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As perfume doth remain In the folds where it hath lain, So the thought of you, remaining Deeply folded in my brain, Will not leave me: all things leave me: You remain.

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As A Perfume

As a perfume doth remain
In the folds where it hath lain,
So the thought of you, remaining
Deeply folded in my brain,
Will not leave me: all things leave me:
You remain.

Other thoughts may come and go,
Other moments I may know
That shall waft me, in their going,
As a breath blown to and fro,
Fragrant memories: fragrant memories
Come and go.

Only thoughts of you remain
In my heart where they have lain,
Perfumed thoughts of you, remaining,
A hid sweetness, in my brain.
Others leave me: all things leave me:
You remain.

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You Remain

As a perfume doth remain
In the folds where it hath lain,
So the thought of you, remaining
Deeply folded in my brain,
Will not leave me; all things leave me -
You remain.

Other thoughts may come and go,
Other moments I may know
That shall waft me, in their going,
As a breath blown to and fro,
Fragrant memories; fragrant memories
Come and go.

Only thoughts of you remain
In my heart where they have lain,
Perfumed thoughts of you, remaining,
A hid sweetness, in my brain.
Others leave me; all things leave me -
You remain.

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In the thought of you

In the thought of you
~
What comfort to the night
The thought of you does bring
What warmth to the heart
When I hold you imagining
The embrace of two lovers
Fully entwined in each other
Lost in a solitary look
Where two eyes are bound
How beautiful it all does seem
To ease the mind at night
I sleep with a smile in place
While I picture your company
What more could I ask
Than to be present with you
To share in a moment of time
To find a comfort in the night
Only found in the thought of you

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The Thought Of You

It actually frightens me
The though of you
Because there are countless things
That it can make me do

The thought of you can make my heart race
It can leave me restless at night
Can make me fidgety to the point where I pace

The thought of you can leave me buzzing with an unknown high
It can form a pit in my stomach
And can leave me love sick and sighing

The thought of you above all other thoughts in my mind shines
It can send shivers down my spine
And make me long for you to be mine

The thought of you can take my breath away
The thought of you from my mind never really strays

But even though the thought of you can send me flying sky high
I'm not gonna lie
I haven't forgotten my heartaching past
Which is why part of me hopes this infatuation doesn't last

But until the thought of you finally fades away
I guess I'll enjoy it
After all
Who knows how long the thought of you will be here to stay

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Just the Thought of You

When days like these...
Come and go to leave me feeling drained,
And weak.
Just the thought of you,
Brightens my point of view.
Giving me a strength to endure.

Just the thought of you,
Helps me through...
When days like these,
Traps me inside to welcome despair.

You may be there and not here,
When days like these...
Seem to come along with a mission to squeeze,
Every breath I breathe.

Just the thought of you,
Unclouds my view.
When days like these...
Come to pursue those moments I am alone.
And subdued in wishes I desire to exist.
But you give me reasons to remember,
I am loved!
And I choose those thoughts of you,
To keep me lifted.
When days like these insist to visit me.

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Today... The Thought of You Disgust Me to Tears

You are just not worthy,
Of my love and loyalty.
You dismiss my attempts,
To be totally devoted...
As something owed.
As if I was born to be attracted to you.
And you,
Happened to have been doing charity work.
With a decision you made to do me a favor.

You are just not worthy,
Of my patience I give with blind tolerance.
Others tried to convince me,
I made it too easy for you to use and abuse...
My inability to stop loving you.
Others tried to convince me,
You did nothing for me but treat me like a fool.

But the fool made in this scenerio is Y-O-U.
And you've proven that is if proud to announce it.
Well...
There is nothing left for you to announce.
No integrity left for you to save.
I use to think of you as being bold and brave.
Honest to a fault and inspiring.
Today...
The thought of you disgust me to tears.

Any picture I have of you,
Sitting high on a pedestal in my mind...
I seek to medicate to have you removed.
Anything to get me to feel I am cleansed.
The thought of ever being near you,
Embraced in a nakedness, exposed to show truth...
Has left me feeling cheap and dirty!
You disgust me to tears.

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Today... The Thought of You Disgust Me to Tears

You are just not worthy,
Of my love and loyalty.
You dismiss my attempts,
To be totally devoted...
As something owed.
As if I was born to be attracted to you.
And you,
Happened to have been doing charity work.
With a decision you made to do me a favor.

You are just not worthy,
Of my patience I give with blind tolerance.
Others tried to convince me,
I made it too easy for you to use and abuse...
My inability to stop loving you.
Others tried to convince me,
You did nothing for me but treat me like a fool.

But the fool made in this scenerio is Y-O-U.
And you've proven that is if proud to announce it.
Well...
There is nothing left for you to announce.
No integrity left for you to save.
I use to think of you as being bold and brave.
Honest to a fault and inspiring.
Today...
The thought of you disgust me to tears.

Any picture I have of you,
Sitting high on a pedestal in my mind...
I seek to medicate to have you removed.
Anything to get me to feel I am cleansed.
The thought of ever being near you,
Embraced in a nakedness, exposed to show truth...
Has left me feeling cheap and dirty!
You disgust me to tears.

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The Lord of the Isles: Canto I.

Autumn departs - but still his mantle's fold
Rests on the groves of noble Somerville,
Beneath a shroud of russet dropp'd with gold,
Tweed and his tributaries mingle still;
Hoarser the wind, and deeper sounds the rill,
Yet lingering notes of silvan music swell,
The deep-toned cushat, and the redbreast shrill:
And yet some tints of summer splendour tell
When the broad sun sinks down on Ettrick's western fell.

Autumn departs - from Gala's fields no more
Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer;
Blent with the stream, and gale that wafts it o'er,
No more the distant reaper's mirth we hear.
The last blithe shout hath died upon our ear,
And harvest-home hath hush'd the changing wain,
On the waste hill no forms of life appear,
Save where, sad laggard of the autumnal train,
Some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scatter'd grain.

Deem'st thou these sadden'd scenes have pleasure still,
Lovest thou through Autumn's fading realms to stray,
To see the heath-flower wither'd on the hill,
To listen to the wood's expiring lay,
To note the red leaf shivering on the spray,
To mark the last bright tints the mountain stain,
On the waste fields to trace the gleaner's way,
And moralise on mortal joy and pain? -
O! if such scenes thou lovest, scorn not the minstrel strain.

No! do not scorn, although its hoarser note
Scarce with the cushat's homely song can vie,
Though faint its beauties as the tints remote
That gleam through mist in autumn's evening sky,
And few as leaves that tremble, sear and dry,
When wild November hath his bugle wound;
Nor mock my toil - a lonely gleaner I,
Through fields time-wasted, on and inquest bound,
Where happier bards of yore have richer harvest found.

So shalt thou list, and haply not unmoved,
To a wild tale of Albyn's warrior day;
In distant lands, by the rough West reproved,
Still live some relics of the ancient lay.
For, when on Coolin's hills the lights decay,
With such the Seer of Skye the eve beguiles;
'Tis known amid the pathless wastes of Reay,
In Harries known, and in Iona's piles,
Where rest from mortal coil the Mighty of the Isles.

Canto I.
I.
'Wake, Maid of Lorn!' the Minstrels sung.-
Thy rugged halls, Artornish! rung,
And the dark seas, thy towers that lave,
Heaved on the beach a softer wave,
As 'mid the tuneful choir to keep
The diapason of the Deep.
Lull'd were the winds of Inninmore,
And green Loch-Alline's woodland shore,
As if wild woods and waves had pleasure
In listing to the lovely measure.
And ne'er to symphony more sweet
Gave mountain echoes answer meet,
Since, met from mainland and from isle,
Ross, Arran, Hay, and Argyle,
Each minstrel's tributary lay
Paid homage to the festal day.
Dull and dishonour'd were the bard,
Worthless of guerdon and regard,
Deaf to the hope of minstrel fame,
Or lady's smiles, his noblest aim,
Who on that morn's resistless call
Where silent in Artornish hall.

II.
'Wake, Maid of Lorn!' - 'twas thus they sung,
And yet more proud the descant rung,
'Wake, Maid of Lorn! high right is ours,
To charm dull sleep from Beauty's bowers;
Earth, Ocean, Air, have nought so shy
But owns the power of minstrelsy.
In Lettermore the timid deer
Will pause, the harp's wild chime to hear;
Rude Heiskar's seal through surges dark
Will long pursue the minstrel's bark;
To list his notes, the eagle proud
Will poise him on Ben-Cailliach's cloud;
Then let not Maiden's ear disdain
The summons of the minstrel train,
But, while our harps wild music make,
Edith of Lorn, awake, awake!

III.
'O wake, while Dawn, with dewy shine,
Wakes Nature's charms to vie with thine!
She bids the mottled thrush rejoice
To mate thy melody of voice;
The dew that on the violet lies
Mocks the dark lustre of thine eyes;
But, Edith, wake, and all we see
Of sweet and fair shall yield to thee!'-
'She comes not yet,' grey Ferrand cried;
'Brethren, let softer spell be tried,
Those notes prolong'd, that soothing theme,
Which best may mix with Beauty's dream,
And whisper, with their silvery tone,
The hope she loves, yet fears to own.'
He spoke, and on the harp-strings died
The strains of flattery and of pride;
More soft, more low, more tender fell
The lay of love he bade them tell.

IV.
'Wake, Maid of Lorn! the moments fly,
Which yet that maiden-name allow;
Wake, Maiden, wake! the hour is nigh,
When love shall claim a plighted vow.
By Fear, thy bosom's fluttering guest,
By Hope, that soon shall fears remove,
We bid thee break the bonds of rest,
And wake thee at the call of Love!

'Wake, Edith, wake! in yonder bay
Lies many a galley gaily mann'd,
We hear the merry pibrochs play,
We see the streamer's silken band.
What Chieftain's praise these pibrochs swell,
What crest is on these banners wove,
The harp, the minstrel, dare not tell -
The riddle must be read by Love.'

V.
Retired her maiden train among,
Edith of Lorn received the song,
But tamed the minstrel's pride had been
That had her cold demeanour seen;
For not upon her cheek awoke
The glow of pride when Flattery spoke,
Nor could their tenderest numbers bring
One sigh responsive to the string.
As vainly had her maidens vied
In skill to deck the princely bride.
Her locks, in dark-brown length array'd,
Cathleen of Ulne, 'twas thine to braid;
Young Eva with meet reverence drew
On the light foot with silken shoe,
While on the ankle's slender round
Those strings of pearl fair Bertha wound,
That, bleach'd Lochryan's depths within,
Seem'd dusky still on Edith's skin.
But Einion, of experience old,
Had weightiest task - the mantle's fold
In many an artful plait she tied,
To show the form it seem'd to hide,
Till on the floor descending roll'd
Its waves of crimson blent with gold.

VI.
O! lives there now so cold a maid,
Who thus in beauty's pomp array'd,
In beauty's proudest pitch of power,
And conquest won - the bridal hour -
With every charm that wins the heart,
By Nature given, enhanced by Art,
Could yet the fair reflection view,
In the bright mirror pictured true,
And not one dimple on her cheek
A tell-tale consciousness bespeak?-
Lives still such a maid? - Fair damsels, say,
For further vouches not my lay,
Save that such lived in Britain's isle,
When Lorn's bright Edith scorn'd to smile.

VII.
But Morag, to whose fostering care
Proud Lorn had given his daughter fair,
Morag, who saw a mother's aid
By all a daughter's love repaid,
(Strict was that bond - most kind of all -
Inviolate in Highland hall)-
Grey Morag sate a space apart,
In Edith's eyes to read her heart.
In vain the attendant's fond appeal
To Morag's skill, to Morag's zeal;
She mark'd her child receive their care,
Cold as the image sculptured fair,
(Form of some sainted patroness,)
Which cloister'd maids combine to dress;
She mark'd - and knew her nursling's heart
In the vain pomp took little part.
Wistful a while she gazed - then press'd
The maiden to her anxious breast
In finish'd loveliness - and led
To where a turret's airy head,
Slender and steep, and battled round,
O'erlook'd, dark Mull! thy mighty Sound,
Where thwarting tides, with mingled roar,
Part thy swarth hills from Morven's shore.

VIII.
'Daughter,' she said, 'these seas behold,
Round twice a hundred islands roll'd,
From Hirt, that hears their northern roar,
Or mainland turn, where many a tower
Owns thy bold brother's feudal power,
Each on its own dark cape reclined,
And listening to its own wild wind,
From where Mingarry, sternly placed,
O'erawes the woodland and the waste,
To where Dunstaffnage hears the raging
Of Connal with his rocks engaging.
Think'st thou, amid this ample round,
A single brow but thine has frown'd,
To sadden this auspicious morn,
That bids the daughter of high Lorn
Impledge her spousal faith to wed
The heir of mighty Somerled?
Ronald, from many a hero sprung,
The fair, the valiant, and the young,
Lord of the Isles, whose lofty name
A thousand bards have given to fame,
The mate of monarchs, and allied
On equal terms with England's pride.-
From Chieftain's tower to bondsman's cot,
Who hears the tale, and triumphs not?
The damsel dons her best attire,
The shepherd lights his beltane fire,
Joy! joy! each warder's horn hath sung,
Joy! joy! each matin bell hath rung;
The holy priest says grateful mass,
Loud shouts each hardy galla-glass,
No mountain den holds outcast boor,
Of heart so dull, of soul so poor,
But he hath flung his task aside,
And claim'd this morn for holy-tide;
Yet, empress of this joyful day,
Edith is sad while all are gay.'-

IX.
Proud Edith's soul came to her eye,
Resentment check'd the struggling sigh.
Her hurrying hand indignant dried
The burning tears of injured pride -
'Morag, forbear! or lend thy praise
To swell yon hireling harpers' lays;
Make to yon maids thy boast of power,
That they may waste a wondering hour,
Telling of banners proudly borne,
Of pealing bell and bugle horn,
Or, theme more dear, of robes of price,
Crownlets and gauds of rare device.
But thou, experienced as thou art,
Think'st thou with these to cheat the heart,
That, bound in strong affection's chain,
No! sum thine Edith's wretched lot
In these brief words - He loves her not!

X.
'Debate it not - too long I strove
To call his cold observance love,
All blinded by the league that styled
Edith of Lorn, - while yet a child,
She tripp'd the heath by Morag's side, -
The brave Lord Ronald's destined bride.
Ere yet I saw him, while afar
His broadsword blazed in Scotland's war,
Train'd to believe our fates the same,
My bosom throbb'd when Ronald's name
Came gracing fame's heroic tale,
Like perfume on the summer gale.
What pilgrim sought our halls, nor told
Of Ronald's deeds in battle bold;
Who touch'd the harp to heroes' praise;
But his achievements swell'd the lays?
Even Morag - not a tale of fame
Was hers but closed with Ronald's name.
He came! and all that had been told
Of his high worth seem'd poor and cold,
Tame, lifeless, void of energy,
Unjust to Ronald and to me!

XI.
'Since then, what thought had Edith's heart,
And gave not plighted love its part! -
And what requital? cold delay -
Excuse that shunn'd the spousal day.-
It dawns, and Ronald is not here!-
Hunts he Bentella's nimble deer,
Or loiters he in secret dell
To bid some lighter love farewell,
And swear, that though he may not scorn
A daughter of the House of Lorn,
Yet, when these formal rites are o'er,
Again they meet, to part no more?'

XII.
-'Hush, daughter, hush! thy doubts remove
More nobly think of Ronald's love.
Look, where beneath the castle grey
His fleet unmoor from Aros bay!
See'st not each galley's topmast bend,
As on the yards the sails ascend?
Hiding the dark-blue land they rise,
Like the white clouds on April skies;
The shouting vassals man the oars,
Behind them sink Mull's mountain shores,
Onward their merry course they keep,
Through whistling breeze and foaming deep.
And mark the headmost, seaward cast,
Stoop to the freshening gale her mast,
As if she veil'd its banner'd pride,
To greet afar her Prince's bride!
Thy Ronald comes, and while in speed
His galley mates the flying steed,
He chides her sloth!' - Fair Edith sigh'd,
Blush'd, sadly smiled, and thus replied: -

XIII.
'Sweet thought, but vain! - No, Morag! mark,
Type of his course, yon lonely bark,
That oft hath shifted helm and sail,
To win its way against the gale.
Since peep of morn, my vacant eyes
Have view'd by fits the course she tries;
Now, though the darkening scud comes on,
And dawn's fair promises be gone,
And though the weary crew may see
Our sheltering haven on their lea,
Still closer to the rising wind
They strive her shivering sail to bind,
Still nearer to the shelves' dread verge
At every tack her course they urge,
As if they fear'd Artornish more
Than adverse winds and breakers' roar.'

XIV.
Sooth spoke the Maid. - Amid the tide
The skiff she mark'd lay tossing sore,
And shifted oft her stooping side,
In weary tack from shore to shore.
Yet on her destined course no more
She gain'd, or forward way,
Than what a minstrel may compare
To the poor meed which peasants share,
Who toil the livelong day;
And such the risk her pilot braves,
That oft, before she wore,
Her boltsprit kiss'd the broken waves,
Where in white foam the ocean raves
Upon the shelving shore.
Yet, to their destined purpose true,
Undaunted toil'd her hardy crew,
Nor look'd where shelter lay,
Nor for Artornish Castle drew,
Nor steer'd for Aros bay.

XV.
Thus while they strove with wind and seas,
Borne onward by the willing breeze,
Lord Ronald's fleet swept by,
Stream'd with silk, and trick'd with gold,
Mann'd with the noble and the bold
Of island chivalry.
Around their prows the ocean roars,
And chafes beneath their thousand oars,
Yet bears them on their way:
So chafes the war-horse in his might,
That fieldward bears some valiant knight,
Champs, till both bit and boss are white,
But, foaming, must obey.
On each gay deck they might behold
Lances of steel and crests of gold,
And hauberks with their burnish'd fold,
That shimmer'd fair and free;
And each proud galley, as she pass'd,
To the wild cadence of the blast
Gave wilder minstrelsy.
Full many a shrill triumphant note
Saline and Scallastle bade float
Their misty shores around;
And Morven's echoes answer'd well,
And Duart heard the distant swell
Come down the darksome Sound.

XVI.
So bore they on with mirth and pride,
And if that labouring bark they spied,
'Twas with such idle eye
As nobles cast on lowly boor,
When, toiling in his task obscure,
They pass him careless by.
Let them sweep on with heedless eyes!
But, had they known what mighty prize
In that frail vessel lay,
The famish'd wolf, that prowls the wold,
Had scatheless pass'd the unguarded fold,
Ere, drifting by these galleyes bold,
Unchallenged were her way!
And thou, Lord Ronald, sweep thou on,
With mirth, and pride, and minstrel tone!
But hadst thou known who sail'd so nigh,
Far other glance were in thine eye!
Far other flush were on thy brow,
That, shaded by the bonnet, now
Assumes but ill the blithesome cheer
Of bridegroom when the bride is near!

XVII.
Yes, sweep they on! - We will not leave,
For them that triumph, those who grieve,
With that armada gay
Be laughter loud and jocund shout,
And bards to cheer the wassail rout,
With tale, and romance, and lay;
And of wild mirth each clamorous art,
Which, if it cannot cheer the heart,
May stupefy and stun its smart,
For one loud busy day.
Yes, sweep they on! - But with that skiff
Abides the minstrel tale,
Where there was dread of surge and cliff,
Labour that strain'd each sinew stiff,
And one sad Maiden's wail.

XVIII.
All day with fruitless strife they toil'd,
With eve the ebbing currents boil'd
More fierce from straight and lake;
And midway through the channel met
Conflicting tides that foam and fret,
And high their mingled billows jet,
As spears, that, in the battle set,
Spring upward as they break.
Then, too, the lights of eve were past,
And louder sung the western blast
On rocks of Inninmore;
Rent was the sail, and strain'd the mast,
And many a leak was gaping fast,
And the pale steersman stood aghast,
And gave the conflict o'er.

XIX.
'Twas then that One, whose lofty look
Nor labour dull'd nor terror shook,
Thus to the Leader spoke:-
'Brother, how hopest thou to abide
The fury of this wilder'd tide,
Or how avoid the rock's rude side,
Until the day has broke?
Didst thou not mark the vessel reel,
With quivering planks, and groaning keel,
At the last billow's shock?
Yet how of better counsel tell,
Though here thou see'st poor Isabel
Half dead with want and fear;
For look on sea, or look on land,
Or yon dark sky, on every hand
Despair and death are near.
For her alone I grieve - on me
Danger sits light, by land and sea,
I follow where thou wilt;
Either to bide the tempest's lour,
Or went to yon unfriendly tower,
Or rush amid their naval power,
With war-cry wake their wassail-hour,
And die with hand on hilt.'-

XX.
That elder Leader's calm reply
In steady voice was given,
'In man's most dark extremity
Oft succour dawns from Heaven.
Edward, trim thou the shatter'd sail,
The helm be mine, and down the gate
Let our free course be driven;
So shall we 'scape the western bay,
The hostile fleet, the unequal fray,
So safely hold our vessel's way
Beneath the Castle wall;
For if a hope of safety rest,
'Tis on the sacred name of guest,
Who seeks for shelter, storm-distress'd,
Within a chieftain's hall.
If not - it best beseems our worth,
Our name, our right, our lofty birth,
By noble hands to fall.'

XXI.
The helm, to his strong arm consign'd,
Gave the reef'd sail to meet the wind,
And on her alter'd way,
Fierce bonding, forward sprung the ship,
Like greyhound starting from the slip
To seize his flying prey.
Awaked before the rushing prow,
The mimic fires of ocean glow,
Those lightnings of the wave;
Wild sparkles crest the broken tides,
And, flashing round, the vessel's sides
With elvish lustre lave,
While, far behind, their livid light
To the dark billows of the night
A gloomy splendour gave,
It seems as if old Ocean shakes
From his dark brow the lucid flakes
In envious pageantry,
To match the meteor-light that streaks
Grim Hecla's midnight sky.

XXII.
Nor lack'd they steadier light to keep
Their course upon the darken'd deep;-
Artornish, on her frowning steep
'Twixt cloud and ocean hung,
Glanced with a thousand lights of glee,
And landward far, and far to sea,
Her festal radiance flung.
By that blithe beacon-light they steer'd,
Whose lustre mingled well
With the pale beam that now appear'd,
As the cold moon her head uprear'd
Above the eastern fell.

XXIII.
Thus guided, on their course they bore,
Until they near'd the mainland shore,
When frequent on the hollow blast
Wild shouts of merriment were cast,
And wind and wave and sea-birds' cry
With wassail sounds in concert vie,
Like funeral shrieks with revelry,
Or like the battle-shout
By peasants heard from cliffs on high,
When Triumph, Rage, and Agony,
Madden the fight and rout.
Now nearer yet, through mist and storm
Dimly arose the Castle's form,
And deepen'd shadow made,
Far lengthen'd on the main below,
Where, dancing in reflected glow,
A hundred torches play'd,
Spangling the wave with lights as vain
As pleasures in this vale of pain,
That dazzle as they fade.

XXIV.
Beneath the Castle's sheltering lee,
They staid their course in quiet sea.
Hewn in the rock, a passage there
Sought the dark fortress by a stair,
So strait, so high, so steep,
With peasant's staff on valiant hand
Might well the dizzy path have mann'd,
'Gainst hundreds arm'd with spear and brand,
And plunged them in the deep.
His bugle then the helmsman wound;
Loud answered every echo round,
From turret, rock, and bay,
The postern's hinges crash and groan,
And soon the Warder's cresset shone
On those rude steps of slippery stone,
To light the upward way.
'Thrice welcome, holy Sire!' he said;
'Full long the spousal train have staid,
And, vex'd at thy delay,
Fear'd lest, amidst these wildering seas,
The darksome night and freshening breeze
Had driven thy bark astray.'-

XXV.
'Warder,' the younger stranger said,
'Thine erring guess some mirth had made
In mirthful hour; but nights like these,
When the rough winds wake western seas,
Brook not of glee. We crave some aid
And needful shelter for this maid
Until the break of day;
For, to ourselves, the deck's rude plank
That's breath'd upon by May.
And for our storm-toss'd skiff we seek
Short shelter in this leeward creek,
Prompt when the dawn the east shall streak
Again to bear away.'-
Answered the Warder, 'In what name
Assert ye hospitable claim?
Whence come, or whither bound?
Hath Erin seen your parting sails,
Or come ye on Norweyan gales?
And seek ye England's fertile vales,
Or Scotland's mountain ground?'-

XXVI.
'Warriors - for other title none
For some brief space we list to own,
Bound by a vow - warriors are we;
In strife by land and storm by sea,
We have been known to fame;
And these brief words have import dear,
When sounded in a noble ear,
To harbour safe, and friendly cheer,
That gives us rightful claim.
Grant us the trivial boon we seek,
And we in other realms will speak
Fair of your courtesy;
Deny - and be your niggard Hold
Scorn'd by the noble and the bold,
Shunn'd by the pilgrim on the wold,
And wanderer on the lea!'-

XXVII.
'Bold stranger, no - 'gainst claim like thine,
No bolt revolves by hand of mine,
Though urged in tone that more express'd
A monarch than a suppliant guest.
Be what ye will, Artornish Hall
On this glad eve is free to all.
Though ye had drawn a hostile sword
'Gainst our ally, great England's Lord,
Or mail upon your shoulders borne,
To battle with the Lord of Lorn,
Or, outlaw'd, dwelt by greenwood tree
With the fierce Knight of Ellerslie,
Or aided even the murderous strife,
When Comyn fell beneath the knife
Of that fell homicide The Bruce,
This night had been a term of truce.-
Ho, vassals! give these guests your care,
And show the narrow postern stair.'

XXVIII.
To land these two bold brethren leapt,
(The weary crew their vessel kept),
And, lighted by the torches' flare,
That seaward flung their smoky glare,
The younger knight that maiden bare
Half lifeless up the rock;
On his strong shoulder lean'd her head,
And down her long dark tresses shed,
As the wild vine in tendrils spread,
Droops from the mountain oak.
Him follow'd close that elder Lord,
And in his hand a sheathed sword,
Such as few arms could wield;
But when he boun'd him to such task,
Well could it cleave the strongest casque,
And rend the surest shield.

XXIX.
The raised portcullis' arch they pass,
The wicket with its bars of brass,
The entrance long and low,
Flank'd at each turn by loop-holes strait,
Where bowmen might in ambush wait,
(If force or fraud should burst the gate),
To gall an entering foe.
But every jealous post of ward
Was now defenceless and unbarr'd,
And all the passage free
To one low-brow'd and vaulted room,
Where squire and yeoman, page and groom,
Plied their loud revelry.

XXX.
And 'Rest ye here,' the Warder bade,
'Till to our Lord your suit is said.-
And, comrades, gaze not on the maid,
And on these men who ask our aid,
As if ye ne'er had seen
A damsel tired of midnight bark,
Or wanderers of a moulding stark,
And bearing martial mien.'
But not for Eachin's reproof
Would page or vassal stand aloof,
But crowded on to stare,
As men of courtesy untaught,
Till fiery Edward roughly caught,
From one, the foremost there,
His chequer'd plaid, and in its shroud,
Involved his sister fair.
His brother, as the clansman bent
His sullen brow in discontent,
Made brief and stern excuse;-
'Vassal, were thine the cloak of pall
That decks thy lord in bridal hall,
'Twere honour'd by her use.'

XXXI.
Proud was his tone, but calm; his eye
Had that compelling dignity,
His mien that bearing haught and high,
Which common spirits fear;
Need nor word nor signal more,
Nod, wink, and laughter, all were o'er;
Upon each other back they bore,
And gazed like startled deer.
But now appear'd the Seneschal,
Commission'd by his lord to call
The strangers to the Baron's hall,
Where feasted fair and free
That Island Prince is nuptial tide,
With Edith there his lovely bride,
And her bold brother by her side,
And many a chief, the flower and pride
Of Western land and sea.

Here pause we, gentles, for a space;
And, if our tale hath won your grace,
Grant us brief patience, and again
We will renew the minstrel strain.

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The Thought Of You

I dream of a love that can trancend time,
Pure, simple and uncomplicated,
Where passion conquers hesitation,
And carries you closer to me,
Where I hear your voice and my soul is calmed,
Love's dream carries me to new heights,
For in loves sweet embrace I am invincible,
Together we shall ride shooting stars,
I am you and you are me, we are all there is,
I hold your heart within my hands and I tremble,
Dare I forget the very thought of you?
For if I should... I would surely be undone...

Spread the love... The peace will follow...

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The Very Thought Of You

Ray noble
The very thought of you
I forget to do
Those little ordinary things
That everyone ought to do
Im livin in a kind of a daydream
Im happy as a queen
And foolish though it may seem
To me thats everything
The mere idea of you
The longing here for you
Youll never know
How slow the moments go
Till Im near to you
I see your face in every flower
Your eyes in stars above
Its just the thought of you,
The very thought of you, my love

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The Very Thought Of You

The very thought of you
And I forget to do
The little ordinary things
That everyone ought to do
Im living in a kind of daydream
Im happy as a king
And foolish though it may seem to me
Thats everything
The mere idea of you
The longing year for you
Youll never know how slow the moments go
Till Im near to you
I see your face in every flower
Your eye in stars above
Its just the thought of you
The very thought of you
My love
The mere idea of you
The longing year for you
Youll never know how slow the moments go
Till Im near to you
I see your face in every flower
Your eye in stars above
Its just the thought of you
The very thought of you
My love

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The Very Thought Of You

A shoal
of taxi cabs

swimming yellowishly
down Madison

their dorsal fins
advertising musicals

an A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC
overtakes a SOUTH PACIFIC.

We walk
miserably & myopically

in the sleeting rain
cut across Central Park

a blue blur shrieks past
a yellow streak

all held now
at the hanging traffic lights

all Chinese
lanterny

inside the warm
restaurant we laugh

at the angry rain
throwing itself

uselessly against the glass

you looking like
a copy

of Frans Hall's
THE LAUGHING CAVILER

complete with Cappucchino
moustache

the music saunters
sensuously amongst the tables

'...it's just the thought of you

the very thought of you

...my love! '

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The Very Thought Of You

The very thought of you and I forget to do
The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do
Im living in a kind of daydream
Im happy as a king
And foolish though it may seem
To me thats everything
The mere idea of you, the longing here for you
Youll never know how slow the moments go till Im near to you
I see your face in every flower
Your eyes in stars above
Its just the thought of you
The very thought of you, my love

The mere idea of you, the longing here for you
Youll never know how slow the moments go till Im near to you
I see your face in every flower
Your eyes in stars above
Its just the thought of you
The very thought of you, my love

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The Very Thought Of You

The very thought of you
And I forget to do
The little ordinary things
That everyone ought to do
I'm living in a kind of daydream
I'm happy as a king and foolish
Though it may seem to me
That's everything
The mere idea of you
The longing here for you
You'll never know
How slow the moments go
Till I'm near to you
I see your face in every flower
You eyes in stars above
It's just the thought of you
The very thought of you my love
The mere idea of you
The longing here for you
You'll never know
How slow the moments go
Till I'm near to you
I see your face in every flower
You eyes in stars above
It's just the thought of you
The very thought of you my love
The very thought of you my love
The very thought of you my love

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The Thought Police

(d. pickerill/p. odonoughue)
Chorus:
Thought police
They will put you under
The thought police
They will take you in
The thought police
They will clean your mind out
The thought police
You can never win
You can never win
You can never, never, never, never, never win
There are people around with problems
Those who live in fear
Running from the shadows
Waiting for another year
Thought of the secrets
Secrets of the mind
Thoughts can spell out danger
To the leaders of the time
Chorus
Thoughts are fleeting glimpses
Of the future or the past
They lock ideas in a bottle
Its time to break the glass
Hiding out in the daytime
Crawling through the night
Keeping out of danger
Just trying to find the light
Chorus
Chorus (x2 and fade)

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Thank You For The Thought

THIS POEM IS DEDICATED TO MY 'DJ' BEST FRIEND


Thank you my friend for the text,
For asking me how I am today,
For telling me how things are there,
Thank you for the thought, my friend.

Thank you my friend for the text,
For asking about my plans for the occasion;
For asking for a little of my time so you can call,
My friend, Thank you for the thought.

Thank you my friend for the call,
For finding time to call me up;
For spending money to find out how I am,
Thank you for the thought my friend.

Thank you my friend for the forward mails
You so untiringly send when you think
They can make me smile and say a little prayer;
Thank you for the thought my friend.

Thank you my friend for the friendship,
For the patience to listen when I whine,
For the tolerance to my shortcomings,
For reminding me to always take care of myself,
Thank you for the thought my friend.

Masked Lady
Dec.30,2009

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The Very Thought Of You

-artist: nat king cole
-words and music by ray noble
-charted in 1934 by ray noble (#1) and bing crosby (#11)
-charted in 1944 by vaughn monroe (#19)
-sung by doris day in the 1950 film man with a horn
-charted in 1961 by little willie john (#61)
-charted in 1964 by rick nelson (#26)
The very thought of you and I forget to do
The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do
Im living in a kind of daydream
Im happy as a king
And foolish though it may seem
To me thats everything
The mere idea of you, the longing here for you
Youll never know how slow the moments go till Im near to you
I see your face in every flower
Your eyes in stars above
Its just the thought of you
The very thought of you, my love

The mere idea of you, the longing here for you
Youll never know how slow the moments go till Im near to you
I see your face in every flower
Your eyes in stars above
Its just the thought of you
The very thought of you, my love

song performed by Nat King ColeReport problemRelated quotes
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Bleeds Through: The Truth Will Not be Silenced

Strength and fortitude is my message friends
Tonight we have gathered in this stuffy inn to wage war
Ironic though it be we are practitioners of peace
Our enemies have lived for too long
Our corrupted government has run its course
Now us, The Middle
Comprised of apprentices, journeymen, artisans, and masters
We will not let the Bushwahzee and pious government to reign
Now we fight
Fight as well by our trade
Grab your tools, paper, canvas
Let the arts sing of our heroism
Shall the paper show our retribution to the corners of Europe
Be that all constructs wage revenge and ill tidings
Strength and fortitude amongst us friends
If we divide an hold personal dwellings that linger dear,
Our conquest is forfeit
Bravery my countrymen, our people call for saviors
A New Regime
Lead by the middle to save all lower and equal
Go now all of you time is short and needed
By this time soon can we all rise as equal French
Go now and save all that can be saved
Strength and fortitude
Strength and fortitude
May God help us all

March 14,2012

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To Victor Hugo

IN the fair days when God
By man as godlike trod,
And each alike was Greek, alike was free,
God’s lightning spared, they said,
Alone the happier head
Whose laurels screened it; fruitless grace for thee,
To whom the high gods gave of right
Their thunders and their laurels and their light.

Sunbeams and bays before
Our master’s servants wore,
For these Apollo left in all men’s lands;
But far from these ere now
And watched with jealous brow
Lay the blind lightnings shut between God’s hands,
And only loosed on slaves and kings
The terror of the tempest of their wings.

Born in those younger years
That shone with storms of spears
And shook in the wind blown from a dead world’s pyre,
When by her back-blown hair
Napoleon caught the fair
And fierce Republic with her feet of fire,
And stayed with iron words and hands
Her flight, and freedom in a thousand lands:

Thou sawest the tides of things
Close over heads of kings,
And thine hand felt the thunder, and to thee
Laurels and lightnings were
As sunbeams and soft air
Mixed each in other, or as mist with sea
Mixed, or as memory with desire,
Or the lute’s pulses with the louder lyre.

For thee man’s spirit stood
Disrobed of flesh and blood,
And bare the heart of the most secret hours;
And to thine hand more tame
Than birds in winter came
High hopes and unknown flying forms of powers,
And from thy table fed, and sang
Till with the tune men’s ears took fire and rang.

Even all men’s eyes and ears
With fiery sound and tears
Waxed hot, and cheeks caught flame and eyelids light,
At those high songs of thine
That stung the sense like wine,
Or fell more soft than dew or snow by night,
Or wailed as in some flooded cave
Sobs the strong broken spirit of a wave.

But we, our master, we
Whose hearts, uplift to thee,
Ache with the pulse of thy remembered song,
We ask not nor await
From the clenched hands of fate,
As thou, remission of the world’s old wrong;
Respite we ask not, nor release;
Freedom a man may have, he shall not peace.

Though thy most fiery hope
Storm heaven, to set wide ope
The all-sought-for gate whence God or Chance debars
All feet of men, all eyes—
The old night resumes her skies,
Her hollow hiding-place of clouds and stars,
Where nought save these is sure in sight;
And, paven with death, our days are roofed with night.

One thing we can; to be
Awhile, as men may, free;
But not by hope or pleasure the most stern
Goddess, most awful-eyed,
Sits, but on either side
Sit sorrow and the wrath of hearts that burn,
Sad faith that cannot hope or fear,
And memory grey with many a flowerless year.

Not that in stranger’s wise
I lift not loving eyes
To the fair foster-mother France, that gave
Beyond the pale fleet foam
Help to my sires and home,
Whose great sweet breast could shelter those and save
Whom from her nursing breasts and hands
Their land cast forth of old on gentler lands.

Not without thoughts that ache
For theirs and for thy sake,
I, born of exiles, hail thy banished head;
I whose young song took flight
Toward the great heat and light
On me a child from thy far splendour shed,
From thine high place of soul and song,
Which, fallen on eyes yet feeble, made them strong.

Ah, not with lessening love
For memories born hereof,
I look to that sweet mother-land, and see
The old fields and fair full streams,
And skies, but fled like dreams
The feet of freedom and the thought of thee;
And all between the skies and graves
The mirth of mockers and the shame of slaves.

She, killed with noisome air,
Even she! and still so fair,
Who said “Let there be freedom,” and there was
Freedom; and as a lance
The fiery eyes of France
Touched the world’s sleep and as a sleep made pass
Forth of men’s heavier ears and eyes
Smitten with fire and thunder from new skies.

Are they men’s friends indeed
Who watch them weep and bleed?
Because thou hast loved us, shall the gods love thee?
Thou, first of men and friend,
Seest thou, even thou, the end?
Thou knowest what hath been, knowest thou what shall be?
Evils may pass and hopes endure;
But fate is dim, and all the gods obscure.

O nursed in airs apart,
O poet highest of heart,
Hast thou seen time, who hast seen so many things?
Are not the years more wise,
More sad than keenest eyes,
The years with soundless feet and sounding wings?
Passing we hear them not, but past
The clamour of them thrills us, and their blast.

Thou art chief of us, and lord;
Thy song is as a sword
Keen-edged and scented in the blade from flowers;
Thou art lord and king; but we
Lift younger eyes, and see
Less of high hope, less light on wandering hours;
Hours that have borne men down so long,
Seen the right fail, and watched uplift the wrong.

But thine imperial soul,
As years and ruins roll
To the same end, and all things and all dreams
With the same wreck and roar
Drift on the dim same shore,
Still in the bitter foam and brackish streams
Tracks the fresh water-spring to be
And sudden sweeter fountains in the sea.

As once the high God bound
With many a rivet round
Man’s saviour, and with iron nailed him through,
At the wild end of things,
Where even his own bird’s wings
Flagged, whence the sea shone like a drop of dew,
From Caucasus beheld below
Past fathoms of unfathomable snow;

So the strong God, the chance
Central of circumstance,
Still shows him exile who will not be slave;
All thy great fame and thee
Girt by the dim strait sea
With multitudinous walls of wandering wave;
Shows us our greatest from his throne
Fate-stricken, and rejected of his own.

Yea, he is strong, thou say’st,
A mystery many-faced,
The wild beasts know him and the wild birds flee;
The blind night sees him, death
Shrinks beaten at his breath,
And his right hand is heavy on the sea:
We know he hath made us, and is king;
We know not if he care for anything.

Thus much, no more, we know;
He bade what is be so,
Bade light be and bade night be, one by one;
Bade hope and fear, bade ill
And good redeem and kill,
Till all men be aweary of the sun
And his world burn in its own flame
And bear no witness longer of his name.

Yet though all this be thus,
Be those men praised of us
Who have loved and wrought and sorrowed and not sinned
For fame or fear or gold,
Nor waxed for winter cold,
Nor changed for changes of the worldly wind;
Praised above men of men be these,
Till this one world and work we know shall cease.

Yea, one thing more than this,
We know that one thing is,
The splendour of a spirit without blame,
That not the labouring years
Blind-born, nor any fears,
Nor men nor any gods can tire or tame;
But purer power with fiery breath
Fills, and exalts above the gulfs of death.

Praised above men be thou,
Whose laurel-laden brow,
Made for the morning, droops not in the night;
Praised and beloved, that none
Of all thy great things done
Flies higher than thy most equal spirit’s flight;
Praised, that nor doubt nor hope could bend
Earth’s loftiest head, found upright to the end

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The modern minds in each generation are the critics who preserve us from a petrifying world, who will not leave us to walk undisturbed in the ways of our fathers.

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