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Anne Hathaway

I look my best after an entire hair and makeup team has spent hours perfecting me. When do I feel my best? When I haven't looked in a mirror for days, and I'm doing things that make me happy.

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Make you happy

Things that make you happy
Aren't supposed to be bad
Right? Then how do I play in
Where would it all come together
I know what makes you happy,
I know what makes you sad
But how come everything I do
Is always so bad?
Why do I make you happy
How come its so bad
Everything is suppose to be okay
It should all be fine
But even though I make you happy
I also make you feel like dieing
Then how do I make you happy
Why am I so bad?
Why don't you just ley me love you
Let yourself be happy?
Why can't you just let things fall into place
The way everything is supposed to be
Sometimes I hate myself
Because of the way you say I make you feel
At the same time I know you hate yourself
And are waiting to make things real
So why dont you?
Why can't you let yourself go
Don't worry about what they say
Eventually they will all just fade away
I wont ever fade away
I will always be here waiting for you
Waiting to make you happy
Because things that make you happy
Aren't suppose to make you sad
And they're definately not going to be bad
I just dont understand
How am I bad for you?
How could I even be good for you
When I'm not even good for myself
I can't explain whats going on with me
I can't tell you how much I wish
For you to be happy
But at the same time
I hope that you are miserable without me
Because I was suppose to make you happy
I was going to be the one to make your day
Now it makes my day when you
Just stop to talk to me
Or make sure I'm doing okay
Until I make you happy I will always be bad
And you will always be sad
That's how it goes
But that wont be enough
Not to make my world go 'round
I need you to let me be the one...
Let me be the one to make you happy
Because if it makes you happy
It can't possibly be that bad.

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I'm closer to being happy. I'm doing things that make me happy. In football I loved to practice and I loved to play, but I hated to be in meetings, hated to talk to the media, hated to have cameras in my face, hated to sign autographs. I hated to do all those things.

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The Things That Make Me Happy

When I see the Sun
The sun up in the sky
And when the rays they
They glisten off your eyes

And when your eyes
Yeah when your eyes meet mine

That’s the thing that
That’s the thing that makes me
Yeah that’s the thing that makes me happy

And when I wake up to
To a brand new day
When we back our bags and
We take off on our way
And when we lose track
When we lose track of time

That’s the thing that
That’s the thing that makes me
Yeah that’s the thing that makes me happy

And when the clock
Yeah when the clock strikes 5
Im heading home to you
And Im feeling so alive
And when I pull in
Yeah when I pull into your drive

That’s the thing that
That’s the thing that makes me
Yeah that’s the thing that me happy

And in the afternoon
When were feeling the warm breeze
And we can see it
Go brushing through the trees
It makes me feel so
It makes me feel so fancy free

And that’s the thing that
That’s the thing that makes me
Yeah that’s the thing that makes me happy

And when the music
Goes rolling through my mind
Songs that could bring
Eyesight to the blind
And when we sing
We sing along with all the words we find

That’s the thing that
That’s the thing that makes me
Yeah that’s the thing that makes me happy

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It's the little things that make a big difference.

some say it's the little things that matter,
i'm starting to see why,
these are the moments that you remember,
when somebody takes the time,
to do something special,
that one little thing,
can brighten up somebodys day,
i'm not a hard person to please,
it just that some take me for granted,
they bring out the worse in me,
of course i'm going to ask for more,
i love to share my kindness,
but only to ppl who deserve it,
call me mean,
i'm starting not to care,
if i cared what everybody think,
just to make them happy,
all of that don't mean a thing,
if i'm not the one happy.

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There are things that you cannot avoid

There are things that you cannot avoid
like the call-up instruction which cruelly
brings you to another world and measure you out
for whom you must become and be and stay
and you can never find escape
from violence, killing, guilt and grief.

There are things that a soldier cannot avoid
like war that cruelly let people suffer
with flames, bullets and bombs
and there are events that you cannot forget,
although you and you comrades freed the innocent
and at night it’s sweated out in dreams
and there are things that you cannot avoid.

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Is one thing some people hate doing
So don't be afraid
It might be something you like
So take a risk and try something new
If at end you hate
It's ok
Try something else and
Eventually you found what you good at
Some of us afraid if they make
It be bad and that they can't never take it back
So just go with the flow, be chill and relax
Just push yourself through it and
Think of happy thoughts or
Things that make you happy
You will never forget about it
Are things I hate to do
When it come to getting a boyfriend
I never took that chances and I feel guilty
So give it a chances
I learn just take that risk
No matter how nervous you are
Can be a good thing or bad thing
So remember
Just do what you comfortable with or
You can just try it
It's your choices
So if you chicken out, it's ok
Everyone is just like you once

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The wonder of I in you

all part is one, and each part has gone
let all make as one, for each has partner to
be done

to make it easy all work must be ready
if my hands call everybody to do, the
things that make me happy, nobody must
be lazy

many times, my single eye, talk to my ears,
nose and mouth knowing that i need more
time, to have an overtime, yet all seems
to be uneasy

so tired that i can't see, so painful that i can
resist, so touchy that my skin burst, i ask
myself, what makes them so timid, when
everyone wants to say, that they are all

i wonder why, the sky is high, the night is close
to the day it passes bye, i ask then that, if nobody
wants to make it, everybody has to lost it, and
nothing happen even, you'll say that its a good

do, what other may not, work what the ' I ' say,
and can see, enjoy what it gives, just follow your
heart for it never leads you in vain

look up in the sky, and say in the heaven above,
I have found the real in me, the truth on how to make
me happy and gay

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The Swing

Yeah, its the swing
Ooh, yeah, its the swing
Every day is a saturday in the month of spring
Seems the world is full of girl looking out for that love thing
The hoods down, were cruising downtown
Just hanging with my friends
The radios ready to blow
Were getting in that vibe again
When your body keeps swaying side to side
Your spirit is free, it feels good to be alive
Oh, yeah, thats the swing
When youre happy to face the day with a smile,
Open your heart, let somebody inside
Oh, yeah, thats the swing
Everyone is having fun like a holiday, yeah
Plain to see shes the one for me
Dont need words to communicate
The musics loud, were fooling around
Just getting in the groove, yeah
The suns out, a lot of people about
Were checking out the views
Repeat chorus
Its a kind of faith that you believe
Can you free your soul to fly?
Kind of hope that makes you see
Your dreams can come to life
Here I am, and Im gonna try to make you understand
About the things that Im feeling
cause the swing has got me reeling
Try thinking about the things that make you happy
And keep your dreams alive, cause people, this is how it can be
When you think that were hanging and were doing bad
Or were just feeling things you never felt and never had
cause when you wake up in the morning and your soul is singing,
Thats when youre swinging
Repeat chorus to fade

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Tests And Homework And Quizzes AND SCHOOL

You know that if there was one thing,
That you could take from school,
It wouldn't be art or math or history,
It would be work.

Those ugly things you want to blow up,
and smash,
and burn,
and crinkle,
and rip,
and tear,
and throw out.

Those things that make you have to remember,
all the stuff you learned before,
and to study, study, study,
'till your eyes fall out.

“Oh, sorry I wasn't paying attention”
'Did we learn this? '
never helps when the test monster gives you the paper, And wishes you well.

But you know she doesn't mean that.
She doesn't want us to do good,
she just wants us to hurry so she can give us another test.

And then it's June!
Good that the year's almost over,
But bad 'cause........

Oh no! ! !
The mother of all tests,
And what did you say? We have to take more than one!
I'm done for.

Your sitting there,
hand clenched on the pencil,
face sweating,
and then BINGO!
You get the answer.

You jump up and scream,
in the silent classroom.

You shout out with joy 'cause they’re all over.
No more exams, or quizzes, or tests, or homework.

You bring up you paper and sit back down.
Then it happens.

Excuse me please come up to the front of the room
Right then and there

No it’s not detention?
Whoo Hoo! ! ! !

It’s homework
Well that’s just as bad.

You think, No. No. You didn't just say there's still homework? ?
And we have to do it everyday of the summer! !

You have to be kidding me.
“Oh, just strike me down right here and save me from homework! ! “

But wait,
You say it's fun homework,
homework can't be fun,
or joyous,
or exciting,
or awesome,
or amusing,
or entertaining,

“So we have to do fun homework? ? “
“What is it? “

It is to have fun?
And stay safe? ?

“No, you must be kidding.”

Your not kidding! Really! ! Cool! !
Well see you next year!
If I can stop having fun and come back!


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The things that make me happy most are my family and working.

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Whoopi Goldberg

And I don't believe that I have to stay on one side of the fence or the other. I don't believe that there is any good career move or bad career move. I believe there are only the things that make me happy.

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It Was A Time Of Poetry

It was a time of poetry-
A time when Beauty came easy and laughing on the page-
A time when all those things that make life happy
Seemed to be here-
A joyous time
A time when I could write and feel free
A time for poetry
A gift for now
How I must write and write
So long as I have it in me.

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A girl called Lisa

Lisa let’s you come to her place near the airport
and you watch warplanes
disappearing into the blue sky
while you wait for her to open.

She treats you like her boyfriend,
soul mate and brother
and you know that she’s a little mad
and she smiles with tears in her eyes,
shares whiskey, plays pool, dance
and tells about the things
that makes her happy and she trust you
and you leave a gift of money

and before you know it, her lips burn on yours
and you make to love her, as if it’s destined to be.

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Going Insane

lost in my head,
trying to make sense,
everything i say,
is spoke from the mind,
where is my heart?
where is the love?
world filled with hate?
will anybody ever relate?
what i hide deep inside,
is not the same that i show
on the outside,
there's a girl that confuse,
because of the life she given,
who would understand?
it a struggle in two directions,
to do things that make her happy,
or just the things that will make
other people happy,
i'm tired of fighting,
and tired of losing,
what i might be able to have,
rather than everything i can't,
will life ever be fair?
or will that happen
when people start to care?
Copyright © 2009

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Lets Ride

Brand new truck, butter soft seat
Four point somethin with a low ride somethin
Aint nothin better than to ride out the hood with it
Who lookin better and damn you lookin good in it
Take a chance with a nigga in a choice ride
Listen to the cds I play inside
Mos def, jay, prince, and stevie
Marvin gaye, led zeppelin, and biggie
And when the evening is over love
Gonna find a nice spot for the rover love
Do things to make the man in the moon blush
My mind race but I tell my waist dont rush
Yous a upper echelon piece
So when you find ? ? ? ? then you dont freak
You wanna nibble on a nigga ear
And do all the things that make a nigga wanna get near
Oh Im a queens representative
Get wild by any means my incentive is
When we done, I start it up again
And ride round with you cuz you my special friend, uh
Ooh, me and you I think we should riiiide
Come on come on come on come on
Dont worry just done get insiiide
Come on come on come on come on
The second cut, her ride is like art
We get creative in it when we take it out and spin it
The backseat is the canvas we paintin on
Abstract the word we creatin on
The tvs in the back and the dash too
Got miss napkins and bamboo
Dont worry, the tips past the legal one
Outkasts bangin loud in my eardrum
The way the wheels spin cuttin through the still wind
Outsiders lookin in with the ill grin
Fuel injected brand new inspected
Emissions got tested details perfected
Got the armor all touch empty out the dutch
No tobacco spillin on my rug clutch
Kick off your shoes show off your peticure
Shake off the blues we all forgettin more
Boy that thing
Stuff that brings ecstasy maybe you blink
A little harder than your average ? ? ? ? ?
Lady tell me this is better than taking a cab
And when you back tell all your girls
You rode around hot-wheelin drinkin ? ? ? ? ?
Vacationin, v up my v8
Just one night we drive and we escape
Chorus x2

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Happy Blues

We want to leave you happy
Dont want to leave you sad
We want to leave you happy
Dont want to leave you sad
Want to sing some blues
But dont want to sing them bad
Roy wailed for you
He wailed the blues tonight
Roy wailed for you
He wailed the blues tonight
He wailed, he wailed, he wailed em just right
He talked about a mean woman
Oh what a woman was she
Talked about a mean woman
What a woman was she
Ive got my chance to talk about a man
Ill talk about he
He was good to me
He was good
He was good to me
Whoa, so good
I dont know much about the blues
But I know somewhere
Theres a little bit of soul in ella
Theres a little bit of soul in me
Theres a little bit of soul in ella
Theres a little bit of soul in me
Oh somewhere down the line
Ive had misery
Every woman gets misery
Every woman is crying
Every woman has misery
Every woman is crying
Crying bout a man
And the way he did her wrong
I had one too
I had one too
I had one too
I had one too
He did me wrong, but what did I do
I picked up and took patoot
Yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah
I want to go out swinging
Swinging the blues tonight
Dont want to talk about mack the knife
Dont want to talk about the snuffing
Just want to have fun talking about
Things that make you happy
Snappy happy happy snappy, thats me
Joe williams sang the blues tune
He talked about his woman
Joe williams sang the blues tune
He talked about his woman
Everybody, everybody pays those dues
Have you paid your dues
Have you paid your dues
Have you paid your dues
Have you paid your dues
Everybody, somewhere along the line is paying some dues
Dues, one and two
Dues, doesnt matter nothing
Dues, three and four
Dues, maybe more, thats all right
Youre still paying dues
So lets stay happy, happy, happy
Lets stay happy
Go swinging out, swinging out, swinging out
Singing the blues
Its been a wonderful night tonight
Yes, its been nice
One more chorus, just for you
I thank you daddy, for coming out
I thank you people, for coming out
Cause somewhere along the line, everyone will want to shout
I want to shout
Shout about my troubles
I want to shout
Shout about my troubles
Like you Ive paid the dues
And Ive got double trouble
Come on, lets stay happy
Come on, clap, lets stay happy
Lets sing the happy blues
No more sad dues
I am happy you are happy too
I am happy you are happy too
So lets go out with the blues thats swinging
Like count basie, swing on
Like count basie, swing on
Like count basie, swing on
Like count basie, swing on
Swing on, swing out tonight
Hey now
Hey now
Hey now
Right on now, with that soul
Cmon everybody
Cmon and say right on
I said right on
I said right on
Right on
Right on
Right on
Right on
Right on
Get with it, yeah
Get with it, yeah
Get with it, yeah
Get with it, yeah
Get with it
Get with it
Get with it, cmon
Lets make you happy
Ive sung these blues, and Im through
Cause I dont know what Im singing about
I dont know what Im singing about
With this happy music
This happy music
So Id better leave while Im happy
And say good night to you

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I Wanna Make You Happy

(c. weil / r.tietelman)
What a nice party
And I know just why Im feeling so new
cause I came along and I found you
I wanna make you happy tonight
I wanna make you happy tonight
Its just like magic
Dancing with you
While were sharing a kiss
Oh, Ive been in love
But never, no never, like this
I wanna make you happy tonight
I wanna make you happy tonight and every day I live, yeah
I wanna give you all I have to give
Oh, I wanna make you so happy, yeah, oh
Yes, Ive been in love
But never, no never, like this
I wanna make you happy tonight
I wanna make you so happy, child
Come on, I wanna make you so

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Book First [Introduction-Childhood and School Time]

OH there is blessing in this gentle breeze,
A visitant that while it fans my cheek
Doth seem half-conscious of the joy it brings
From the green fields, and from yon azure sky.
Whate'er its mission, the soft breeze can come
To none more grateful than to me; escaped
From the vast city, where I long had pined
A discontented sojourner: now free,
Free as a bird to settle where I will.
What dwelling shall receive me? in what vale
Shall be my harbour? underneath what grove
Shall I take up my home? and what clear stream
Shall with its murmur lull me into rest?
The earth is all before me. With a heart
Joyous, nor scared at its own liberty,
I look about; and should the chosen guide
Be nothing better than a wandering cloud,
I cannot miss my way. I breathe again!
Trances of thought and mountings of the mind
Come fast upon me: it is shaken off,
That burthen of my own unnatural self,
The heavy weight of many a weary day
Not mine, and such as were not made for me.
Long months of peace (if such bold word accord
With any promises of human life),
Long months of ease and undisturbed delight
Are mine in prospect; whither shall I turn,
By road or pathway, or through trackless field,
Up hill or down, or shall some floating thing
Upon the river point me out my course?

Dear Liberty! Yet what would it avail
But for a gift that consecrates the joy?
For I, methought, while the sweet breath of heaven
Was blowing on my body, felt within
A correspondent breeze, that gently moved
With quickening virtue, but is now become
A tempest, a redundant energy,
Vexing its own creation. Thanks to both,
And their congenial powers, that, while they join
In breaking up a long-continued frost,
Bring with them vernal promises, the hope
Of active days urged on by flying hours,--
Days of sweet leisure, taxed with patient thought
Abstruse, nor wanting punctual service high,
Matins and vespers of harmonious verse!

Thus far, O Friend! did I, not used to make
A present joy the matter of a song,
Pour forth that day my soul in measured strains
That would not be forgotten, and are here
Recorded: to the open fields I told
A prophecy: poetic numbers came
Spontaneously to clothe in priestly robe
A renovated spirit singled out,
Such hope was mine, for holy services.
My own voice cheered me, and, far more, the mind's
Internal echo of the imperfect sound;
To both I listened, drawing from them both
A cheerful confidence in things to come.

Content and not unwilling now to give
A respite to this passion, I paced on
With brisk and eager steps; and came, at length,
To a green shady place, where down I sate
Beneath a tree, slackening my thoughts by choice
And settling into gentler happiness.
'Twas autumn, and a clear and placid day,
With warmth, as much as needed, from a sun
Two hours declined towards the west; a day
With silver clouds, and sunshine on the grass,
And in the sheltered and the sheltering grove
A perfect stillness. Many were the thoughts
Encouraged and dismissed, till choice was made
Of a known Vale, whither my feet should turn,
Nor rest till they had reached the very door
Of the one cottage which methought I saw.
No picture of mere memory ever looked
So fair; and while upon the fancied scene
I gazed with growing love, a higher power
Than Fancy gave assurance of some work
Of glory there forthwith to be begun,
Perhaps too there performed. Thus long I mused,
Nor e'er lost sight of what I mused upon,
Save when, amid the stately grove of oaks,
Now here, now there, an acorn, from its cup
Dislodged, through sere leaves rustled, or at once
To the bare earth dropped with a startling sound.
From that soft couch I rose not, till the sun
Had almost touched the horizon; casting then
A backward glance upon the curling cloud
Of city smoke, by distance ruralised;
Keen as a Truant or a Fugitive,
But as a Pilgrim resolute, I took,
Even with the chance equipment of that hour,
The road that pointed toward the chosen Vale.
It was a splendid evening, and my soul
Once more made trial of her strength, nor lacked
Aeolian visitations; but the harp
Was soon defrauded, and the banded host
Of harmony dispersed in straggling sounds,
And lastly utter silence! 'Be it so;
Why think of anything but present good?'
So, like a home-bound labourer, I pursued
My way beneath the mellowing sun, that shed
Mild influence; nor left in me one wish
Again to bend the Sabbath of that time
To a servile yoke. What need of many words?
A pleasant loitering journey, through three days
Continued, brought me to my hermitage.
I spare to tell of what ensued, the life
In common things--the endless store of things,
Rare, or at least so seeming, every day
Found all about me in one neighbourhood--
The self-congratulation, and, from morn
To night, unbroken cheerfulness serene.
But speedily an earnest longing rose
To brace myself to some determined aim,
Reading or thinking; either to lay up
New stores, or rescue from decay the old
By timely interference: and therewith
Came hopes still higher, that with outward life
I might endue some airy phantasies
That had been floating loose about for years,
And to such beings temperately deal forth
The many feelings that oppressed my heart.
That hope hath been discouraged; welcome light
Dawns from the east, but dawns to disappear
And mock me with a sky that ripens not
Into a steady morning: if my mind,
Remembering the bold promise of the past,
Would gladly grapple with some noble theme,
Vain is her wish; where'er she turns she finds
Impediments from day to day renewed.

And now it would content me to yield up
Those lofty hopes awhile, for present gifts
Of humbler industry. But, oh, dear Friend!
The Poet, gentle creature as he is,
Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times;
His fits when he is neither sick nor well,
Though no distress be near him but his own
Unmanageable thoughts: his mind, best pleased
While she as duteous as the mother dove
Sits brooding, lives not always to that end,
But like the innocent bird, hath goadings on
That drive her as in trouble through the groves;
With me is now such passion, to be blamed
No otherwise than as it lasts too long.

When, as becomes a man who would prepare
For such an arduous work, I through myself
Make rigorous inquisition, the report
Is often cheering; for I neither seem
To lack that first great gift, the vital soul,
Nor general Truths, which are themselves a sort
Of Elements and Agents, Under-powers,
Subordinate helpers of the living mind:
Nor am I naked of external things,
Forms, images, nor numerous other aids
Of less regard, though won perhaps with toil
And needful to build up a Poet's praise.
Time, place, and manners do I seek, and these
Are found in plenteous store, but nowhere such
As may be singled out with steady choice;
No little band of yet remembered names
Whom I, in perfect confidence, might hope
To summon back from lonesome banishment,
And make them dwellers in the hearts of men
Now living, or to live in future years.
Sometimes the ambitious Power of choice, mistaking
Proud spring-tide swellings for a regular sea,
Will settle on some British theme, some old
Romantic tale by Milton left unsung;
More often turning to some gentle place
Within the groves of Chivalry, I pipe
To shepherd swains, or seated harp in hand,
Amid reposing knights by a river side
Or fountain, listen to the grave reports
Of dire enchantments faced and overcome
By the strong mind, and tales of warlike feats,
Where spear encountered spear, and sword with sword
Fought, as if conscious of the blazonry
That the shield bore, so glorious was the strife;
Whence inspiration for a song that winds
Through ever-changing scenes of votive quest
Wrongs to redress, harmonious tribute paid
To patient courage and unblemished truth,
To firm devotion, zeal unquenchable,
And Christian meekness hallowing faithful loves.
Sometimes, more sternly moved, I would relate
How vanquished Mithridates northward passed,
And, hidden in the cloud of years, became
Odin, the Father of a race by whom
Perished the Roman Empire: how the friends
And followers of Sertorius, out of Spain
Flying, found shelter in the Fortunate Isles,
And left their usages, their arts and laws,
To disappear by a slow gradual death,
To dwindle and to perish one by one,
Starved in those narrow bounds: but not the soul
Of Liberty, which fifteen hundred years
Survived, and, when the European came
With skill and power that might not be withstood,
Did, like a pestilence, maintain its hold
And wasted down by glorious death that race
Of natural heroes: or I would record
How, in tyrannic times, some high-souled man,
Unnamed among the chronicles of kings,
Suffered in silence for Truth's sake: or tell,
How that one Frenchman, through continued force
Of meditation on the inhuman deeds
Of those who conquered first the Indian Isles,
Went single in his ministry across
The Ocean; not to comfort the oppressed,
But, like a thirsty wind, to roam about
Withering the Oppressor: how Gustavus sought
Help at his need in Dalecarlia's mines:
How Wallace fought for Scotland; left the name
Of Wallace to be found, like a wild flower,
All over his dear Country; left the deeds
Of Wallace, like a family of Ghosts,
To people the steep rocks and river banks,
Her natural sanctuaries, with a local soul
Of independence and stern liberty.
Sometimes it suits me better to invent
A tale from my own heart, more near akin
To my own passions and habitual thoughts;
Some variegated story, in the main
Lofty, but the unsubstantial structure melts
Before the very sun that brightens it,
Mist into air dissolving! Then a wish,
My last and favourite aspiration, mounts
With yearning toward some philosophic song
Of Truth that cherishes our daily life;
With meditations passionate from deep
Recesses in man's heart, immortal verse
Thoughtfully fitted to the Orphean lyre;
But from this awful burthen I full soon
Take refuge and beguile myself with trust
That mellower years will bring a riper mind
And clearer insight. Thus my days are past
In contradiction; with no skill to part
Vague longing, haply bred by want of power,
From paramount impulse not to be withstood,
A timorous capacity, from prudence,
From circumspection, infinite delay.
Humility and modest awe, themselves
Betray me, serving often for a cloak
To a more subtle selfishness; that now
Locks every function up in blank reserve,
Now dupes me, trusting to an anxious eye
That with intrusive restlessness beats off
Simplicity and self-presented truth.
Ah! better far than this, to stray about
Voluptuously through fields and rural walks,
And ask no record of the hours, resigned
To vacant musing, unreproved neglect
Of all things, and deliberate holiday.
Far better never to have heard the name
Of zeal and just ambition, than to live
Baffled and plagued by a mind that every hour
Turns recreant to her task; takes heart again,
Then feels immediately some hollow thought
Hang like an interdict upon her hopes.
This is my lot; for either still I find
Some imperfection in the chosen theme,
Or see of absolute accomplishment
Much wanting, so much wanting, in myself,
That I recoil and droop, and seek repose
In listlessness from vain perplexity,
Unprofitably travelling toward the grave,
Like a false steward who hath much received
And renders nothing back.
Was it for this
That one, the fairest of all rivers, loved
To blend his murmurs with my nurse's song,
And, from his alder shades and rocky falls,
And from his fords and shallows, sent a voice
That flowed along my dreams? For this, didst thou,
O Derwent! winding among grassy holms
Where I was looking on, a babe in arms,
Make ceaseless music that composed my thoughts
To more than infant softness, giving me
Amid the fretful dwellings of mankind
A foretaste, a dim earnest, of the calm
That Nature breathes among the hills and groves.

When he had left the mountains and received
On his smooth breast the shadow of those towers
That yet survive, a shattered monument
Of feudal sway, the bright blue river passed
Along the margin of our terrace walk;
A tempting playmate whom we dearly loved.
Oh, many a time have I, a five years' child,
In a small mill-race severed from his stream,
Made one long bathing of a summer's day;
Basked in the sun, and plunged and basked again
Alternate, all a summer's day, or scoured
The sandy fields, leaping through flowery groves
Of yellow ragwort; or, when rock and hill,
The woods, and distant Skiddaw's lofty height,
Were bronzed with deepest radiance, stood alone
Beneath the sky, as if I had been born
On Indian plains, and from my mother's hut
Had run abroad in wantonness, to sport
A naked savage, in the thunder shower.

Fair seed-time had my soul, and I grew up
Fostered alike by beauty and by fear:
Much favoured in my birth-place, and no less
In that beloved Vale to which erelong
We were transplanted;--there were we let loose
For sports of wider range. Ere I had told
Ten birth-days, when among the mountain slopes
Frost, and the breath of frosty wind, had snapped
The last autumnal crocus, 'twas my joy
With store of springes o'er my shoulder hung
To range the open heights where woodcocks run
Along the smooth green turf. Through half the night,
Scudding away from snare to snare, I plied
That anxious visitation;--moon and stars
Were shining o'er my head. I was alone,
And seemed to be a trouble to the peace
That dwelt among them. Sometimes it befell
In these night wanderings, that a strong desire
O'erpowered my better reason, and the bird
Which was the captive of another's toil
Became my prey; and when the deed was done
I heard among the solitary hills
Low breathings coming after me, and sounds
Of undistinguishable motion, steps
Almost as silent as the turf they trod.

Nor less, when spring had warmed the cultured Vale,
Moved we as plunderers where the mother-bird
Had in high places built her lodge; though mean
Our object and inglorious, yet the end
Was not ignoble. Oh! when I have hung
Above the raven's nest, by knots of grass
And half-inch fissures in the slippery rock
But ill sustained, and almost (so it seemed)
Suspended by the blast that blew amain,
Shouldering the naked crag, oh, at that time
While on the perilous ridge I hung alone,
With what strange utterance did the loud dry wind
Blow through my ear! the sky seemed not a sky
Of earth--and with what motion moved the clouds!

Dust as we are, the immortal spirit grows
Like harmony in music; there is a dark
Inscrutable workmanship that reconciles
Discordant elements, makes them cling together
In one society. How strange, that all
The terrors, pains, and early miseries,
Regrets, vexations, lassitudes interfused
Within my mind, should e'er have borne a part,
And that a needful part, in making up
The calm existence that is mine when I
Am worthy of myself! Praise to the end!
Thanks to the means which Nature deigned to employ;
Whether her fearless visitings, or those
That came with soft alarm, like hurtless light
Opening the peaceful clouds; or she would use
Severer interventions, ministry
More palpable, as best might suit her aim.

One summer evening (led by her) I found
A little boat tied to a willow tree
Within a rocky cave, its usual home.
Straight I unloosed her chain, and stepping in
Pushed from the shore. It was an act of stealth
And troubled pleasure, nor without the voice
Of mountain-echoes did my boat move on;
Leaving behind her still, on either side,
Small circles glittering idly in the moon,
Until they melted all into one track
Of sparkling light. But now, like one who rows,
Proud of his skill, to reach a chosen point
With an unswerving line, I fixed my view
Upon the summit of a craggy ridge,
The horizon's utmost boundary; far above
Was nothing but the stars and the grey sky.
She was an elfin pinnace; lustily
I dipped my oars into the silent lake,
And, as I rose upon the stroke, my boat
Went heaving through the water like a swan;
When, from behind that craggy steep till then
The horizon's bound, a huge peak, black and huge,
As if with voluntary power instinct,
Upreared its head. I struck and struck again,
And growing still in stature the grim shape
Towered up between me and the stars, and still,
For so it seemed, with purpose of its own
And measured motion like a living thing,
Strode after me. With trembling oars I turned,
And through the silent water stole my way
Back to the covert of the willow tree;
There in her mooring-place I left my bark,--
And through the meadows homeward went, in grave
And serious mood; but after I had seen
That spectacle, for many days, my brain
Worked with a dim and undetermined sense
Of unknown modes of being; o'er my thoughts
There hung a darkness, call it solitude
Or blank desertion. No familiar shapes
Remained, no pleasant images of trees,
Of sea or sky, no colours of green fields;
But huge and mighty forms, that do not live
Like living men, moved slowly through the mind
By day, and were a trouble to my dreams.

Wisdom and Spirit of the universe!
Thou Soul that art the eternity of thought
That givest to forms and images a breath
And everlasting motion, not in vain
By day or star-light thus from my first dawn
Of childhood didst thou intertwine for me
The passions that build up our human soul;
Not with the mean and vulgar works of man,
But with high objects, with enduring things--
With life and nature--purifying thus
The elements of feeling and of thought,
And sanctifying, by such discipline,
Both pain and fear, until we recognise
A grandeur in the beatings of the heart.
Nor was this fellowship vouchsafed to me
With stinted kindness. In November days,
When vapours rolling down the valley made
A lonely scene more lonesome, among woods,
At noon and 'mid the calm of summer nights,
When, by the margin of the trembling lake,
Beneath the gloomy hills homeward I went
In solitude, such intercourse was mine;
Mine was it in the fields both day and night,
And by the waters, all the summer long.

And in the frosty season, when the sun
Was set, and visible for many a mile
The cottage windows blazed through twilight gloom,
I heeded not their summons: happy time
It was indeed for all of us--for me
It was a time of rapture! Clear and loud
The village clock tolled six,--I wheeled about,
Proud and exulting like an untired horse
That cares not for his home. All shod with steel,
We hissed along the polished ice in games
Confederate, imitative of the chase
And woodland pleasures,--the resounding horn,
The pack loud chiming, and the hunted hare.
So through the darkness and the cold we flew,
And not a voice was idle; with the din
Smitten, the precipices rang aloud;
The leafless trees and every icy crag
Tinkled like iron; while far distant hills
Into the tumult sent an alien sound
Of melancholy not unnoticed, while the stars
Eastward were sparkling clear, and in the west
The orange sky of evening died away.
Not seldom from the uproar I retired
Into a silent bay, or sportively
Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng,
To cut across the reflex of a star
That fled, and, flying still before me, gleamed
Upon the glassy plain; and oftentimes,
When we had given our bodies to the wind,
And all the shadowy banks on either side
Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still
The rapid line of motion, then at once
Have I, reclining back upon my heels,
Stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs
Wheeled by me--even as if the earth had rolled
With visible motion her diurnal round!
Behind me did they stretch in solemn train,
Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched
Till all was tranquil as a dreamless sleep.

Ye Presences of Nature in the sky
And on the earth! Ye Visions of the hills!
And Souls of lonely places! can I think
A vulgar hope was yours when ye employed
Such ministry, when ye, through many a year
Haunting me thus among my boyish sports,
On caves and trees, upon the woods and hills,
Impressed, upon all forms, the characters
Of danger or desire; and thus did make
The surface of the universal earth,
With triumph and delight, with hope and fear,
Work like a sea?
Not uselessly employed,
Might I pursue this theme through every change
Of exercise and play, to which the year
Did summon us in his delightful round.

We were a noisy crew; the sun in heaven
Beheld not vales more beautiful than ours;
Nor saw a band in happiness and joy
Richer, or worthier of the ground they trod.
I could record with no reluctant voice
The woods of autumn, and their hazel bowers
With milk-white clusters hung; the rod and line,
True symbol of hope's foolishness, whose strong
And unreproved enchantment led us on
By rocks and pools shut out from every star,
All the green summer, to forlorn cascades
Among the windings hid of mountain brooks.
--Unfading recollections! at this hour
The heart is almost mine with which I felt,
From some hill-top on sunny afternoons,
The paper kite high among fleecy clouds
Pull at her rein like an impetuous courser;
Or, from the meadows sent on gusty days,
Beheld her breast the wind, then suddenly
Dashed headlong, and rejected by the storm.

Ye lowly cottages wherein we dwelt,
A ministration of your own was yours;
Can I forget you, being as you were
So beautiful among the pleasant fields
In which ye stood? or can I here forget
The plain and seemly countenance with which
Ye dealt out your plain comforts? Yet had ye
Delights and exultations of your own.
Eager and never weary we pursued
Our home-amusements by the warm peat-fire
At evening, when with pencil, and smooth slate
In square divisions parcelled out and all
With crosses and with cyphers scribbled o'er,
We schemed and puzzled, head opposed to head
In strife too humble to be named in verse:
Or round the naked table, snow-white deal,
Cherry or maple, sate in close array,
And to the combat, Loo or Whist, led on
A thick-ribbed army; not, as in the world,
Neglected and ungratefully thrown by
Even for the very service they had wrought,
But husbanded through many a long campaign.
Uncouth assemblage was it, where no few
Had changed their functions: some, plebeian cards
Which Fate, beyond the promise of their birth,
Had dignified, and called to represent
The persons of departed potentates.
Oh, with what echoes on the board they fell!
Ironic diamonds,--clubs, hearts, diamonds, spades,
A congregation piteously akin!
Cheap matter offered they to boyish wit,
Those sooty knaves, precipitated down
With scoffs and taunts, like Vulcan out of heaven:
The paramount ace, a moon in her eclipse,
Queens gleaming through their splendour's last decay,
And monarchs surly at the wrongs sustained
By royal visages. Meanwhile abroad
Incessant rain was falling, or the frost
Raged bitterly, with keen and silent tooth;
And, interrupting oft that eager game,
From under Esthwaite's splitting fields of ice
The pent-up air, struggling to free itself,
Gave out to meadow grounds and hills a loud
Protracted yelling, like the noise of wolves
Howling in troops along the Bothnic Main.

Nor, sedulous as I have been to trace
How Nature by extrinsic passion first
Peopled the mind with forms sublime or fair,
And made me love them, may I here omit
How other pleasures have been mine, and joys
Of subtler origin; how I have felt,
Not seldom even in that tempestuous time,
Those hallowed and pure motions of the sense
Which seem, in their simplicity, to own
An intellectual charm; that calm delight
Which, if I err not, surely must belong
To those first-born affinities that fit
Our new existence to existing things,
And, in our dawn of being, constitute
The bond of union between life and joy.

Yes, I remember when the changeful earth,
And twice five summers on my mind had stamped
The faces of the moving year, even then
I held unconscious intercourse with beauty
Old as creation, drinking in a pure
Organic pleasure from the silver wreaths
Of curling mist, or from the level plain
Of waters coloured by impending clouds.

The sands of Westmoreland, the creeks and bays
Of Cumbria's rocky limits, they can tell
How, when the Sea threw off his evening shade,
And to the shepherd's hut on distant hills
Sent welcome notice of the rising moon,
How I have stood, to fancies such as these
A stranger, linking with the spectacle
No conscious memory of a kindred sight,
And bringing with me no peculiar sense
Of quietness or peace; yet have I stood,
Even while mine eye hath moved o'er many a league
Of shining water, gathering as it seemed,
Through every hair-breadth in that field of light,
New pleasure like a bee among the flowers.

Thus oft amid those fits of vulgar joy
Which, through all seasons, on a child's pursuits
Are prompt attendants, 'mid that giddy bliss
Which, like a tempest, works along the blood
And is forgotten; even then I felt
Gleams like the flashing of a shield;--the earth
And common face of Nature spake to me
Rememberable things; sometimes, 'tis true,
By chance collisions and quaint accidents
(Like those ill-sorted unions, work supposed
Of evil-minded fairies), yet not vain
Nor profitless, if haply they impressed
Collateral objects and appearances,
Albeit lifeless then, and doomed to sleep
Until maturer seasons called them forth
To impregnate and to elevate the mind.
--And if the vulgar joy by its own weight
Wearied itself out of the memory,
The scenes which were a witness of that joy
Remained in their substantial lineaments
Depicted on the brain, and to the eye
Were visible, a daily sight; and thus
By the impressive discipline of fear,
By pleasure and repeated happiness,
So frequently repeated, and by force
Of obscure feelings representative
Of things forgotten, these same scenes so bright,
So beautiful, so majestic in themselves,
Though yet the day was distant, did become
Habitually dear, and all their forms
And changeful colours by invisible links
Were fastened to the affections.
I began
My story early--not misled, I trust,
By an infirmity of love for days
Disowned by memory--ere the breath of spring
Planting my snowdrops among winter snows:
Nor will it seem to thee, O Friend! so prompt
In sympathy, that I have lengthened out
With fond and feeble tongue a tedious tale.
Meanwhile, my hope has been, that I might fetch
Invigorating thoughts from former years;
Might fix the wavering balance of my mind,
And haply meet reproaches too, whose power
May spur me on, in manhood now mature
To honourable toil. Yet should these hopes
Prove vain, and thus should neither I be taught
To understand myself, nor thou to know
With better knowledge how the heart was framed
Of him thou lovest; need I dread from thee
Harsh judgments, if the song be loth to quit
Those recollected hours that have the charm
Of visionary things, those lovely forms
And sweet sensations that throw back our life,
And almost make remotest infancy
A visible scene, on which the sun is shining?

One end at least hath been attained; my mind
Hath been revived, and if this genial mood
Desert me not, forthwith shall be brought down
Through later years the story of my life.
The road lies plain before me;--'tis a theme
Single and of determined bounds; and hence
I choose it rather at this time, than work
Of ampler or more varied argument,
Where I might be discomfited and lost:
And certain hopes are with me, that to thee
This labour will be welcome, honoured Friend!

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That Look In Your Eye

Show me a girl peace and harmony in her heart
When things go wrong there will be no falling apart
One who understands
That things arent always gonna go right and
Ill show you a man who can show you the light
Show me a boy when the burdens on his shoulders
As time goes on seems to only make him bolder
Then I met you
Something that I cant explain
This feeling that I get is like Im going insane
Its that look in your eyes that say you love me
And all the silly things that you do
Those feelings I get from the stars above me
Tells me youre for me
And Im the one for you
Hey I thank you baby
I thank you baby
I thank you
Show me a girl that can me feel better
With a kiss sealed inside a perfumed letter
One who understands
When the tour is six months long
And waiting with open arms cos its been too long
Show me a boy whose loving that Im missing
Who can be there when I need someone to listen
One who keeps in mind that I should never be alone
Because Ill be there even if its by telephone
Its that look in your eyes that say you love me
And all the silly things that you do
Those feelings I get when ever youre near me
Tells me youre for me
And Im the one for you
Yeah I thank you baby
I thank you baby
Yeah I thank you baby
Yeah I thank you baby
I thank you

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Rivers and Boats

I don't know what you look like now
I burned the bridges and the boats
And this old photograph I've found
It shows you standing by the road
Your windblown hair across your face
Just as I turned and looked away

I always got my timing wrong
I couldn't wait and you were gone

I heard your voice a year ago
We talked about so many things
That maybe you'd be coming home
But all those words on broken wings
Fell down the well of endless time
To echo through some restless night

I never quite caught sight of you
I never quite knew what to do

I sometimes think of yesterday
And all the strange things that it brings
That searching for the holy grail
The honesty and innocence
that maybe blindness shielded us
until we understood this world

For looking back it's clear to me
It wasn't what it seemed to be

Sometimes I dream that you're still here
Just doing ordinary things
You fix your stockings, brush your hair
Then suddenly, you've sprouted wings
You were no angel, no white flag
And I know you're not coming back

I never saw you as you were
When you were all I wanted then

I don't know if we'll meet again
So maybe I should say it now
I always tried to play it straight
But couldn't free myself somehow
I saw you as a state of grace
And built myself a bolted gate

To save me from the love that grew
The way a hurricane might do

But still, it's safe enough to look
At this old photograph of you

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