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Let my enemies devour each other.

quote by Salvador Dali
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Samson Agonistes (excerpts)

[Samson's Opening Speech]
A little onward lend thy guiding hand
To these dark steps, a little further on;
For yonder bank hath choice of sun or shade,
There I am wont to sit, when any chance
Relieves me from my task of servile toil,
Daily in the common prison else enjoin'd me,
Where I a prisoner chain'd, scarce freely draw
The air imprison'd also, close and damp,
Unwholesome draught: but here I feel amends,
The breath of Heav'n fresh-blowing, pure and sweet,
With day-spring born; here leave me to respire.
This day a solemn feast the people hold
To Dagon, their sea-idol, and forbid
Laborious works; unwillingly this rest
Their superstition yields me; hence with leave
Retiring from the popular noise, I seek
This unfrequented place to find some ease;
Ease to the body some, none to the mind
From restless thoughts, that like a deadly swarm
Of hornets arm'd, no sooner found alone,
But rush upon me thronging, and present
Times past, what once I was, and what am now.
O wherefore was my birth from Heaven foretold
Twice by an angel, who at last in sight
Of both my parents all in flames ascended
From off the altar, where an off'ring burn'd,
As in a fiery column charioting
His godlike presence, and from some great act
Of benefit reveal'd to Abraham's race?
Why was my breeding order'd and prescrib'd
As of a person separate to God,
Design'd for great exploits; if I must die
Betray'd, captiv'd, and both my eyes put out,
Made of my enemies the scorn and gaze;
To grind in brazen fetters under task
With this Heav'n-gifted strength? O glorious strength
Put to the labour of a beast, debas'd
Lower than bondslave! Promise was that I
Should Israel from Philistian yoke deliver;
Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him
Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves,
Himself in bonds under Philistian yoke.
Yet stay, let me not rashly call in doubt
Divine prediction; what if all foretold
Had been fulfill'd but through mine own default,
Whom have I to complain of but myself?
Who this high gift of strength committed to me,
In what part lodg'd, how easily bereft me,
Under the seal of silence could not keep,

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poem by John Milton
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Annals of Assur-Nasir-Pal column I

To Ninip most powerful hero, great, chief of the gods, warrior, powerful Lord, whose onset in battle has not been opposed, eldest son,

crusher of opponents, first-born son of Nukimmut, supporter of the seven, noble ruler, King of the gods the producers, governor, he who rolls along the mass

of heaven and earth, opener of canals, treader of the wide earth, the god who in his divinity nourishes heaven and earth, the beneficent,

the exalted, the powerful, who has not lessened the glory of his face, head of nations, bestower of sceptres, glorious, over all cities a ruler,

valiant, the renown of whose sceptre is not approached, chief of widespread influence, great among the gods, shading from the southern sun, Lord of Lords, whose hand the vault of heaven

(and) earth has controlled, a King in battle mighty who has vanquished opposition, victorious, powerful, Lord of water-courses and seas,

strong, not yielding, whose onset brings down the green corn, smiting the land of the enemy, like the cutting of reeds, the deity who changes not his purposes,

the light of heaven and earth, a bold leader on the waters, destroyer of them that hate (him), a spoiler (and) Lord of the disobedient, dividing enemies, whose name in the speech of the gods

no god has ever disregarded, the gatherer of life, the god(?) whose prayers are good, whose abode is in the city of Calah, a great Lord, my Lord - (who am) Assur-nasir-pal, the mighty King,

King of multitudes, a Prince unequalled, Lord of all the four countries, powerful over hosts of men, the possession of Bel and Ninip the exalted and Anu

and of Dakan, a servant of the great gods in the lofty shrine for great (O Ninip) is thy heart; a worshipper of Bel whose might upon

thy great deity is founded, and thou makest righteous his life, valiant, warrior, who in the service of Assur his Lord hath proceeded, and among the Kings

of the four regions who has not his fellow, a Prince for admiration, not sparing opponents, mighty leader, who an equal

has not, a Prince reducing to order his disobedient ones, who has subdued whole multitudes of men, a strong worker, treading down

the heads of his enemies, trampling on all foes, crushing assemblages of rebels, who in the service of the great gods his Lords

marched vigorously and the lands of all of them his hand captured, caused the forests of all of them to fall, and received their tribute, taking

securities, establishing laws over all lands, when Assur the Lord who proclaims my name and augments my Royalty

laid hold upon his invincible power for the forces of my Lordship, for Assur-nasir-pal, glorious Prince, worshipper of the great gods

the generous, the great, the powerful, acquirer of cities and forests and the territory of all of them, King of Lords, destroying the wicked, strengthening

the peaceful, not sparing opponents, a Prince of firm will(?) one who combats oppression, Lord of all Kings,

Lord of Lords, the acknowledged, King of Kings, seated gloriously, the renown of Ninip the warrior, worshipper of the great gods, prolonging the benefits (conferred by) his fathers:

a Prince who in the service of Assur and the Sun-god, the gods in whom he trusted, royally marched to turbulent lands, and Kings who had rebelled against him

[he cut off like grass, all their lands to his feet he subjected, restorer of the worship of the goddesses and that of the great gods,

Chief unwavering, who for the guidance of the heads (and) elders of his land is a steadfast guardian, the work of whose hands and

the gift of whose finger the great gods of heaven and earth have exalted, and his steps over rulers have they established forever;

[...] Read more

poem by King Assur-Bani-Pal
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Because of Their Standards, Values and Interests

You see them?
They are the ones...
The very same people,
Who declared themselves victims...
Of enemies.
And those enemies obstructed,
Their progress and efforts made.
With frustrations that prevented...
Benefits they struggled to get,
For all of the people they represented.

They were supported.
And believed.

You see them?
They are the same folks,
Who knowingly backed themselves into a hole.
With the selling of false goods.
To reveal themselves less than angels.
And adorned with tainted halos.

And in disbelief...
They were comforted by those unconscious.
Who further supported them.
Even stronger.

You see them?
They are the ones,
Who declared they had enemies.
Backed themselves into hole.
Exposed themselves as less than angels.
Fed their greed exclusively.
And in discreet secretly...
Deceived.

And now with heads bowed,
They make public appearances to profess...
Unity is needed and must be addressed.
Since those enemies declared they claimed,
Are preparing to make announcements...
That financial arrangements,
With loans made that must be paid.
Has extended the patience of their 'enemies'.
And those 'enemies' could care less,
What charades played in masquerade...
Is in need of more time,
For a promised kept silence...
To ease unwarranted stress.

Because of their standards, values and interests,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Witch of Hebron

A Rabbinical Legend

Part I.
From morn until the setting of the sun
The rabbi Joseph on his knees had prayed,
And, as he rose with spirit meek and strong,
An Indian page his presence sought, and bowed
Before him, saying that a lady lay
Sick unto death, tormented grievously,
Who begged the comfort of his holy prayers.
The rabbi, ever to the call of grief
Open as day, arose; and girding straight
His robe about him, with the page went forth;
Who swiftly led him deep into the woods
That hung, heap over heap, like broken clouds
On Hebron’s southern terraces; when lo!
Across a glade a stately pile he saw,
With gleaming front, and many-pillared porch
Fretted with sculptured vinage, flowers and fruit,
And carven figures wrought with wondrous art
As by some Phidian hand.

But interposed
For a wide space in front, and belting all
The splendid structure with a finer grace,
A glowing garden smiled; its breezes bore
Airs as from paradise, so rich the scent
That breathed from shrubs and flowers; and fair the growths
Of higher verdure, gemm’d with silver blooms,
Which glassed themselves in fountains gleaming light
Each like a shield of pearl.

Within the halls
Strange splendour met the rabbi’s careless eyes,
Halls wonderful in their magnificance,
With pictured walls, and columns gleaming white
Like Carmel’s snow, or blue-veined as with life;
Through corridors he passed with tissues hung
Inwrought with threaded gold by Sidon’s art,
Or rich as sunset clouds with Tyrian dye;
Past lofty chambers, where the gorgeous gleam
Of jewels, and the stainèd radiance

Of golden lamps, showed many a treasure rare
Of Indian and Armenian workmanship
Which might have seemed a wonder of the world:
And trains of servitors of every clime,
Greeks, Persians, Indians, Ethiopians,
In richest raiment thronged the spacious halls.

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Harpur
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A Song Bewailing The Time Of Christmas, So Much Decayed In England

Christmas is my name, for have I gone, have I gone, have I gone,
Have I gone without regard;
Whereas great men by flocks they be flown to Londonward
Where in pomp and pleasure do waste
That which Christmas had wont to feast,
Welladay!
Houses where music was wonted to ring,
Nothing but bats and owls now do sing.
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?

Christmas bread and beef is turned into stones, into stones, into stones,
Into stones and silken rags.
And Lady Money, it doth sleep, it doth sleep, it doth sleep,
It doth sleep in misers' bags.
Where many gallants once abound,
Nought but a dog and shepherd is found,
Welladay!
Places where Christmas revels did keep
Are now become habitations for sheep.
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?

Pan, the shepherds' god, doth deface, doth deface, doth deface,
Doth deface Lady Ceres' crown;
And tillages doth decay, doth decay, doth decay,
Doth decay in every town;
Landlords their rents so highly enhance
That Piers the ploughman barefoot doth dance,
Welladay!
Farmers that Christmas would entertain
Hath scarcely withal themselves to maintain.
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?

Go to the Protestant, he'll protest, he'll protest, he'll protest,
He will protest and boldly boast;
And to the Puritan, he is so hot, he is so hot, he is so hot,
He is so hot he will burn the roast.
The Catholic good deeds will not scorn,
Nor will he see poor Christmas forlorn,
Welladay!
Since holiness no good deeds will do,
Protestants had best turn Papists too.
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?

Pride and luxury doth devour, doth devour, doth devour,
Doth devour housekeeping quite,
And beggary doth beget, doth beget, doth beget,
Doth beget in many a knight.
Madam, forsooth, in coach must she reel
Although she wear her hose out at heel,
Welladay!

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Strange And Disturbing!

Strange and disturbing!
In the jungles;
Where large animals devour small animals.
Four, devour!
Under the age old survival of the fittest rule;
Sour, devour!
The potter and the clay,
To study it;
Like the sand of the sea!
Variabel,
Pour, devour!
Available,
Traditions! !
Gentle,
Gentiles,
Of peace;
Obtained!
But, under the age old survival of the fittest rule;
And like an exciting time with the muse of the jungles.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 7

AND thou, O matron of immortal fame,
Here dying, to the shore hast left thy name;
Cajeta still the place is call’d from thee,
The nurse of great Æneas’ infancy.
Here rest thy bones in rich Hesperia’s plains; 5
Thy name (’t is all a ghost can have) remains.
Now, when the prince her fun’ral rites had paid,
He plow’d the Tyrrhene seas with sails display’d.
From land a gentle breeze arose by night,
Serenely shone the stars, the moon was bright, 10
And the sea trembled with her silver light.
Now near the shelves of Circe’s shores they run,
(Circe the rich, the daughter of the Sun,)
A dang’rous coast: the goddess wastes her days
In joyous songs; the rocks resound her lays: 15
In spinning, or the loom, she spends the night,
And cedar brands supply her father’s light.
From hence were heard, rebellowing to the main,
The roars of lions that refuse the chain,
The grunts of bristled boars, and groans of bears, 20
And herds of howling wolves that stun the sailors’ ears.
These from their caverns, at the close of night,
Fill the sad isle with horror and affright.
Darkling they mourn their fate, whom Circe’s pow’r,
(That watch’d the moon and planetary hour,) 25
With words and wicked herbs from humankind
Had alter’d, and in brutal shapes confin’d.
Which monsters lest the Trojans’ pious host
Should bear, or touch upon th’ inchanted coast,
Propitious Neptune steer’d their course by night 30
With rising gales that sped their happy flight.
Supplied with these, they skim the sounding shore,
And hear the swelling surges vainly roar.
Now, when the rosy morn began to rise,
And wav’d her saffron streamer thro’ the skies; 35
When Thetis blush’d in purple not her own,
And from her face the breathing winds were blown,
A sudden silence sate upon the sea,
And sweeping oars, with struggling, urge their way.
The Trojan, from the main, beheld a wood, 40
Which thick with shades and a brown horror stood:
Betwixt the trees the Tiber took his course,
With whirlpools dimpled; and with downward force,
That drove the sand along, he took his way,
And roll’d his yellow billows to the sea. 45
About him, and above, and round the wood,
The birds that haunt the borders of his flood,
That bath’d within, or basked upon his side,
To tuneful songs their narrow throats applied.
The captain gives command; the joyful train 50

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poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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The Princess (part 6)

My dream had never died or lived again.
As in some mystic middle state I lay;
Seeing I saw not, hearing not I heard:
Though, if I saw not, yet they told me all
So often that I speak as having seen.

For so it seemed, or so they said to me,
That all things grew more tragic and more strange;
That when our side was vanquished and my cause
For ever lost, there went up a great cry,
The Prince is slain. My father heard and ran
In on the lists, and there unlaced my casque
And grovelled on my body, and after him
Came Psyche, sorrowing for Aglaïa.
But high upon the palace Ida stood
With Psyche's babe in arm: there on the roofs
Like that great dame of Lapidoth she sang.

'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: the seed,
The little seed they laughed at in the dark,
Has risen and cleft the soil, and grown a bulk
Of spanless girth, that lays on every side
A thousand arms and rushes to the Sun.

'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: they came;
The leaves were wet with women's tears: they heard
A noise of songs they would not understand:
They marked it with the red cross to the fall,
And would have strown it, and are fallen themselves.

'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: they came,
The woodmen with their axes: lo the tree!
But we will make it faggots for the hearth,
And shape it plank and beam for roof and floor,
And boats and bridges for the use of men.

'Our enemies have fallen, have fallen: they struck;
With their own blows they hurt themselves, nor knew
There dwelt an iron nature in the grain:
The glittering axe was broken in their arms,
Their arms were shattered to the shoulder blade.

'Our enemies have fallen, but this shall grow
A night of Summer from the heat, a breadth
Of Autumn, dropping fruits of power: and rolled
With music in the growing breeze of Time,
The tops shall strike from star to star, the fangs
Shall move the stony bases of the world.

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Orlando Furioso Canto 18

ARGUMENT
Gryphon is venged. Sir Mandricardo goes
In search of Argier's king. Charles wins the fight.
Marphisa Norandino's men o'erthrows.
Due pains Martano's cowardice requite.
A favouring wind Marphisa's gallery blows,
For France with Gryphon bound and many a knight.
The field Medoro and Cloridano tread,
And find their monarch Dardinello dead.

I
High minded lord! your actions evermore
I have with reason lauded, and still laud;
Though I with style inapt, and rustic lore,
You of large portion of your praise defraud:
But, of your many virtues, one before
All others I with heart and tongue applaud,
- That, if each man a gracious audience finds,
No easy faith your equal judgment blinds.

II
Often, to shield the absent one from blame,
I hear you this, or other, thing adduce;
Or him you let, at least, an audience claim,
Where still one ear is open to excuse:
And before dooming men to scaith and shame,
To see and hear them ever is your use;
And ere you judge another, many a day,
And month, and year, your sentence to delay.

III
Had Norandine been with your care endued,
What he by Gryphon did, he had not done.
Profit and fame have from your rule accrued:
A stain more black than pitch he cast upon
His name: through him, his people were pursued
And put to death by Olivero's son;
Who at ten cuts or thrusts, in fury made,
Some thirty dead about the waggon laid.

IV
Whither fear drives, in rout, the others all,
Some scattered here, some there, on every side,
Fill road and field; to gain the city-wall
Some strive, and smothered in the mighty tide,
One on another, in the gateway fall.
Gryphon, all thought of pity laid aside,
Threats not nor speaks, but whirls his sword about,
Well venging on the crowd their every flout.

[...] Read more

poem by Ludovico Ariosto
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Mr. James Dean

All the king's horses
Wouldn't make me believe
Even when the walls come crashing down
You still can never be
A rebel without a cause
A rebel to the first degree
Why don't you stop trying so hard?
Cause there's no men, man enough to be
Another James Dean
You're nothing like him
So don't call me friend
Cause you're nothing like me
Even when the world stops turning
There will never be another James Dean
You'll never be James Dean
All the faces you're making
Save it for the scene
And All the people you're faking
Why was it only me?
I saw right into your eyes
And you're just not so deep
I've had too many cries
Mr. Prince Charming
Sorry, you could never be
Cause you're nothing like him
So don't call me friend
Cause you're nothing like me
Even when the world stops turning, the world stops turning
Now you move to the next town
Next set, next girl, have fun baby
I'm taking back my world
Here we are face to face
Same energy, you and me
Don't wanna be enemies
Here we are face to face
Same energy, you and me
Don't wanna be enemies
Here we are face to face
Same energy, you and me
Don't wanna be enemies
Here we are face to face
Same energy, you and me
Don't wanna be enemies
Here we are face to face
Same energy, you and me
Don't wanna be enemies

song performed by Hilary Duff
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The Princess: A Medley: Our Enemies have Fall'n

Our enemies have fall'n, have fall'n: the seed,
The little seed they laugh'd at in the dark,
Has risen and cleft the soil, and grown a bulk
Of spanless girth, that lays on every side
A thousand arms and rushes to the Sun.
Our enemies have fall'n, have fall'n: they came;
The leaves were wet with women's tears: they heard
A noise of songs they would not understand:
They mark'd it with the red cross to the fall,
And would have strown it, and are fall'n themselves.

Our enemies have fall'n, have fall'n: they came,
The woodmen with their axes: lo the tree!
But we will make it faggots for the hearth,
And shape it plank and beam for roof and floor,
And boats and bridges for the use of men.

Our enemies have fall'n, have fall'n: they struck;
With their own blows they hurt themselves, nor knew
There dwelt an iron nature in the grain:
The glittering axe was broken in their arms,
Their arms were shatter'd to the shoulder blade.

Our enemies have fall'n, but this shall grow
A night of Summer from the heat, a breadth
Of Autumn, dropping fruits of power; and roll'd
With music in the growing breeze of Time,
The tops shall strike from star to star, the fangs
Shall move the stony bases of the world.

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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All's Fair In Love and War

Who said war is civilized,
What idiot made these rules,
It was probably politicians,
That bunch of sad old fools.

Our enemies wear no uniforms,
We are dressed and on display,
While we advertise who we are,
They just go on their merry way.

We train them in the art of war,
Treat them as our friends,
Then they turn round and murder us,
Their evil then transcends.

They blow us up without a thought,
We're told, oh that's allowed,
But if we dare retaliate,
The enemy cry out loud.

There needs to be an inquiry,
Killing us is so unjust,
If you're allowed to fire back,
You won't see us for dust.

Terrorists are all around us,
They could even be you or me,
It's time our so called leaders,
Were brought out here to see,

Our enemies send in children,
We are not allowed to shoot,
We know they're going to kill us,
But our enemies are so astute.

When we kill our aggressors,
The world is in a fury,
We're then charged with murder,
Then put in front of a jury.

If they murder our brave forces,
It's just another dead,
Then when we defend ourselves,
The world goes off its head.

They can murder us for fun,
Yet no one says a word,
No courts or cries for justice,
It really is quite absurd.

[...] Read more

poem by Bri Mar
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My Slate Is Clean of Miseries

There is a joy in me I know is seen.
'Cause I'm not uptight.
Looking for a fight,
No!

And if I do have any enemies...
May they live an afterlife,
In a realm that's more acceptible.

I've wiped my slate clean of those miseries.
None I wish to carry,
Or marry to be download.

I've sliced and diced all that away from me.
And I wont slit my wrists...
To bleed in dripping pity!

There is a happiness in me increased.
With a peace of mind I own,
Straight from sorrows I'd adopted.

I've had to learn to be away from disease.
To figure my life out.
And weed away all nonsense,
From my reach.

There is so much joy seen in me that's deep.
'Cause my jaws are not uptight,
Looking for a fight.
No!

And if I do have any enemies,
May they live an afterlife...
In a realm that's more acceptible.

And if I do have any enemies,
May they live an afterlife...
In a realm that's more acceptible.

And if I do have any enemies,
May they live an afterlife...
In a realm that's more acceptible.

And if I do have any enemies,
May they live an afterlife...
In a realm that's more acceptible.

I've wiped my slate clean of their miseries.
None I wish to carry,
Or marry to be download.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Enemies of the Peace

Enemies of the peace
Are not consecrating the life
Tampering with the nature
Crucifying the childhood
On the sidewalks
Burying the chastity
In the brothels
Killing the light
Before coming the dark

Enemies of the peace
Adoring the wars
Kissing the poverty
Dreaming with the famines
Clapping for catastrophes
Destroying everything
Schools
Hospitals
Synagogues
Churches
Mosques
Temples

Enemies of the peace
They want to uproot feelings
To extinguish the flaming longing
In the hearts
And burn the growing yearning
In depths of humans

Enemies of the peace
Robbing the dreams
Jailing the tears
Deforming the colors
Crushing the flowers
Turning off the hope

Enemies of the peace
Not knowing the love
Not appreciating the values
Not believing in the peace

poem by Naji Almurisi
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Murder In Her Eyes

Some say she's bitter,
some say she's sweet.
They know her by her shimmer,
Oh how sometimes her crime can be so neat.

She makes her enemies real slick,
she makes her friends so easily.
Although her enemies slaughter is real quick,
but she's a generous person, really.

The murder in her eyes
reveals her disguise,
The taste of her enemies blood,
she cannot recognize.
She seeks for revenge
For only those who caused her agony and avenge.

The murder shows who she truly is.
The sweet girl with a bloody blade in her hand.
Her enemies dead body laying on the floor
as she laughs and hounds as her enemies body rots to the core.

The murder in her eyes is severe...
Something that nobody dares to conquer

They laughed at her in the past,
She knew their life's wouldn't last.
The murder in her eyes hides the tides of her personality
for her enemy's, she loves to rec their reality.

No one ever thought she could do that.
Until they saw her true disguise which showed the murder...
Murder in her eyes.

poem by Katellyne Baker
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Book the Second

Thou hearest the Nightingale begin the Song of Spring.
The Lark sitting upon his earthly bed, just as the morn
Apears, listens silent; then springing from the waving Corn-field loud
He leads the Choir of Day! trill, thrill, thrill, trill,
Mounting upon the wings of light into the great Expanse,
Reechoing against the lovely blue & shining heavenly Shell.
His little throat labours with inspiration; every feather
On throat & breast & wings vibrates with the effluence Divine.
All Nature listens silent to him, & the awful Sun
Stands still upon the Mountain looking on this little Bird
With eyes of soft humility & wonder, love & awe.
Then loud from their green covert all the Birds begin their Song:
The Thrush, the Linnet & the Goldfinch, Robin & the Wren
Awake the Sun from his sweet reverie upon the Mountain;
The Nightingale again assays his song, & thro’ the day
And thro’ the night warbles luxuriant, every Bird of Song
Attending his loud harmony with admiration & love.
This is a Vision of the lamentation of Beulah over Ololon.

Thou perceivest the Flowers put forth their precious Odours,
And none can tell how form so small a center comes such sweets,
Forgetting that within that Center Eternity expends
Its ever during doors that Og & Anak fiercely guard.
First, e’er the morning breaks, joy opens in the flowery bosoms,
Joy even to tears, which the
Sun rising dries; first the Wild Thyme
And Meadow-sweet, downy & soft, waving among the reeds,
Light springing on the air, lead the sweet Dance: they wake
The Honeysuckle sleeping on the Oak; the flaunting beauty
Revels along upon the wind; the White-thorn, lovely May,
Opens her many lovely eyes; listening the Rose still sleeps –
None dare to wake her; soon she bursts her crimson curtain’d bed
And comes forth in the majesty of beauty; every Flower,
The Pink, the Jessamine, the Wall-flower, the Carnation,
The Jonquil, the mild Lilly opes her heavens; every Tree
And Flower & Herb soon fill the air with an innumberable Dance,
Yet all in order sweet & lovely. Men are sick with Love.
Such is a Vision of the Lamentation of Beulah over Ololon.
And Milton oft sat upon the Couch of Death, & oft conversed
In vision & dream beatific with the Seven Angels of the Presence:
‘I have turned my back upon these Heavens builded on cruelty.
My Spectre still wandering thro’ them follows my Emanation;
He hunts her footsteps thro’ the snow & the wintry hail & rain.
The idiot Reasoner laughs at the Man of Imagination,
And from laughter proceeds o murder by undervaluing calumny.’
Then Hillel, who is Lucifer, replied over the Couch of Death,
And thus the Seven angels instructed him, & thus they converse:
‘We are not Individuals but States, Combinations of Individuals.
We were Angels of the Divine Presence, & were Druids in Annandale,
Compell’d to combine into Form by Satan, the Spectre of Albion,

[...] Read more

poem by William Blake from Milton (1810)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Doina song [Doina]

From Nistru to Tisza Plain
All Romanians complain,
For they can't bear anymore
All these guys with foreign core,
From Hotin to Black Sea coast
Rides the Moskals' mighty host,
From the sea back to Hotin
They would like to take our skin;
And from Dorna to Boian
Cankerworms come one by one,
While the strangers with their power
Everything want to devour,
In the mountains, down the vales
Enemies have made large trails
From Săcele to Sătmar
The escape is much too far,
Woe the poor Romanian soul!
Like a cancer starts to crawl,
Neither walks, nor he is calm
Cannot feel the autumn's charm
Or the summer as he planned,
He's a stranger in his land,
From Turnu to Dorohoi
All the enemies enjoy
Their armies to deploy;
And when come with weapons here
All the songs will disappear,
And the birds will fly away
Scared by this foreign array;
Thorns will gather more and more
At the Christian's humble door,
Cries the country, troubled mother,
For the greenwood – our brother –
Is cut down by villain hand,
Springs dry out and turn to sand –
Wretched people, wretched land!

Who is fond of foreign guys
May the dogs eat up his eyes,
May he lose his dearest place
And the plague may kill his race!
O, lord Stephen, raise your flag
And at Putna do not lag,
Leave the cloister and the choir
In the care of the old prior
Leave the saints and holy matters
In the care of priests and cantors
Let them ring the bells with might
All day long and every night,
Maybe God will bring salvation

[...] Read more

poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Added by anonym
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Mother

Well, the telephone is ringing
Is that my mother on the phone?
The telephone is ringing
Is that my mother on the phone?
The telephone is screaming
Wont she leave me alone
The telephone is ringing
Is that my mother on the phone?
Well, every girl I got out with
Becomes my mother in the end
Every girl I go out with
Becomes my mother in the end
Well, I hear my mother calling
But I dont need her as a friend
Every girl I go out with
Becomes my mother in the end
Oh oh mother
Oh mother dear please listen
And dont devour me
Oh mother dear please listen
And dont devour me
Oh women please have mercy
Let this poor boy be
Oh mother dear please listen
And dont devour me

song performed by Police
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Iliad: Book 22

Thus the Trojans in the city, scared like fawns, wiped the sweat
from off them and drank to quench their thirst, leaning against the
goodly battlements, while the Achaeans with their shields laid upon
their shoulders drew close up to the walls. But stern fate bade Hector
stay where he was before Ilius and the Scaean gates. Then Phoebus
Apollo spoke to the son of Peleus saying, "Why, son of Peleus, do you,
who are but man, give chase to me who am immortal? Have you not yet
found out that it is a god whom you pursue so furiously? You did not
harass the Trojans whom you had routed, and now they are within
their walls, while you have been decoyed hither away from them. Me you
cannot kill, for death can take no hold upon me."
Achilles was greatly angered and said, "You have baulked me,
Far-Darter, most malicious of all gods, and have drawn me away from
the wall, where many another man would have bitten the dust ere he got
within Ilius; you have robbed me of great glory and have saved the
Trojans at no risk to yourself, for you have nothing to fear, but I
would indeed have my revenge if it were in my power to do so."
On this, with fell intent he made towards the city, and as the
winning horse in a chariot race strains every nerve when he is
flying over the plain, even so fast and furiously did the limbs of
Achilles bear him onwards. King Priam was first to note him as he
scoured the plain, all radiant as the star which men call Orion's
Hound, and whose beams blaze forth in time of harvest more brilliantly
than those of any other that shines by night; brightest of them all
though he be, he yet bodes ill for mortals, for he brings fire and
fever in his train- even so did Achilles' armour gleam on his breast
as he sped onwards. Priam raised a cry and beat his head with his
hands as he lifted them up and shouted out to his dear son,
imploring him to return; but Hector still stayed before the gates, for
his heart was set upon doing battle with Achilles. The old man reached
out his arms towards him and bade him for pity's sake come within
the walls. "Hector," he cried, "my son, stay not to face this man
alone and unsupported, or you will meet death at the hands of the
son of Peleus, for he is mightier than you. Monster that he is;
would indeed that the gods loved him no better than I do, for so, dogs
and vultures would soon devour him as he lay stretched on earth, and a
load of grief would be lifted from my heart, for many a brave son
has he reft from me, either by killing them or selling them away in
the islands that are beyond the sea: even now I miss two sons from
among the Trojans who have thronged within the city, Lycaon and
Polydorus, whom Laothoe peeress among women bore me. Should they be
still alive and in the hands of the Achaeans, we will ransom them with
gold and bronze, of which we have store, for the old man Altes endowed
his daughter richly; but if they are already dead and in the house
of Hades, sorrow will it be to us two who were their parents; albeit
the grief of others will be more short-lived unless you too perish
at the hands of Achilles. Come, then, my son, within the city, to be
the guardian of Trojan men and Trojan women, or you will both lose
your own life and afford a mighty triumph to the son of Peleus. Have
pity also on your unhappy father while life yet remains to him- on me,

[...] Read more

poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
Added by Poetry Lover
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Splash

I called you on the phone
You knew it was me all along
You didn't even say hello
Cause you don't need words to let me know
All the things that you do to me
You fulfill my every fantasy
Splash - I'm under your power
Splash - I could go for hours
Splash - You could devour me
And I'd only want you more
Oh, when you make love to me
There's things I never thought I'd see
I cherish [...]
[...] in every sea
Oh, I love when you play with me
Ask your mom if you could stay with me
Splash - I'm under your power
Splash - I could go for hours
Splash - You could devour me
And I'd only want you more
Our love is a rhythm
Together we'll have so much fun
You go from room to room
Leaving traces of your sweet perfume
If I could I'd bottle it
Everybody should know the feelin' I get
When I'm in your cool embrace
Your lips, your arms, your legs, your face
Splash - I'm under your power
Splash - I could go for hours
Splash - You could devour me
And I'd only want you more
I want you more and more and more
Splash
Splash
Splash
Splash
Splash
Splash.

song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
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