
I hear that voice again, say n
Chorus:
Find your way back
Find your way back to her heart
Find your way back
Find your way back to her heart
Leave a message with the rain
You can find me where the wind blows
The snow across the pain
And the frost upon the heart
You got no place to be
Still you wonder where youre goin
And why I had to leave
I hear a voice and it says to me
Find your way back
Find your way back to her heart
Find your way back
Find your way back to her heart
To her heart, cmon
I know its too late now
But I wish I could go back in time
And start all over somehow
And get it right from the start
Find your way back
Find your way back to her heart
Find your way back
Find your way back to her heart
Find your way back (find your way back) find your way back
Find your way back (find your way back) find your way back
Find your way back (find your way back) find your way back
Find your way back (find your way back) find your way back...

song performed by Starship
Added by Lucian Velea
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Find Your Way Back

You know its been a long long road
Since I packed up and left on my own
And I can carry a heavy load
Just try n get back to her heart
I sure aint got no home
I seem to find love where I ramble
And when its time to go
I hear that voice again, say n
Chorus:
Find your way back
Find your way back to her heart
Find your way back
Find your way back to her heart
Leave a message with the rain
You can find me where the wind blows
The snow across the pain
And the frost upon the heart
You got no place to be
Still you wonder where youre goin
And why I had to leave
I hear a voice and it says to me
Find your way back
Find your way back to her heart
Find your way back
Find your way back to her heart
To her heart, cmon
I know its too late now
But I wish I could go back in time
And start all over somehow
And get it right from the start
Find your way back
Find your way back to her heart
Find your way back
Find your way back to her heart
Find your way back (find your way back) find your way back
Find your way back (find your way back) find your way back
Find your way back (find your way back) find your way back
Find your way back (find your way back) find your way back...

song performed by Starship
Added by Lucian Velea
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VII. Pompilia

I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.

All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.

Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Solomon

As thro' the Psalms from theme to theme I chang'd,
Methinks like Eve in Paradice I rang'd;
And ev'ry grace of song I seem'd to see,
As the gay pride of ev'ry season, she.
She gently treading all the walks around,
Admir'd the springing beauties of the ground,
The lilly glist'ring with the morning dew,
The rose in red, the violet in blew,
The pink in pale, the bells in purple rows,
And tulips colour'd in a thousand shows:
Then here and there perhaps she pull'd a flow'r
To strew with moss, and paint her leafy bow'r;
And here and there, like her I went along,
Chose a bright strain, and bid it deck my song.

But now the sacred Singer leaves mine eye,
Crown'd as he was, I think he mounts on high;
Ere this Devotion bore his heav'nly psalms,
And now himself bears up his harp and palms.
Go, saint triumphant, leave the changing sight,
So fitted out, you suit the realms of light;
But let thy glorious robe at parting go,
Those realms have robes of more effulgent show;
It flies, it falls, the flutt'ring silk I see,
Thy son has caught it and he sings like thee,
With such election of a theme divine,
And such sweet grace, as conquers all but thine.

Hence, ev'ry writer o'er the fabled streams,
Where frolick fancies sport with idle dreams,
Or round the sight enchanted clouds dispose,
Whence wanton cupids shoot with gilded bows;
A nobler writer, strains more brightly wrought,
Themes more exulted, fill my wond'ring thought:
The parted skies are track'd with flames above,
As love descends to meet ascending love;
The seasons flourish where the spouses meet,
And earth in gardens spreads beneath their feet.
This fresh-bloom prospect in the bosom throngs,
When Solomon begins his song of songs,
Bids the rap'd soul to Lebanon repair,
And lays the scenes of all his action there,
Where as he wrote, and from the bow'r survey'd
The scenting groves, or answ'ring knots he made,
His sacred art the sights of nature brings,
Beyond their use, to figure heav'nly things.

Great son of God! whose gospel pleas'd to throw
Round thy rich glory, veils of earthly show,
Who made the vineyard oft thy church design,

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Parnell
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Tale XIII

JESSE AND COLIN.

A Vicar died and left his Daughter poor -
It hurt her not, she was not rich before:
Her humble share of worldly goods she sold,
Paid every debt, and then her fortune told;
And found, with youth and beauty, hope and health,
Two hundred guineas was her worldly wealth;
It then remain'd to choose her path in life,
And first, said Jesse, 'Shall I be a wife? -
Colin is mild and civil, kind and just,
I know his love, his temper I can trust;
But small his farm, it asks perpetual care,
And we must toil as well as trouble share:
True, he was taught in all the gentle arts
That raise the soul and soften human hearts;
And boasts a parent, who deserves to shine
In higher class, and I could wish her mine;
Nor wants he will his station to improve,
A just ambition waked by faithful love;
Still is he poor--and here my Father's Friend
Deigns for his Daughter, as her own, to send:
A worthy lady, who it seems has known
A world of griefs and troubles of her own:
I was an infant when she came a guest
Beneath my father's humble roof to rest;
Her kindred all unfeeling, vast her woes,
Such her complaint, and there she found repose;
Enrich'd by fortune, now she nobly lives,
And nobly, from the bless'd abundance, gives;
The grief, the want, of human life she knows,
And comfort there and here relief bestows:
But are they not dependants?--Foolish pride!
Am I not honour'd by such friend and guide?
Have I a home' (here Jesse dropp'd a tear),
'Or friend beside?'--A faithful friend was near.
Now Colin came, at length resolved to lay
His heart before her, and to urge her stay:
True, his own plough the gentle Colin drove,
An humble farmer with aspiring love;
Who, urged by passion, never dared till now,
Thus urged by fears, his trembling hopes avow:
Her father's glebe he managed; every year
The grateful Vicar held the youth more dear;
He saw indeed the prize in Colin's view,
And wish'd his Jesse with a man so true:
Timid as true, he urged with anxious air
His tender hope, and made the trembling prayer,
When Jesse saw, nor could with coldness see,
Such fond respect, such tried sincerity;

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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Superlative Story

Superlative Story

I Syntaxical Sequence

II Strange Stanza Succession Starts

III Scenario Synopsis

IV Sensuality, sense, sensibility,

V Substitute Spousal Suggestions

VI Seesaw Simplicity: Seraglio Simularities Spurned

VII Solution

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I SYNTAXICAL SEQUENCE

Special scansion ‘S’ syllabic
specious solicisms scraps,
solo solving sounds strabismic,
syllogistic systole scraps.
Syllables spring, shuffle, scuttle,
skittle syntax, scintillate
syntonically sans snuffle, shuttle –
synonyms shake sides, spine straight.

Stanza stanza swift succeeding
senses sweeps, song swifter swims,
succulent succession seeding
substitutions, surface skims.
Scrupulous semantics subtle
switchback spiral, summarize,
seek solutions smart, scrolled, supple,
solve set spectrum's smallish size.

Synonymous synchronising
sympathetic symphony
scores - Socratic symbolizing –
swivelling sonority.
Scansion salvo salvo scansion
strong succeeds, succeeding sends
successors streamlined sampling surging –
sanction seems so slight, scourge spends.

Systematic symbol spreading
'sses something sacred, seeks, -

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Yesterday When I Was Mad (Hot Tracks)

Darling, you were wonderful, you really were quite good
I enjoyed that, though, of course, no one understood
A word of what was going on, they didn't have a clue
They couldn't understand your sense of humour like I do
You're much too kind
I smiled with murder on my mind
Yesterday, when I was mad
And quite prepared to give up everything
Admitting, I don't believe
In anyone's sincerity, and that's what's really got to me
You have a certain quality, which really is unique
Expressionless, such irony, although your voice is weak
It doesn't really matter 'cause the music is so loud
Of course it's all on tape, but no one will find out
You hated me too
But not as much as I hated you
Yesterday, when I was mad
And quite prepared to give up everything
Admitting, I don't believe
In anyone's sincerity, and that's what's really got to me
Then, when I was lonely
I thought again
And changed my mind
Then we posed for pictures with the competition winners
And argued about the hotel rooms, and where to go for dinner
And someone said: "It's fabulous you're still around today,
You've both made such a little go a very long way"
Yesterday, when I was mad
And quite prepared to give up everything
Admitting, I don't believe
In anyone's sincerity, and that's what's really got to me
Yesterday, when I was mad
And quite prepared to give up everything
Admitting, I don't believe
In anyone's sincerity, and that's what's really got to me
Then, when I was lonely
I thought again
And changed my mind

song performed by Pet Shop Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sincerity Prayer

Hours rush by
But the day no end
Darkness swift in
But nights not goin'
Remember this call of sincerity

Whatever it is in heaven
We call 'pon thee Lord
Give us way, and of righteous
Subtlety bind us to thine road

Chariots of bloody fame
Behind the silhouettes
Of merciless vampires
Rush past.
Remember this cry of sincerity

Whatever it is in heaven
We call 'pon thee Lord
Give us way, and of righteous
Subtlety bind us to thine road

Swords dripping with red
Hot blood held
Behind the name of Holly
In white garments in no shame
Remember this beg of sincerity

Whatever it is in heaven
We call 'pon thee Lord
Give us way, and of righteous
Subtlety bind us to thine road

Wondering in wilderness
Shivering in the night deserts
Stranded in wavy beaches
But no place to take the cry?
Remember this prayer of sincerity

Whatever it is in heaven
We call 'pon thee Lord
Give us way, and of righteous
Subtlety bind us to thine road

poem by Buyunde Acura Sylivester
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Love Me (Villanelle)

Love me with sincerity,
with the true feelings in your heart
in times of loss and of prosperity

while our influence linger into posterity
and may our lives never part.
Love me with t sincerity,

as if our words and deeds are more than surety
in truthfulness that is something of an art
in times of loss and of prosperity

and when we are old without any dexterity
may our feelings then last and never depart.
Love me with sincerity

that brings feelings to a kind of clarity,
that daily anew does start
in times of loss and of prosperity.

and may we constantly act in solidarity
as if nothing our affections can thwart.
Love me with sincerity,
in times of loss and of prosperity.

poem by Gert Strydom
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People Have Done This To Themselves

I miss sincerity.
And my friends and family members,
That shared theirs with me...
Who have moved on to other 'realms'.

I miss sincerity.
Too many today are so dishonest.
When someone opens their mouth,
My first reaction is to disbelieve.

People have done this to themselves.

Not to treasure one's integrity,
Is a sign an identity is lost.
And nothing is valued but delusion.

People have done this to themselves.

To express disrespect and receive it,
As if expected...
Is a quality of life lived not uplifted but diminished.

I miss sincerity.
And my friends and family members,
That shared theirs with me...
Who have moved on to other 'realms' of 'this' experience.

I miss sincerity.
Too many today are so dishonest.
When someone opens their mouth,
My first reaction is to disbelieve,
Not one word but every word said.

People have done this to themselves.

To express disrespect and receive it,
As if expected...
Is a quality of life lived not uplifted but diminished.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Song

I told my nymph, I told her true,
My fields were small, my flocks were few,
While faltering accents spoke my fear,
That Flavia might not prove sincere.

Of crops destroyed by vernal cold,
And vagrant sheep that left my fold;
Of these she heard, yet bore to hear;
And is not Flavia then sincere?

How, chang'd by fortune's fickle wind,
The friends I loved became unkind;
She heard, and shed a generous tear;
And is not Flavia then sincere?

How, if she deign'd my love to bless,
My Flavia must not hope for fress;
This, too, she heard, and smiled to hear;
And Flavia, sure, must be sincere.

Go shear your flocks, ye jovial swains;
Go reap the plenty of your plains;
Despoiled of all which you revere,
I know my Flavia's love sincere.

poem by William Shenstone
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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