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Sandra Bullock

You don't have to give birth to someone to have a family. We're all family, an extended family.

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Give The Po Man A Break

Give po man a break
Give po man a break
Give po man a
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Give po man a
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Give po man a
Give po man a

[...] Read more

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In the next birth

IF I ACQUIRED the menacing form of an
alligator in the next birth,
I would want you to cling tightly to my persona as my serrated green
skin.


If I was born in the ominous form of the jungle tiger in the
next birth,
I would you to be incorporated in my body as my domineeringly
authoritative growl.


If I was born as a densely foliated tree in the next birth,
I would want you to be the perennial leaves that emanated from
my silhouette.


If I was born as an opalescent fish in the next birth,
I would want you to be saline water in which I could sustain life
and swim.


If I was born as the twin horned sacrosanct cow in the next birth,
I would inevitably desire you as the milk I would diffuse from
my flaccid teats.


If I was born as a slithering reptile in the next birth,
I would want you to be the lethal venom I possessed in my triangular
fangs.


If I was born as an obnoxious donkey in the next birth,
I would want you to be my hooves which swished indiscriminately
at innocuous trespassers.


If I was born as perpetually blind in the next birth,
I would indispensably want you to be my eyes to guide me
towards dazzling light.


If I was born as being disdainfully maim; bereft of feet in the next
birth,
I would incorrigibly want you to be my legs to ecstatically leap
in times of jubilation.


If I was born as a rustic spider with a battalion of arms in the
next birth,

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Give Up

(bernard edwards/nile rodgers)
Give up, give up
Give up youre love to me
Give up, give up
Give up youre love to me
You better listen well
When I tell you
To be on the look out
You cant call for help
cause I know you inside out
Despite all your hideouts
Im no great pretender
Ill make you surrender
So come along quietly
Heres a thought to remember
I have not met a man yet
To escape from my drag-net
Give up, give up
Give up youre love to me
Give up, give up
Give up youre love to me
Give up, give up
Give up youre love to me
Ill give you just the facts man
And you can draw all your own conclusions
Ill keep your mind surrounded
With chains of love so strong
You cant break through them
My arsenal is stocked
With all kinds of seductive weapons
Although your hearts locked up
My love will assist me
So that you cant resist me
Give up, give up
Give up youre love to me
Give up, give up
Give up youre love to me
Give up, give up
Give up youre love to me
Give up, give up
Give up youre love to me
Give up, give up
Give up youre love to me
Give up, give up
Give up youre love to me
No, no, no
Give up, give up
Give up youre love to me
Give up, give up
Give up youre love to me

[...] Read more

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Life gives birth to happiness

Clouds give birth to tantalizing droplets of rain;
pacifying the murderous agony of scorching desert
sands,
Rose gives birth to stupendously ravishing fragrance;
casting a spell of unconquerable happiness in those
lives; deluged with horrendous despair,
Sun gives birth to magnificently flamboyant rays;
filtering a path of profuse optimism in every space;
tottering towards helpless extinction,
Soil gives birth to rhapsodic fountains of fruit and
water; ensuring that none remained disastrously
famished; for centuries immemorial,
Ocean gives birth to tantalizingly tangy globules of
salt; inundating drab existence with cloudbursts of
spice and insurmountable poignancy,
Stars give birth to an incredulously serene calm;
miraculously metamorphosing the complexion of the
ghastly night; into one shimmering with milky pearls,
Leaves give birth to exuberantly fluttering breeze;
enveloping dreary souls in its ebulliently vociferous
swirl; as it merrily whipped by,
Benevolence gives birth to invincible humanity;
incessantly reigning as the supreme leader; even as
the planet entangled in webs of lechery and salacious
malice,
Freedom gives birth to the innermost expression; the
mesmerizing fulmination of a persons senses; which
propels him to blissfully lead an infinite more lives,
Mother gives birth to the perpetually divine; the
immaculately wailing offspring for which; God’s
specially descended down from fathomless cosmos to
bless,
Truth gives birth to harmonious unity; organisms from
all across the unfathomable planet; embracing each
other irrespective of prejudice; caste or creed,
Honesty gives birth to intransigent conviction; an
astronomical within the most feeble of entities; to
catapult to the pinnacle of ultimate success,
Fantasy gives birth to turbulently seductive desire;
relentlessly exploring and absorbing the unsurpassable
beauty lingering on this planet,
Perseverance gives birth to glorious rays of newness;
evolving and achieving even the most inconspicuous of
your philanthropic dream; as golden perspiration
trickled under the sweltering Sun,
Faith gives birth to the incomprehensibly
unbelievable; with man successfully shooting to the
summit of the impossible; uttering the name of the
entity he adored,
Conscience gives birth to irrefutable righteousness;

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Just listening to my beats

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably gauge the profound sadness
enshrouding my countenance; by just ethereally
glimpsing at my shielding eyelashes,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably prognosticate the hunger in my
stomach; by just sighting me restlessly gnawing at my
bohemian nails,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably sense the maniacal desperation in my
trembling visage; by just the infinitesimally changed
tone; in the nimble cadence of my voice,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably comprehend the wave of bizarre
mortification enveloping my soul; by just the
capricious tinge of poignant scarlet; on my
impoverished cheeks,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably narrate the experiences of my day;
by just feeling the transiently cringed lines; on my
diminutively frazzled forehead,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably guess the thunderbolts of tumultuous
anger encapsulating my blood; by just witnessing that
inconspicuous iota of frantic vacillation in my
dwindling stride,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably feel the insatiably nostalgic child
in me; by just gently caressing my innocuously
vivacious lips,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably soliloquize the first day of my
birth; by just kissing my rampantly fluttering and
daintily gorgeous eyelashes,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably understand the diabolically
obsessive agony in my life; by just sighting the
augmented redness in the interiors of my palm; and
withering body skin,

She hadn’t give me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably analyze the state of intriguingly
inexplicable mind; by just staring for mock seconds;

[...] Read more

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Death and Birth

Death leads to birth rather than birth, to death.
Birth is close to death and not vice versa.
Every birth is at the result of a death.
Death to birth, not birth to death, is the path.

The death of clay is the birth of a pot;
The death of the pot is the birth of clay.
Ice melts to water and water forms ice.
In each conversion, occur death and birth.

The death of a night is the birth of a day;
The death of a day is the birth of a night.
New Year means the death of the old year too.
In each transition, takes place death and birth.

The death of a seed is the birth of a plant;
The death of gametes is the birth of an embryo.
Salts die to form cells; cells die to form salts.
In each growth, form death and birth of matter.

The so called death and birth is nothing but
Deaths and births of forms made of matter.
The matter itself does not die to be born
But is converted to different forms.

Elements disappear to form plants.
Plants as food add to the animals’ flesh.
Plants and animals on death liberate
As elements, serving through worms and germs.

When a child is born, there’s no birth of life.
The embryo transforms into a child.
When a man dies, there is no death of life.
The body disintegrates to salts.

Matter, energy and life have no death
They have got one birth since when they’ve been.
They interact and come different stages
In which the pattern is death and birth.

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Eternal Creation

The Parent’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to the child; but to irrefutably ensure that the infant was nourished with their breath and blood till the time it could unflinchingly fend for its symbiotic survival; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created them for,

The Sun’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to light; but to irrefutably ensure that the rays optimistically enlightened even the most infinitesimally lugubrious cranny of remorsefully cloistered earth; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,

The Rose’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to fragrance; but to irrefutably ensure that the majestic resplendence ebulliently blossomed into the lives of countless haplessly beleaguered and bereaved; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,

The Peak’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to victory; but to irrefutably ensure that the royal triumph peerlessly massacred even the most ethereal iota of devilishness form this Universe; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,

Nature’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to newness; but to irrefutably ensure that the evolution metamorphosed every bit of egregiously stagnating ghoulishness into a sky of rhapsodic freshness; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,

The Cloud’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to rain; but to irrefutably ensure that the water stupendously ignited vivaciously iridescent life in every ingredient of hopelessly dying soil; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,

The Conscience’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to truth; but to irrefutably ensure that the righteousness insuperably conquered every trace of diabolical lies on earth and the atmosphere; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,

The Ocean’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to salt; but to irrefutably ensure that the tanginess wonderfully illuminated every treacherously spiceles and deliriously lackadaisical moment of life; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,

The Poet’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to fantasy; but to irrefutably ensure that the dream spellbindingly impregnates the winds of Omnipotent romance into monotonously monstrous robots; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created him for,

The Lip’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to smiles; but to irrefutably ensure that the happiness altruistically perpetually perpetuates into every dwelling incarcerated in chains of murderous gloom; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,

The Rainbow’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to vividness; but to irrefutably ensure that the color timelessly enshrouded every gruesomely befriended orphan; miserably deteriorating on the globe; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,

The Shadow’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to tranquility; but to irrefutably ensure that the peacefulness granted celestial reprieve to every bizarrely estranged soul squandering on this Universe; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,

The philanthropist’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to unity; but to irrefutably ensure that the oneness miraculously coalesced every spuriously staggering and cold-bloodedly fighting caste; creed and tribe into the unassailable religion of humanity; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created him for,

The wind’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to freedom; but to irrefutably ensure that the liberation unequivocally freed every element of torturously enslaved earth till times immemorial; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for,

The night’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to sensuality; but to irrefutably ensure that the passion brilliantly transformed every speck of infertility into the chapters of everlastingly Omniscient procreation; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for,

The eyelash’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to flirtation; but to irrefutably ensure that the mischief serenely catapulted every fretfully frenetic organism into realms of impeccable childhood; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for,

The soldiers job just doesn’t end at giving birth to martyrdom; but to irrefutably ensure that the valor to timelessly serve the mothersoil; throbbed fearlessly in every chest; even centuries after his veritable death; was what the Almighty Creator had created him for,

The breath’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to life; but to irrefutably ensure that the exultation inexhaustibly transcended over; even the most inane anecdote of baseless corruption and demeaning death; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for,

And the heart’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to Love; but to irrefutably ensure that the compassionate togetherness tirelessly bonded the entire planet into a paradise of Omnipresently unshakable strength; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for…

©copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. All rights reserved.

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Programmed

Programmed since birth by Lord Almighty to diffuse
resplendent shade; was the gregariously blooming and
enchantingly exuberant tree,

Programmed since birth by Lord Almighty to disseminate
Omnipotent light; was the aristocratically flamboyant
and blisteringly blossoming Sun,

Programmed since birth by Lord Almighty to generate
rhapsodically unlimited tanginess; was the boundlessly
ebullient and triumphantly undulating Ocean,

Programmed since birth by Lord Almighty to fulminate
into a paradise of eternal sensuousness; was the
ravishingly titillating and celestially egalitarian
dewdrop,

Programmed since birth by Lord Almighty to mystically
enthrall even the most alien creature; was the
enigmatically uncanny and convivially compassionate
forest,

Programmed since birth by Lord Almighty to spawn into
a civilization of sacrosanct vivaciousness; was
impeccably invincible and blessed mother’s milk,

Programmed since birth by Lord Almighty to waft into
stupendously enamoring redolence; was the poignantly
crimson petal and unconquerably majestic rose,

Programmed since birth by Lord Almighty to effulgently
bond one and all in the bonds of humanity alike; was
the everlastingly perpetual spirit of timeless
camaraderie and companionship,

Programmed since birth by Lord Almighty to stand as
the most unflinching citadel even as hell gorily
reverberated from each cranny of this fathomless
planet; was the blissfully melanging and unassailably
fragrant religion of mankind,

Programmed since birth by Lord Almighty to expunge a
valley of vivid boisterousness; was the astoundingly
sweet and eclectically buzzing honey bee,

Programmed since birth by Lord Almighty to culminate
into regally inebriating melody; was the beautifully
emerald crested and innocuously mellifluous
nightingale,

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Vision Of Columbus - Book 5

Columbus hail'd them with a father's smile,
Fruits of his cares and children of his toil;
With tears of joy, while still his eyes descried
Their course adventurous o'er the distant tide.
Thus, when o'er deluged earth her Seraph stood,
The tost ark bounding on the shoreless flood,
The sacred treasure claim'd his guardian view,
While climes unnoticed in the wave withdrew.
He saw the squadrons reach the rising strand,
Leap from the wave and share the joyous land;
Receding forests yield the heroes room,
And opening wilds with fields and gardens bloom.
Fill'd with the glance extatic, all his soul
Now seems unbounded with the scene to roll,
And now, impatient, with retorted eye,
Perceives his station in another sky.
Waft me, O winged Angel, waft me o'er,
With those blest heroes, to the happy shore;
There let me live and die–but all appears
A fleeting vision; these are future years.
Yet grant in nearer view the climes may spread,
And my glad steps may seem their walks to tread;
While eastern coasts and kingdoms, wrapp'd in night,
Arise no more to intercept the sight.
The hero spoke; the Angel's powerful hand
Moves brightening o'er the visionary land;
The height, that bore them, still sublimer grew,
And earth's whole circuit settled from their view:
A dusky Deep, serene as breathless even,
Seem'd vaulting downward, like another heaven;
The sun, rejoicing on his western way,
Stamp'd his fair image in the inverted day:
Sudden, the northern shores again drew nigh,
And life and action fill'd the hero's eye.
Where the dread Laurence breaks his passage wide,
Where Missisippi's milder currents glide,
Where midland realms their swelling mountainsheave,
And slope their champaigns to the distant wave,
On the green banks, and o'er the extended plain,
Rise into sight the happiest walks of man.
The placid ports, that break the billowing gales,
Rear their tall masts and stretch their whitening sails;
The harvests wave, the groves with fruitage bend,
And bulwarks heave, and spiry domes ascend;
Fair works of peace in growing splendor rise,
And grateful earth repays the bounteous skies.
Till war invades; when opening vales disclose,
In moving crouds, the savage tribes of foes;
High tufted quills their painted foreheads press,
Dark spoils of beasts their shaggy shoulders dress,

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Give It Up

He wants her, she wants him too
Broken message coming through
Same story for different fools
Give it up
Give it up
Thats what they all say say
Pressure from the boys to give it away
Suck it up
Suck it up
Don't treat me that way way
My hearts gonna tell me when its time to play
Give it up
Give it up
Thats what they all say say
Pressure from the boys to give it away
Suck it up
Suck it up
Don't treat me that way way
My hearts gonna tell me when its time to play
Give it up
Give it up
Give it up
It's time to play
Give it up
Give it up
Give it up
It's time to play
She sees him
He stares right through
Nasty rumors so untrue
There's nothing that she can do
Give it up
Give it up
Thats what they all say say
Pressure from the boys to give it away
Suck it up
Suck it up
Don't treat me that way way
My hearts gonna tell me when its time to play
Give it up
Give it up
Thats what they all say say
Pressure from the boys to give it away
Suck it up
Suck it up
Don't treat me that way way
My hearts gonna tell me when its time to play
Give it up
Give it up
Give it up

[...] Read more

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,--
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.

PART THE FIRST

I

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting
Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway.
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighted the village street and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors

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Solomon on the Vanity of the World, A Poem. In Three Books. - Knowledge. Book I.

The bewailing of man's miseries hath been elegantly and copiously set forth by many, in the writings as well of philosophers as divines; and it is both a pleasant and a profitable contemplation.
~
Lord Bacon's Advancement of Learning.


The Argument

Solomon, seeking happiness from knowledge, convenes the learned men of his kingdom; requires them to explain to him the various operations and effects of Nature; discourses of vegetables, animals and man; proposes some questions concerning the origin and situation of the habitable earth: proceeds to examine the system of the visible heaven: doubts if there may not be a plurality of worlds; inquires into the nature of spirits and angels, and wishes to be more fully informed as to the attributes of the Supreme Being. He is imperfectly answered by the Rabbins and Doctors; blames his own curiosity: and concludes that, as to human science, All Is Vanity.


Ye sons of men with just regard attend,
Observe the preacher, and believe the friend,
Whose serious muse inspires him to explain
That all we act and all we think is vain:
That in this pilgrimage of seventy years,
O'er rocks of perils and through vales of tears
Destined to march, our doubtful steps we tend,
Tired with the toil, yet fearful of its end:
That from the womb we take our fatal shares
Of follies, passions, labours, tumults, cares;
And at approach of death shall only know
The truths which from these pensive numbers flow,
That we pursue false joy and suffer real wo.

Happiness! object of that waking dream
Which we call life, mistaking; fugitive theme
Of my pursuing verse: ideal shade,
Notional good; by fancy only made,
And by tradition nursed; fallacious fire,
Whose dancing beams mislead our fond desire;
Cause of our care, and error of our mind:
Oh! hadst thou ever been by Heaven design'd
To Adam, and his mortal race, the boon
Entire had been reserved for Solomon;
On me the partial lot had been bestow'd,
And in my cup the golden draught had flow'd.

But, O! ere yet original man was made,
Ere the foundations of this earth were laid,
It was opponent to our search ordain'd,
That joy still sought should never be attain'd:
This sad experience cites me to reveal,
And what I dictate is from what I feel.

Born, as I as, great David's favourite son,
Dear to my people on the Hebrew throne,
Sublime my court, with Ophir's treasures bless'd.
My name extended to the farthest east,
My body clothed with every outward grace,
Strength in my limbs, and beauty in my face,

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II. Half-Rome

What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,—here's a church
To hold a crowd at need, accommodate
All comers from the Corso! If this crush
Make not its priests ashamed of what they show
For temple-room, don't prick them to draw purse
And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out
The beggarly transept with its bit of apse
Into a decent space for Christian ease,
Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine.
Listen and estimate the luck they've had!
(The right man, and I hold him.)

Sir, do you see,
They laid both bodies in the church, this morn
The first thing, on the chancel two steps up,
Behind the little marble balustrade;
Disposed them, Pietro the old murdered fool
To the right of the altar, and his wretched wife
On the other side. In trying to count stabs,
People supposed Violante showed the most,
Till somebody explained us that mistake;
His wounds had been dealt out indifferent where,
But she took all her stabbings in the face,
Since punished thus solely for honour's sake,
Honoris causâ, that's the proper term.
A delicacy there is, our gallants hold,
When you avenge your honour and only then,
That you disfigure the subject, fray the face,
Not just take life and end, in clownish guise.
It was Violante gave the first offence,
Got therefore the conspicuous punishment:
While Pietro, who helped merely, his mere death
Answered the purpose, so his face went free.
We fancied even, free as you please, that face
Showed itself still intolerably wronged;
Was wrinkled over with resentment yet,
Nor calm at all, as murdered faces use,
Once the worst ended: an indignant air
O' the head there was—'t is said the body turned
Round and away, rolled from Violante's side
Where they had laid it loving-husband-like.
If so, if corpses can be sensitive,
Why did not he roll right down altar-step,
Roll on through nave, roll fairly out of church,
Deprive Lorenzo of the spectacle,

[...] Read more

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Vision Of Columbus - Book 4

In one dark age, beneath a single hand,
Thus rose an empire in the savage land.
Her golden seats, with following years, increase,
Her growing nations spread the walks of peace,
Her sacred rites display the purest plan,
That e'er adorn'd the unguided mind of man.
Yet all the pomp, the extended climes unfold,
The fields of verdure and the towers of gold,
Those works of peace, and sovereign scenes of state,
In short-lived glory, hasten to their fate.
Thy followers, rushing like an angry flood,
Shall whelm the fields and stain the shrines in blood;
Nor thou, Las Casas, best of men, shalt stay
The ravening legions from their guardless prey.
Oh! hapless prelate, hero, saint and sage,
Doom'd with hard guilt a fruitless war to wage,
To see, with grief (thy life of virtues run)
A realm unpeopled and a world undone.
While impious Valverde, mock of priesthood, stands,
Guilt in his heart, the gospel in his hands,
Bids, in one field, unnumber'd squadrons bleed,
Smiles o'er the scene and sanctifies the deed.
And thou, brave Gasca, with thy virtuous train,
Shalt lift the sword and urge thy power in vain;
Vain, the late task, the sinking land to save,
Or call her slaughter'd millions from the grave.
The Seraph spoke. Columbus, with a sigh,
Cast o'er the hapless climes his moisten'd eye,
And thus return'd: Oh, hide me in the tomb;
Why should I live to view the impending doom?
If such dread scenes the scheme of heaven compose,
And virtuous toils induce redoubled woes,
Unfold no more; but grant a kind release,
Give me, 'tis all I ask, to rest in peace.
Thy soul shall rest in peace, the Power rejoin'd,
Ere these conflicting shades involve mankind:
But nobler views shall first thy mind engage,
Beyond the bounds of this destructive age;
Where happier fruits of thy unwearied toil,
Thro' future years, and other empires, smile.
Europe's contending realms shall soon behold
These fruitful plains and hills of opening gold,
Fair in the path of thy adventurous fail,
Their countless navies float in every gale,
For wealth and commerce, sweep the extended shore,
And load the ocean with the shining ore.
As, up the orient heaven, the dawning ray
Smiles o'er the world and gives the promised day;
Drives fraud and rapine from their nightly spoil,
And social nature wakes to peaceful toil;

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Metamorphoses: Book The Ninth

Theseus requests the God to tell his woes,
Whence his maim'd brow, and whence his groans arose
Whence thus the Calydonian stream reply'd,
With twining reeds his careless tresses ty'd:
Ungrateful is the tale; for who can bear,
When conquer'd, to rehearse the shameful war?
Yet I'll the melancholy story trace;
So great a conqu'ror softens the disgrace:
Nor was it still so mean the prize to yield,
As great, and glorious to dispute the field.
The Story of Perhaps you've heard of Deianira's name,
Achelous and For all the country spoke her beauty's fame.
Hercules Long was the nymph by num'rous suitors woo'd,
Each with address his envy'd hopes pursu'd:
I joyn'd the loving band; to gain the fair,
Reveal'd my passion to her father's ear.
Their vain pretensions all the rest resign,
Alcides only strove to equal mine;
He boasts his birth from Jove, recounts his spoils,
His step-dame's hate subdu'd, and finish'd toils.
Can mortals then (said I), with Gods compare?
Behold a God; mine is the watry care:
Through your wide realms I take my mazy way,
Branch into streams, and o'er the region stray:
No foreign guest your daughter's charms adores,
But one who rises in your native shores.
Let not his punishment your pity move;
Is Juno's hate an argument for love?
Though you your life from fair Alcmena drew,
Jove's a feign'd father, or by fraud a true.
Chuse then; confess thy mother's honour lost,
Or thy descent from Jove no longer boast.
While thus I spoke, he look'd with stern disdain,
Nor could the sallies of his wrath restrain,
Which thus break forth. This arm decides our right;
Vanquish in words, be mine the prize in fight.
Bold he rush'd on. My honour to maintain,
I fling my verdant garments on the plain,
My arms stretch forth, my pliant limbs prepare,
And with bent hands expect the furious war.
O'er my sleek skin now gather'd dust he throws,
And yellow sand his mighty muscles strows.
Oft he my neck, and nimble legs assails,
He seems to grasp me, but as often fails.
Each part he now invades with eager hand;
Safe in my bulk, immoveable I stand.
So when loud storms break high, and foam and roar
Against some mole that stretches from the shore;
The firm foundation lasting tempests braves,
Defies the warring winds, and driving waves.

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Into The Fire

The sky was falling and streaked with blood
I heard you calling me, then you disappeared into the dust
Up the stairs, into the fire
Up the stairs, into the fire
I need your kiss, but love and duty called you someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs, into the fire
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
You gave your love to see, in fields of red and autumn brown
You gave your love to me and lay your young body down
Up the stairs, into the fire
Up the stairs, into the fire
I need you near, but love and duty called you someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs, into the fire
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
It was dark, too dark to see, you held me in the light you gave
You lay your hand on me
Then walked into the darkness of your smoky grave
Up the stairs, into the fire
Up the stairs, into the fire
I need your kiss, but love and duty called you someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs, into the fire
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love
May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope

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Give Me You

Give me a front porch with a summer breeze
Give me "Yes Ma'am", "No Sir" and "Thank you",
"Please"
Give me a hero who don't lie, steal or cheat
And a little good news
Give me Christmas through children's eyes
One vacation good as advertised
Most of all, as if it's any surprise
Baby, give me you
At the top of my list of life's good things
Is the pleasure and purpose your love brings
And of all that I hold near to me
That's real and right and true
Give me you , Give me you
Give me a day not so prearranged
In fact, give me the phone my plans have changed
Give me a break from chasin' dollars today
Baby, give me you
At the top of my list of life's good things
Is the pleasure and purpose your love brings
And of all that I hold near to me
That's real and right and true
Give me you , Give me you
At the top of my list of life's good things
Is the pleasure and purpose your love brings
And of all that I hold near to me
That's real and right and true
Give me you , Give me you
Baby, give me you, Give me, give me you
Give me a front porch with a summer breeze
Give me "Yes Ma'am", "No Sir" and "Thank you",
"Please"
Give me a hero who don't lie, steal or cheat
And a little good news
Give me Christmas through children's eyes
One vacation good as advertised
Most of all, as if it's any surprise
Baby, give me you
At the top of my list of life's good things
Is the pleasure and purpose your love brings
And of all that I hold near to me
That's real and right and true
Give me you , Give me you
Give me a day not so prearranged
In fact, give me the phone my plans have changed
Give me a break from chasin' dollars today
Baby, give me you
At the top of my list of life's good things
Is the pleasure and purpose your love brings
And of all that I hold near to me

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Please Give It

Please give it,
What ever it is.
Please give it,
What ever it is.
Please give it,
What ever it is...
You've got for me!

Please give it,
What ever it is.
Please give it,
What ever it is.
Please give it,
What ever it is...
You've got for me!

I won't turn back,
Whateva' ya got.
To give me.
No!

I won't turn back,
Whateva' ya got.
To give me.

I won't turn back,
Whateva' you got.
To give me.
No!

I won't turn back,
Whateva' ya got.
To give me.
No!

I won't turn back,
Whateva' ya got.
To give me.

I won't turn back,
Whateva' you got.
To give me.
No!

Please give it,
What ever it is.
Please give it,
What ever it is.
Please give it,
What ever it is...

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The Columbiad: Book IX

The Argument


Vision suspended. Night scene, as contemplated from the mount of vision. Columbus inquires the reason of the slow progress of science, and its frequent interruptions. Hesper answers, that all things in the physical as well as the moral and intellectual world are progressive in like manner. He traces their progress from the birth of the universe to the present state of the earth and its inhabitants; asserts the future advancement of society, till perpetual peace shall be established. Columbus proposes his doubts; alleges in support of them the successive rise and downfal of ancient nations; and infers future and periodical convulsions. Hesper, in answer, exhibits the great distinction between the ancient and modern state of the arts and of society. Crusades. Commerce. Hanseatic League. Copernicus. Kepler. Newton, Galileo. Herschel. Descartes. Bacon. Printing Press. Magnetic Needle. Geographical discoveries. Federal system in America. A similar system to be extended over the whole earth. Columbus desires a view of this.


But now had Hesper from the Hero's sight
Veil'd the vast world with sudden shades of night.
Earth, sea and heaven, where'er he turns his eye,
Arch out immense, like one surrounding sky
Lamp'd with reverberant fires. The starry train
Paint their fresh forms beneath the placid main;
Fair Cynthia here her face reflected laves,
Bright Venus gilds again her natal waves,
The Bear redoubling foams with fiery joles,
And two dire dragons twine two arctic poles.
Lights o'er the land, from cities lost in shade,
New constellations, new galaxies spread,
And each high pharos double flames provides,
One from its fires, one fainter from the tides.

Centred sublime in this bivaulted sphere,
On all sides void, unbounded, calm and clear,
Soft o'er the Pair a lambent lustre plays,
Their seat still cheering with concentred rays;
To converse grave the soothing shades invite.
And on his Guide Columbus fixt his sight:
Kind messenger of heaven, he thus began,
Why this progressive laboring search of man?
If men by slow degrees have power to reach
These opening truths that long dim ages teach,
If, school'd in woes and tortured on to thought,
Passion absorbing what experience taught,
Still thro the devious painful paths they wind,
And to sound wisdom lead at last the mind,
Why did not bounteous nature, at their birth,
Give all their science to these sons of earth,
Pour on their reasoning powers pellucid day,
Their arts, their interests clear as light display?
That error, madness and sectarian strife
Might find no place to havock human life.

To whom the guardian Power: To thee is given
To hold high converse and inquire of heaven,
To mark untraversed ages, and to trace
Whate'er improves and what impedes thy race.
Know then, progressive are the paths we go
In worlds above thee, as in thine below
Nature herself (whose grasp of time and place
Deals out duration and impalms all space)

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Wild Montana Skies

This song appears on nine albums, and was first released on the its about time album, and has also been released on the greatest hits vol 3, changes, the very best of john denver (double cd),
Ry classics, the country roads collection and the rocky mountain collection albums. a live version also appears on the wildlife concert and the best of john denver live albums.
He was born in the bitterroot valley in the early morning rain
Wild geese over the water headin north and home again
Bringin a warm wind from the south
Bringin the first taste of the spring
His mother took him to her breast and softly she did sing
Oh montana, give this child a home
Give him the love of a good family and a woman of his own
Give him a fire in his heart, give him a light in his eyes
Give him the wild wind for a brother and the wild montana skies
His mother died that summer and he never learned to cry
He never knew his father and he never did ask why
He never knew the answers that would make an easy way
But he learned to know the wilderness and to be a man that way
His mothers brother took him in to family and his home
Gave him a hand that he could lean on and a strength to call his own
And he learned to be a farmer and he learned to love the land
And he learned to read the seasons and he learned to make a stand
Oh montana, give this child a home
Give him the love of a good family and a woman of his own
Give him a fire in his heart, give him a light in his eyes
Give him the wild wind for a brother and the wild montana skies
On the eve of his 21st birthday he set out on his own
He was 30 years and runnin when he found his way back home
Ridin a storm across the mountains and an aching in his heart
Said he came to turn the pages and to make a brand new start
Now he never told a story of the time that he was gone
Some say he was a lawyer, some say he was a john
There was somethin in the city that he said he couldnt breathe
And there was somethin in the country that he said he couldnt leave
Oh montana, give this child a home
Give him the love of a good family and a woman of his own
Give him a fire in his heart, give him a light in his eyes
Give him the wild wind for a brother and the wild montana skies
Now some say he was crazy and theyre glad that he is gone
But some of us miss him and well try to carry on
Giving a voice to the forest, giving a voice to the dawn
Giving a voice to the wilderness and the land that he lived on
Oh montana, give this child a home
Give him the love of a good family and a woman of his own
Give him a fire in his heart, give him a light in his eyes
Give him the wild wind for a brother and the wild montana skies
Oh montana, give this child a home
Give him the love of a good family and a woman of his own
Give him a fire in his heart, give him a light in his eyes
Give him the wild wind for a brother and the wild montana skies
Words and music by john denver

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