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I dug things up. I was curious. I liked to draw what I found.

quote by Mary Leakey
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Eclogue 8: To Pollio Damon Alphesiboeus

Of Damon and Alphesiboeus now,
Those shepherd-singers at whose rival strains
The heifer wondering forgot to graze,
The lynx stood awe-struck, and the flowing streams,
Unwonted loiterers, stayed their course to hear-
How Damon and Alphesiboeus sang
Their pastoral ditties, will I tell the tale.

Thou, whether broad Timavus' rocky banks
Thou now art passing, or dost skirt the shore
Of the Illyrian main,- will ever dawn
That day when I thy deeds may celebrate,
Ever that day when through the whole wide world
I may renown thy verse- that verse alone
Of Sophoclean buskin worthy found?
With thee began, to thee shall end, the strain.
Take thou these songs that owe their birth to thee,
And deign around thy temples to let creep
This ivy-chaplet 'twixt the conquering bays.

Scarce had night's chilly shade forsook the sky
What time to nibbling sheep the dewy grass
Tastes sweetest, when, on his smooth shepherd-staff
Of olive leaning, Damon thus began.

DAMON
'Rise, Lucifer, and, heralding the light,
Bring in the genial day, while I make moan
Fooled by vain passion for a faithless bride,
For Nysa, and with this my dying breath
Call on the gods, though little it bestead-
The gods who heard her vows and heeded not.

'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
Ever hath Maenalus his murmuring groves
And whispering pines, and ever hears the songs
Of love-lorn shepherds, and of Pan, who first
Brooked not the tuneful reed should idle lie.

'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
Nysa to Mopsus given! what may not then
We lovers look for? soon shall we see mate
Griffins with mares, and in the coming age
Shy deer and hounds together come to drink.

'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
Now, Mopsus, cut new torches, for they bring
Your bride along; now, bridegroom, scatter nuts:
Forsaking Oeta mounts the evening star!

[...] Read more

poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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Eclogue VIII

TO POLLIO, DAMON, ALPHESIBOEUS

Of Damon and Alphesiboeus now,
Those shepherd-singers at whose rival strains
The heifer wondering forgot to graze,
The lynx stood awe-struck, and the flowing streams,
Unwonted loiterers, stayed their course to hear-
How Damon and Alphesiboeus sang
Their pastoral ditties, will I tell the tale.
Thou, whether broad Timavus' rocky banks
Thou now art passing, or dost skirt the shore
Of the Illyrian main,- will ever dawn
That day when I thy deeds may celebrate,
Ever that day when through the whole wide world
I may renown thy verse- that verse alone
Of Sophoclean buskin worthy found?
With thee began, to thee shall end, the strain.
Take thou these songs that owe their birth to thee,
And deign around thy temples to let creep
This ivy-chaplet 'twixt the conquering bays.
Scarce had night's chilly shade forsook the sky
What time to nibbling sheep the dewy grass
Tastes sweetest, when, on his smooth shepherd-staff
Of olive leaning, Damon thus began.

Damon.
'Rise, Lucifer, and, heralding the light,
Bring in the genial day, while I make moan
Fooled by vain passion for a faithless bride,
For Nysa, and with this my dying breath
Call on the gods, though little it bestead-
The gods who heard her vows and heeded not.
'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
Ever hath Maenalus his murmuring groves
And whispering pines, and ever hears the songs
Of love-lorn shepherds, and of Pan, who first
Brooked not the tuneful reed should idle lie.
'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
Nysa to Mopsus given! what may not then
We lovers look for? soon shall we see mate
Griffins with mares, and in the coming age
Shy deer and hounds together come to drink.
'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
Now, Mopsus, cut new torches, for they bring
Your bride along; now, bridegroom, scatter nuts:
Forsaking Oeta mounts the evening star!
'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
O worthy of thy mate, while all men else
Thou scornest, and with loathing dost behold
My shepherd's pipe, my goats, my shaggy brow,

[...] Read more

poem by Virgil
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I Am Curious

(carole pope / kevan staples)
Im curious, I wanna know
Im an idealist, Ill let it show
Im curious with myself
Im delirious from wanting
The noise that announces a seduction
Im a volcano
In a state of eruption
I live life with a wild intensity
Need to be aroused
To the point of intimacy
What are your motives?
I got to know
Im doing research
I got to know
What are your motives?
I got to know
Tell me your motives, oh, oh
cause Im curious, I wanna know
Im an idealist, Ill let it show
Im curious with myself
Im delirious from wanting
The fusing, the melting of two bodies
Im addicted to lethal sexuality
I live life on the edge of ecstasy
Need to be desired
Nothing else fulfils me
What are your motives?
I got to know
Im doing research
I got to know
What are your motives?
I got to know
Tell me your motives, ooh, ooh
Im curious, I wanna know
Im an idealist, Ill let it show
Im curious with myself
Im delirious from wanting
Im curious, I wanna know
Im an idealist, Ill let it show
Im curious with myself
Im delirious from wanting
Yes, Im curious, I wanna know
Im an idealist, Ill let it show
I am curious with myself
Too delirious from singing
cause Im curious, I wanna know
Im an idealist, Ill let it show
Im curious with myself
Im delirious from wanting

song performed by Dusty Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
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Curious

Straight as a dye
On us we rely
Yet watch how my head is turning
Distracting my eye
Its no reflection on you, yet who would believe me
Troubled by the thought of it, I cant deny
That Im curious, never meant to hurt you
Just curious, I cant deny
That Im curious, never have decieved you
Just curious, I cannot lie
Give me a reason
Ill hide my delight
Shamelessly Ill seize the moment
Just my needs in sight
Its no reflection on you, yet who would believe me
Troubled by the thought of it, I cant deny
That Im curious, never meant to hurt you
Just curious, I cant deny
That Im curious, never have decieved you
Just curious, I cannot lie
Its no reflection on you, yet who would believe me
Troubled by the thought of it, I cant deny
That Im curious, never meant to hurt you
Just curious, I cant deny
That Im curious, never have decieved you
Just curious, I cannot lie

song performed by Olive
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Seasonable Retour-Knell

SEASONABLE RETOUR KNELL
Variations on a theme...
SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS

Author notes

A mirrored Retourne may not only be read either from first line to last or from last to first as seen in the mirrors, but also by inverting the first and second phrase of each line, either rhyming AAAA or ABAB for each verse. thus the number of variations could be multiplied several times.- two variations on the theme have been included here but could have been extended as in SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS robi03_0069_robi03_0000

In respect of SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS
This composition has sought to explore linguistic potential. Notes and the initial version are placed before rather than after the poem.
Six variations on a theme have been selected out of a significant number of mathematical possibilities using THE SAME TEXT and a reverse mirror for each version. Mirrors repeat the seasons with the lines in reverse order.

For the second roll the first four syllables of each line are reversed, and sense is retained both in the normal order of seasons and the reversed order as well... The 3rd and 4th variations offer ABAB rhyme schemes retaining the original text. The 5th and 6th variations modify the text into rhyming couplets.

Given the linguistical structure of this symphonic composition the score could be read in inversing each and every line and each and every hemistitch. There are minor punctuation differences between versions.

One could probably attain sonnet status for each of the four seasons and through partioning in 3 groups of 4 syllables extend the possibilites ad vitam.

Seasonable Round Robin Roll Reversals
robi03_0069_robi03_0000 QXX_DNZ
Seasonable Retour-Knell
robi03_0070_robi03_0069 QXX_NXX
26 March 1975 rewritten 20070123
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllllll
For previous version see below
_______________________________________
SPRING SUMMER

Life is at ease Young lovers long
Land under plough; To hold their dear;
Whispering trees, Dewdrops among,
Answering cow. Bold, know no fear.

Blossom, the bees, Life full of song,
Burgeoning bough; Cloudless and clear;
Soft-scented breeze, Days fair and long,
Spring warms life now. Summer sends cheer.

AUTUMN WINTER

Each leaf decays, Harvested sheaves
Each life must bow; And honeyed hives;
Our salad days Trees stripped of leaves,
Are ending now. Jack Frost has knives.

Fruit heavy lays Time, Prince of thieves,
Bending the bough, - Onward he drives,

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Escape of the Old Grey Squirrel

Old Grey Squirrel might have been
Almost anything -
Might have been a soldier, sailor,
Tinker, tailor
(Never a beggar-man, though, nor thief).
Might have been, perhaps, a king,
Or an Indian chief.

He remained a City clerk
Doubled on a great high stool,
Totting up, from dawn to dark,
Figures, figures, figures, figures,
Red ink, black ink, double rule,
Tot-tot-totting with his pen,
Up and down and round again -
Curious Old Grey Squirrel.

No one ever really knew
What he did at night,
In his room so near the roof,
Up those steep and narrow stairs.
Old Grey Squirrel wasn't quite
The same as other men.
What he said was always true;
He was like a little child
In a thousand things.
Something shy and delicate,
Cold and grave and undefiled,
Seemed to keep him quite aloof.
You could never call him lonely,
Though he lived with memory there.

When he knelt beside his bed
He had nothing much to say
But the simplest little prayer
Learned in childhood, long ago,
And he didn't know or care
Whether Calvinists might call it
Praying for the dead.

Father, mother, sister, brother -
Memories clear as evening bells;
Yes, the very sort of thing
All your clever little scribblers
Love to satirize and sting,
So let's talk of something else.
He collected stamps, you know,
Commonplace Old Squirrel.

Ah, but could you see him there,

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Noyes
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We Dug A Hole

His head is a big black hole
full of big black things
and it sucks so hard
you could never against the mud
Sugar plum, no ones ever seen anything come
ouch, what a travesty, what a sad fate
someone get a band-aid please
we gotta get this guy a machine for his cranium
I mean I don't need
maybe I don't hear what i need
this never really goes anywhere
We dug a hole
And put our heads in it
We dug a hole
We dug a hole
And put our heads in
This winter they come too quick and broad
with not enough hot spiced cider or cinnamon toast
you never think you know this but when you got a dead start
sucking up both times in your brain
things start to change
and for the record let me say
its not his fault that things never change
the summer is always too short
and still they broke up for a guy with a black hole in his head
and you'll never meet him anyway
We dug a hole
And put our heads in it
We dug a hole
We dug a hole
And put our heads in it
We dug a hole
(We dug a hole)

song performed by Ok Go
Added by Lucian Velea
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Curious Thing

There was this guy, he was down on his luck
He was truly povertys child
Well, he had no home and he had no car
And he wore a weary smile
Moved out to l.a., knocked around for awhile
But he was getting nowhere
Then he did this movie and it did really well
Now hes a millionaire
See, life is a curious thing
Life, ooh life is a curious thing
I know a man who could paint the town red
Had a college degree in fun
till the doorbell rang and a long lost flame said
This little boy is your son
Gave him a suitcase and a bear
Left em in a cloud of dust
Now hes checking out schools and driving carpools
Learning to adjust
He says life is a curious thing
Life, ooh life is a curious thing
Well, I know that it can be demanding
I know that it can be unkind
I dont really understand it
But lord sure knows I try
Life is a curious thing
Life, ooh life is a curious thing
Let me tell you bout a kid I knew
A pudgy girl back in school
She had greasy hair and geeky glasses
Object of ridicule
The other day in the check out line
They were ringing up my rice and beans
There she was, a pretty little face
On the cover of a magazine
And I said life is a curious thing
Life, ooh life is a curious thing
(chorus)
Just goes to show that you never know
Just what tomorrow may bring
But Ill tell you this that what it is
Is seldom what it seems
cause life is a curious thing
Life, ooh life is a curious thing. . .

song performed by Amy Grant
Added by Lucian Velea
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Curious

Welcome to the great unknown
Take a journey into the O zone
Feed your fire, feel the burn
And I'm learning the thing that you learn
Let's play the game
And I'm sure that you'll be so glad that you came
You never know till you let go
And discover your potential
There's nothing wrong with being curious
Adventurous
Step out of your mind
If something inside makes you curious
Then free it up
Initiation begins
When you jump right in
This is the end, let's begin
Lose your fear like you're shedding your skin
Nothing's lost when all is won
So I'm do all the things that you done
Feel the sound
And try to write a simple rhyme of spinning round
Before I leave, you ought to know
The more you scream, the faster that you go
There's nothing wrong with being curious
Adventurous
Step out of your mind
If something inside makes you curious
Then free it up
Initiation begins
Free up your inside
You're gonna like what you will find
You're never gonna know until you try
There's nothing wrong with being curious
Adventurous
Step out of your mind
If something inside makes you curious
Then free it up
Initiation begins
There's nothing wrong with being curious
Adventurous
Step out of your mind
If something inside makes you curious
Then free it up
Initiation begins
When you jump right in
There's nothing wrong with being curious
Adventurous
Step out of your mind
If something inside makes you curious
Then free it up

[...] Read more

song performed by Holly Valance
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Im So Curious

So curious
So curious
Im so curious about our love
I dont understand
Why don;t you take my hand
And tell me you care (u care)
I see all the signs
But if u wanna be mine
Dont leave me up in the air.
Oh baby
U better let your love show
Heres what Im telling you
Let me know
Let me go
Chorus:
Im so curious
Do u love me?
Do u wonder the way I do? (I do)
Im so curious
What do u think of me] (of me)
Boy, am I just a game
Or do u feel the same way as I do?
So curious
So curious
Im so curious about our love
If its make believe
Why dont u set my heart free
And tell me goodbye? (goodbye)
But if its for real
Tell me u feel for me
Way deep down inside
Oh baby
Is it goodbye or hello?
Herez what Im telling you
Let me know
Let me go
(repeat chorus)
So curious
Yea, yea
All day and night I just dream of you (of you)
I think about all the things that we could do
Im dying for and Im feeling for the day
When you could open up and say
You feel the same
You feel like I do (yeah)
(repeat chorus)
(repeat chorus)

song performed by Britney Spears
Added by Lucian Velea
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Days Of 49

Im old tom moore from the bummers shore in that good old golden days
They call me a bummer and a ginsot too, but what cares I for praise ?
I wander around from town to town just like a roving sign
And all the people say, there goes tom moore, in the days of 49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How ofttimes I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of 49.
My comrades they all loved me well, a jolly saucy crew
A few hard cases I will recall though they all were brave and true
Whatever the pitch they never would flinch, they never would fret or whine
Like good old bricks they stood the kicks in the days of 49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How ofttimes I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of 49.
There was new york jake, the butcher boy, he was always getting tight
And every time that hed get full he was spoiling for a fight
But jake rampaged against a knife in the hands of old bob stein
And over jake they held a wake in the days of 49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How ofttimes I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of 49.
There was poker bill, one of the boys who was always in a game
Whether he lost or whether he won, to him it was always the same
He would ante up and draw his cards and he would you go a hatful blind
In the game with death bill lost his breath, in the days of 49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How ofttimes I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of 49.
There was ragshag bill from buffalo, I never will forget
He would roar all day and hed roar all night and I guess hes roaring yet
One day he fell in a prospect hole, in a roaring bad design
And in that hole he roared out his soul, in the days of 49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How ofttimes I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of 49.
Of the comrades all that Ive had, theres none thats left to boast
And Im left alone in my misery like some poor wandering ghost
And I pass by from town to town, they call me a rambling sign
There goes tom moore, a bummer shore in the days of 49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How ofttimes I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of 49.

song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
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Last Instructions to a Painter

After two sittings, now our Lady State
To end her picture does the third time wait.
But ere thou fall'st to work, first, Painter, see
If't ben't too slight grown or too hard for thee.
Canst thou paint without colors? Then 'tis right:
For so we too without a fleet can fight.
Or canst thou daub a signpost, and that ill?
'Twill suit our great debauch and little skill.
Or hast thou marked how antic masters limn
The aly-roof with snuff of candle dim,
Sketching in shady smoke prodigious tools?
'Twill serve this race of drunkards, pimps and fools.
But if to match our crimes thy skill presumes,
As th' Indians, draw our luxury in plumes.
Or if to score out our compendious fame,
With Hooke, then, through the microscope take aim,
Where, like the new Comptroller, all men laugh
To see a tall louse brandish the white staff.
Else shalt thou oft thy guiltless pencil curse,
Stamp on thy palette, not perhaps the worse.
The painter so, long having vexed his cloth--
Of his hound's mouth to feign the raging froth--
His desperate pencil at the work did dart:
His anger reached that rage which passed his art;
Chance finished that which art could but begin,
And he sat smiling how his dog did grin.
So mayst thou pérfect by a lucky blow
What all thy softest touches cannot do.

Paint then St Albans full of soup and gold,
The new court's pattern, stallion of the old.
Him neither wit nor courage did exalt,
But Fortune chose him for her pleasure salt.
Paint him with drayman's shoulders, butcher's mien,
Membered like mules, with elephantine chine.
Well he the title of St Albans bore,
For Bacon never studied nature more.
But age, allayed now that youthful heat,
Fits him in France to play at cards and treat.
Draw no commission lest the court should lie,
That, disavowing treaty, asks supply.
He needs no seal but to St James's lease,
Whose breeches wear the instrument of peace;
Who, if the French dispute his power, from thence
Can straight produce them a plenipotence..
Nor fears he the Most Christian should trepan
Two saints at once, St Germain, St Alban,
But thought the Golden Age was now restored,
When men and women took each other's word.

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Marvell
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The Sorceress

Where are the bay-leaves, Thestylis, and the charms?
Fetch all; with fiery wool the caldron crown;
Let glamour win me back my false lord's heart!
Twelve days the wretch hath not come nigh to me,
Nor made enquiry if I die or live,
Nor clamoured (oh unkindness!) at my door.
Sure his swift fancy wanders otherwhere,
The slave of Aphrodite and of Love.
I'll off to Timagetus' wrestling-school
At dawn, that I may see him and denounce
His doings; but I'll charm him now with charms.
So shine out fair, O moon! To thee I sing
My soft low song: to thee and Hecate
The dweller in the shades, at whose approach
E'en the dogs quake, as on she moves through blood
And darkness and the barrows of the slain.
All hail, dread Hecate: companion me
Unto the end, and work me witcheries
Potent as Circe or Medea wrought,
Or Perimede of the golden hair!
Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love.
First we ignite the grain. Nay, pile it on:
Where are thy wits flown, timorous Thestylis?
Shall I be flouted, I, by such as thou?
Pile, and still say, 'This pile is of his bones.'
Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love.
Delphis racks me: I burn him in these bays.
As, flame-enkindled, they lift up their voice,
Blaze once, and not a trace is left behind:
So waste his flesh to powder in yon fire!
Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love.
E'en as I melt, not uninspired, the wax,
May Mindian Delphis melt this hour with love:
And, swiftly as this brazen wheel whirls round,
May Aphrodite whirl him to my door.
Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love.
Next burn the husks. Hell's adamantine floor
And aught that else stands firm can Artemis move.
Thestylis, the hounds bay up and down the town:
The goddess stands i' the crossroads: sound the gongs.
Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love.
Hushed are the voices of the winds and seas;
But O not hushed the voice of my despair.
He burns my being up, who left me here
No wife, no maiden, in my misery.
Turn, magic wheel, draw homeward him I love.
Thrice I pour out; speak thrice, sweet mistress, thus:
'What face soe'er hangs o'er him be forgot
Clean as, in Dia, Theseus (legends say)
Forgat his Ariadne's locks of love.'

[...] Read more

poem by Theocritus
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Curiosity

Because of curiosity
All the Vandals had to see
The golden throne
Of Ancient Rome
And brought the city to its knees
Because of curiosity
Because of curiosity
I'm just riddled with anxiety
I'm the lowest level
As a matter of fact
I often dwell for days on this
But when I see your smiling face
I'm so disgraced
And if you're holding out on me
I get curious
As curious as I can be
Curious
Because of curiosity
Curiosity killed the cat
But satisfaction brought it back
In terms of this cat
As a matter of fact
I'll meet you at the old mouse hole
I'll meet you at the old mouse hole
When I see your smiling face
I'm so disgraced
If you're holding out on me
I get curious
As curious as I can be
Curious as I can be
Curious as I can be
Yeah, curiosity

song performed by Iggy Pop
Added by Lucian Velea
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Crossing Brooklyn Ferry

FLOOD-TIDE below me! I watch you face to face;
Clouds of the west! sun there half an hour high! I see you also face
to face.

Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes! how curious
you are to me!
On the ferry-boats, the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning
home, are more curious to me than you suppose;
And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence, are more to
me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.

The impalpable sustenance of me from all things, at all hours of the
day;
The simple, compact, well-join'd scheme--myself disintegrated, every
one disintegrated, yet part of the scheme:
The similitudes of the past, and those of the future;
The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings--on
the walk in the street, and the passage over the river;
The current rushing so swiftly, and swimming with me far away; 10
The others that are to follow me, the ties between me and them;
The certainty of others--the life, love, sight, hearing of others.

Others will enter the gates of the ferry, and cross from shore to
shore;
Others will watch the run of the flood-tide;
Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and the
heights of Brooklyn to the south and east;
Others will see the islands large and small;
Fifty years hence, others will see them as they cross, the sun half
an hour high;
A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence, others
will see them,
Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring in of the flood-tide, the falling
back to the sea of the ebb-tide.

It avails not, neither time or place--distance avails not; 20
I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so many
generations hence;
I project myself--also I return--I am with you, and know how it is.

Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt;
Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd;
Just as you are refresh'd by the gladness of the river and the bright
flow, I was refresh'd;
Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift
current, I stood, yet was hurried;
Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships, and the thick-
stem'd pipes of steamboats, I look'd.

[...] Read more

poem by Walt Whitman
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The Rosciad

Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.

Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Draw The Line

You can write me a letter
But I wont tell you where I am
Oh you can send me a postcard baby
But I wont tell you where I stand
Well Im right outside of your window
And Im walking on through your love
And Im giving you all I can babe
But I know what youve been thinking of
And now baby its time
Baby its time
To draw the line
Draw the line
You may have good intentions
And I may be dead wrong
If what you see here isnt love babe
Its cause Im too tired to be that strong
Now Im burned out on your affection
Because it comes from a jaded tongue
And Im burned out on your direction baby
I know Im not the only one
Baby its time
Baby its time
To draw the line
Draw the line
Draw that line baby
Draw that line yeah
Keep it straight
Keep it close
And tell me
What do you have in mind
Im gonna take this heartache
Im gonna turn it all inside out
Im gonna find every livin last drop of love
Until Im too sure to have any doubt
Now you can love me if you want me
Or you can turn away and tell me to go
Now you can write me a letter
You can send me a postcard
But dont tell me what youre thinking
If you really dont know baby
Baby its time to draw the line
Draw the line
Yeah draw that line

song performed by Indigo Girls
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Parish Register - Part III: Burials

THERE was, 'tis said, and I believe, a time
When humble Christians died with views sublime;
When all were ready for their faith to bleed,
But few to write or wrangle for their creed;
When lively Faith upheld the sinking heart,
And friends, assured to meet, prepared to part;
When Love felt hope, when Sorrow grew serene,
And all was comfort in the death-bed scene.
Alas! when now the gloomy king they wait,
'Tis weakness yielding to resistless fate;
Like wretched men upon the ocean cast,
They labour hard and struggle to the last;
'Hope against hope,' and wildly gaze around
In search of help that never shall be found:
Nor, till the last strong billow stops the breath,
Will they believe them in the jaws of Death!
When these my Records I reflecting read,
And find what ills these numerous births succeed;
What powerful griefs these nuptial ties attend;
With what regret these painful journeys end;
When from the cradle to the grave I look,
Mine I conceive a melancholy book.
Where now is perfect resignation seen?
Alas! it is not on the village-green: -
I've seldom known, though I have often read,
Of happy peasants on their dying-bed;
Whose looks proclaimed that sunshine of the breast,
That more than hope, that Heaven itself express'd.
What I behold are feverish fits of strife,
'Twixt fears of dying and desire of life:
Those earthly hopes, that to the last endure;
Those fears, that hopes superior fail to cure;
At best a sad submission to the doom,
Which, turning from the danger, lets it come.
Sick lies the man, bewilder'd, lost, afraid,
His spirits vanquish'd, and his strength decay'd;
No hope the friend, the nurse, the doctor lend -
'Call then a priest, and fit him for his end.'
A priest is call'd; 'tis now, alas! too late,
Death enters with him at the cottage-gate;
Or time allow'd--he goes, assured to find
The self-commending, all-confiding mind;
And sighs to hear, what we may justly call
Death's common-place, the train of thought in all.
'True I'm a sinner,' feebly he begins,
'But trust in Mercy to forgive my sins:'
(Such cool confession no past crimes excite!
Such claim on Mercy seems the sinner's right!)
'I know mankind are frail, that God is just,
And pardons those who in his Mercy trust;

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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Dead Serious

[verse 1]
Who's that girl with the Bible in her hands?
The smile on her face, she doesn't get it, I don't understand
The way she walks with her head in the clouds
She doesn't care who laughs, walks straight through the crowd
(pre-chorus)
That's right, that's me, I don't care what you think
People talk all day, I don't care what they say
[chorus]
You think I'm delirious,(a typical reaction)
Aren't you curious,(about my satisfaction)
Maybe you're envious, a little curious
You can laugh, but I'm dead serious
[verse 2]
Watch her as she goes, there's something different and she knows it
Ask her why, and she'll flash that silly smile
She says she's got a purpose and she's done with all the games
Jesus saved her soul and she'll never be the same
(pre-chorus)
That's right, that's me, I don't care what you think
People talk all day, I don't care what they say
[chorus]
You think I'm delirious,(a typical reaction)
Aren't you curious,(about my satisfaction)
Maybe you're envious, a little curious
You can laugh, but I'm dead serious
[bridge]
Eternity won't wait for me
I've made my choice, it's where I want to be
All I want to be seen is the light of God shining in me
I may be young, but I an free
You can't change what I believe
(pre-chorus)
That's right, that's me, I don't care what you think
People talk all day, I'm okay anyways
[chorus]
You think I'm delirious,(a typical reaction)
Aren't you curious,(about my satisfaction)
Maybe you're envious, a little curious
You can laugh, but I'm dead serious
Serious, I'm serious
You can laugh but I'm dead serious

song performed by ZoeGirl
Added by Lucian Velea
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Too Too Cool

You've gotten too cool.
And you've got me,
Curious.
What did you do to yourself,
That makes you appear this cool.

You've gotten too cool.
And you've got me,
Quite curious.
Whatchu do to yo' self,
That makes you appear this cool.

Did you get yourself another new pet?
Has someone come back confessing regret?
Did you win the last minute of a bet?
And this has lifted,
Up your chest!

You've gotten too cool.
And you've got me,
Curious.
What did you do to yourself,
That makes you appear this cool.

Did you get yourself another new pet?
Cool.
Has someone confessed regret?
That's cool.
Did you win the last minute of a bet?
So cool.
And this is a boost,
To your chest.

Did you get yourself another new pet?
Cool.
Has someone confessed regret?
That's cool.
Did you win the last minute of a bet?
So cool.
And this is a boost,
To your chest.

You've gotten too cool.
And you've got me,
Curious.
What did you do to yourself,
That makes you appear this cool.

You've gotten too cool.
And you've got me,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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