glass breaking underfoot...
empty stores
dot the main street
haiku by Chenou Liu
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dash dot dash dot dash dot com
song performed by Fatboy Slim
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dot Leedle Boy
Ot's a leedle Gristmas story
Dot I told der leedle folks--
Und I vant you stop dot laughin'
Und grackin' funny jokes!--
So help me Peter-Moses!
Ot's no time for monkey-shine,
Ober I vast told you somedings
Of dot leedle boy of mine!
Ot vas von cold Vinter vedder,
Ven der snow vas all about--
Dot you have to chop der hatchet
Eef you got der sauerkraut!
Und der cheekens on der hind leg
Vas standin' in der shine
Der sun shmile out dot morning
On dot leedle boy of mine.
He vas yoost a leedle baby
Not bigger as a doll
Dot time I got acquaintet--
Ach! you ought to heard 'im squall!--
I grackys! dot's der moosic
Ot make me feel so fine
Ven first I vas been marriet--
Oh, dot leedle boy of mine!
He look yoost like his fader!--
So, ven der vimmen said,
'Vot a purty leedle baby!'
Katrina shake der head. . . .
I dink she must 'a' notice
Dot der baby vas a-gryin',
Und she cover up der blankets
Of dot leedle boy of mine.
Vel, ven he vas got bigger,
Dot he grawl und bump his nose,
Und make der table over,
Und molasses on his glothes--
Dot make 'im all der sveeter,--
So I say to my Katrine,
'Better you vas quit a-shpankin'
Dot leedle boy of mine!'
No more he vas older
As about a dozen months
He speak der English language
Und der German--bote at vonce!
Und he dringk his glass of lager
[...] Read more
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Dee Coming Man
I Vant some invormashun, shust so qvickly vot
I can, How I shall pring mine Yawcob oup to been der
coming man, For efery day id seem to me der brosbect look
der harder To make dot coming man imbrove ubon dot going
fader. 'Tvas beddher he vas more like me, a Deutscher
blain und rude, As to been abofe hees peesnis und grown oup to
been a dude.
I doil'd oxshbect dot poy off mine a Vashington
to be, Und schop mit hadchets all aronndt ubon mine
abblcdree, So he can let der coundtry know he echmardter
vas- as I, Und got scheap adverdising dot he don'd could
dell a lie : Mine Yawcob lets der drees alone undil der fruit
dhey bear, Und dhen dot feller he looks oudt und gets der
lion's share.
Some say 'tvas beddher dot you teach der young
ideas to shoot; Veil, I dink dis aboudt id : dot advice id vas no
goot! Dot poy vonce dook hees broder oudt nnd dhey
blay Yilliam Tell, Budt Yawcob vas no shooter —he don'd do id
pooty veil; Dot arrow don'd go droo der core, budt id vent
pooty near — Shust near enough to miss id und go droo hees
broder's ear.
He dravels mit hees buysickle in efery kind off
redder, Und dough he vas a demperance poy, somedimes
he dakes a "header": I don'd know shust oxactly vot dot vas—'tis vorse
as bier— Shust like he shtrike a cyglone und valk righdt
off on his ear ! I ask von time aboudt id, budt dot poy he only
grumble, Und say I beddhcr try id vonce, dhen maybe I
vould "tumble."
Dot Yawcob says dot ve vas boor, vmd he vants
to be richer, Und dot der coming man must been a virsd-glass
pase-pall pitcher ; He say he must be "shtriking oudt und try nnd
"make a hit," Und dells me I vas "off mine pase" vhen I makes
fun off it; Vhen I say he soon must baddle hees canoe "oudt
on der schwim," He say dot von off Hanlan's shells vas goot
enough for him.
Dot Shakesbeer say aboudt der son dot's brofligate
und vild : "How sharper as a serpent's thanks vas been der
toothless shild!" (I got dot leedle dwisted; I mean dot thankless
youth He cuts hees poor oldt fader more as a serpent's
tooth.) Und dhen der broverb dells us dot der shild he
must obey, Und dot eef you should shpare der rod you shpoil
him righdt avay.
Vell, Yawcob he vas pooty goot—I guess I don'd
gomblain, I somedimes vish, mineself, dot I vas been a poy
again. I lets him blay mit pase-pall, und dake headers
vhile he can. I prings him oup mit kindness, und I risk der
coming man. Let neighbor Pfeiffer use der shtick, vhile Otto
howls und dances ; I'll shpoil der rod und shpare der shild, I dink,
und dake der shances.
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Yawcob's Dribdlations
Maybe dot you don'd rememper,
Eighdeen — dwendy years ago, How I dold aboudt mine Yawcob —
Dot young rashkell, don'd you know, Who got schicken-box und measles;
Filled mine bipe mit Limburg scheeze; Cut mine cane up indo dhrum-schticks,
Und blay all sooch dricks as dhese.
Yell! dhose times dhey vas been ofer,
Und dot son off mine, py shings! Now vas taller as hees fader,
Und vas oup to all sooch dhings Like shimnastic dricks und pase-pall;
Und der oder day he say Dot he boxes mit " adthledics,"
Somevheres ofer on Back Bay.
Times vas deeferent, now, I dold you,
As vhen he vas been a lad; Dhen Katrine she make hees drowsers
Vrom der oldt vones off hees dad; Dhey vas cut so full und baggy
Dot id dook more as a fool To find oudt eef he vas going,
Or vas coming home vrom school.
Now, dhere vas no making ofer
Off mine clothes to make a suit For dot poy — der times vas exchanged;
"Der leg vas on der oder boot;" For vhen hees drowsers dhey gets dhin,
Und sort off "schlazy" roundt der knee, Dot Mrs. Strauss she dake der sceessors
Und she cuts dhem down for me.
Shnst der oder day dot Yawcob
Gife me von elecdric shock, Vhen he say he vants fife-hundord
To invesht in railroadt schtock. Dhen I dell him id vas beddher
Dot he leaf der schtocks alone, Or some feller dot vas schmardter
Dake der meat imd leaf der bone.
Und vhen I vas got oxcited,
Und say he get "echwiped" und fooled, Dheri he say he haf a "pointer"
Yrom soom friendts off Sage und Gould; Und dot he vas on " rock bottom;"
Had der "inside track" on "Atch "
Dot vas too mooch for hees fader,
Und I coom oup to der scratch.
Dhen in bolitics he dabbles,
Und all qvesdions, great und schmall, Make no deeferent to dot Yawcob —
For dot poy he knows id all. Und he say dot dhose oldt fogies
Must be laid oup on der shelf, Und der governors und mayors
Should pe young men — like himself.
Yell! I vish I vas dransborted
To dhose days off long ago, Vhen dot schafer beat der milk-ban
Und schkydoodled droo der schnow. I could schtand der mumbs nnd measles,
Und der ruckshuns in der house; Budt mine presendt dribulations
Vas too mooch for Meester Strauss.
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mary had a Little Vamp and Other Parodies after Sarah Josepha HALE
Mary had a little vamp,
whose teeth glowed white as snow,
each night from sightly vent – no cramp -
the crimson droplets flow.
Some followed her from school one day;
though stalking's 'gainst the rules;
it made goose pimples grow and stay
to see them play at ghouls.
But they were caught, their tale remains
from history well hid,
though we discovered their remains
beneath oak coffin lid.
And so blood flowed from inside out,
none dared to lingered near
when shadows shiver, hang about
until Vamps disappear.
'Why does the Vamp love Mary so? '
the eager children cry;
'Why, Mary loves the Vamp, you know, '
the teacher did reply.
Sleep-overs followed, - little Vamp
A, B, AB, O, drew
by light of Mary’s lurid lamp
new haemoglobulu.
Thus vampire Vlad made Mary glad
hark! men well-read may read,
from kid school lad to college grad, -
mark then welt's red fey bead.
He wore a scarlet cape to match
sweet Mary’s ruddy lips,
attached thereto a cup to catch
the rhesus drips he sips.
No fly-by-night awed Mary’s Vamp,
he could fear blend at need,
though sky high flight soared scary champ -
we here end batty screed.
© Jonathan Robin parody written 3 May 2007 revised 3 September 2008 - for previous version see below
Mary had a little vamp,
whose teeth were white as snow,
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Columbiad: Book I
The Argument
Natives of America appear in vision. Their manners and characters. Columbus demands the cause of the dissimilarity of men in different countries, Hesper replies, That the human body is composed of a due proportion of the elements suited to the place of its first formation; that these elements, differently proportioned, produce all the changes of health, sickness, growth and decay; and may likewise produce any other changes which occasion the diversity of men; that these elemental proportions are varied, not more by climate than temperature and other local circumstances; that the mind is likewise in a state of change, and will take its physical character from the body and from external objects: examples. Inquiry concerning the first peopling of America. View of Mexico. Its destruction by Cortez. View of Cusco and Quito, cities of Peru. Tradition of Capac and Oella, founders of the Peruvian empire. Columbus inquires into their real history. Hesper gives an account of their origin, and relates the stratagems they used in establishing that empire.
I sing the Mariner who first unfurl'd
An eastern banner o'er the western world,
And taught mankind where future empires lay
In these fair confines of descending day;
Who sway'd a moment, with vicarious power,
Iberia's sceptre on the new found shore,
Then saw the paths his virtuous steps had trod
Pursued by avarice and defiled with blood,
The tribes he foster'd with paternal toil
Snatch'd from his hand, and slaughter'd for their spoil.
Slaves, kings, adventurers, envious of his name,
Enjoy'd his labours and purloin'd his fame,
And gave the Viceroy, from his high seat hurl'd.
Chains for a crown, a prison for a world
Long overwhelm'd in woes, and sickening there,
He met the slow still march of black despair,
Sought the last refuge from his hopeless doom,
And wish'd from thankless men a peaceful tomb:
Till vision'd ages, opening on his eyes,
Cheer'd his sad soul, and bade new nations rise;
He saw the Atlantic heaven with light o'ercast,
And Freedom crown his glorious work at last.
Almighty Freedom! give my venturous song
The force, the charm that to thy voice belong;
Tis thine to shape my course, to light my way,
To nerve my country with the patriot lay,
To teach all men where all their interest lies,
How rulers may be just and nations wise:
Strong in thy strength I bend no suppliant knee,
Invoke no miracle, no Muse but thee.
Night held on old Castile her silent reign,
Her half orb'd moon declining to the main;
O'er Valladolid's regal turrets hazed
The drizzly fogs from dull Pisuerga raised;
Whose hovering sheets, along the welkin driven,
Thinn'd the pale stars, and shut the eye from heaven.
Cold-hearted Ferdinand his pillow prest,
Nor dream'd of those his mandates robb'd of rest,
Of him who gemm'd his crown, who stretch'd his reign
To realms that weigh'd the tenfold poise of Spain;
Who now beneath his tower indungeon'd lies,
Sweats the chill sod and breathes inclement skies.
[...] Read more
poem by Joel Barlow
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Breaking The Law
There I was completely wasting, out of work and down
All inside its so frustrating as I drift from town to town
Feel as though nobody cares if I live or die
So I might as well begin to put some action in my life
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law, breaking the law
So much for the golden future, I cant even start
Ive had every promise broken, theres anger in my heart
You dont know what its like, you dont have a clue
If you did youd find yourselves doing the same thing too
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law, breaking the law
You dont know what its like
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law, breaking the law
Breaking the law
song performed by Judas Priest
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dot Baby Off Mine
Mine cracious! mine cracious! shust look here und see
A Deutscher so habby as habby can pe!
Der beoples all dink dot no prains I haf got;
Vas grazy mit trinking, or someding like dot:
Id vasn't pecause I trinks lager und vine;
Id vas all on aggount off dot baby off mine.
Dot schmall leedlc vellow I dells you vas qveer;
Not mooch pigger roundt as a goot glass off peer;
Mit a bare-footed hed, und nose but a schpeck;
A mout dot goes most to der pack off his neck;
Und his leedle pink toes mit der rest all combine
To gif sooch a charm to dot baby off mine.
I dells you dot baby vas von off der poys,
Und beats leedle Yawcob for making a noise.
He shust has pecun to shbeak goot English too;
Says " Mamma" und " Papa," und somedimes "Ah, goo!"
You don'd find a baby den dimes oudt off nine
Dot vas qvite so schmart as dot baby off mine.
He grawls der vloor ofer, und drows dings aboudt,
Und poots eferyding he can find in his mout;
He dumbles der shtairs down, und falls vrom his chair,
Und gifes mine Katrina von derrible sckare.
Mine hair shtands like shquills on a mat borcubine
Ven I dinks off dose pranks off dot baby off mine.
Dere vas someding, you pet, I don'd likes pooty vell,
To hear in der nighdt dimes dot young Deutscher yell,
Und dravel der ped-room midout many clo'es,
Vhile der chills down der shpine off mine pack quickly goes:
Does leedle shimnasdic dricks vasn't so fine
Dot I cuts oup at nighdt mit dot baby off mine.
Vell, dese leedle schafers vas going to pe men,
Und all off dese droubles vill peen ofer den:
Dey vill vear a vhite shirt-vront inshtead off a bib,
Und vouldn't got tucked oup at nighdt in deir crib.
Vell, vell, ven I'm feeble, und in life's decline,
May mine oldt age pe cheered py dot baby off mine!
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Four Seasons : Autumn
Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,
While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,
Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more,
Well pleased, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost
Nitrous prepared; the various blossom'd Spring
Put in white promise forth; and Summer-suns
Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view,
Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.
Onslow! the Muse, ambitious of thy name,
To grace, inspire, and dignify her song,
Would from the public voice thy gentle ear
A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows,
The patriot virtues that distend thy thought,
Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow;
While listening senates hang upon thy tongue,
Devolving through the maze of eloquence
A roll of periods, sweeter than her song.
But she too pants for public virtue, she,
Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will,
Whene'er her country rushes on her heart,
Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries
To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame.
When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days,
And Libra weighs in equal scales the year;
From Heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook
Of parting Summer, a serener blue,
With golden light enliven'd, wide invests
The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise,
Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft through lucid clouds
A pleasing calm; while broad, and brown, below
Extensive harvests hang the heavy head.
Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a gale
Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain:
A calm of plenty! till the ruffled air
Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow.
Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky;
The clouds fly different; and the sudden sun
By fits effulgent gilds the illumined field,
And black by fits the shadows sweep along.
A gaily chequer'd heart-expanding view,
Far as the circling eye can shoot around,
Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn.
These are thy blessings, Industry! rough power!
Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain;
Yet the kind source of every gentle art,
And all the soft civility of life:
Raiser of human kind! by Nature cast,
Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods
And wilds, to rude inclement elements;
With various seeds of art deep in the mind
[...] Read more
poem by James Thomson
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Glass War
Glass war, glass war, glass war, glass war, it's a glass war
Glass war, glass war, it's a glass war
Glass war, glass war
It's a glass war
Cause you can see right through the poisen
It's a glass war
Cause we all know the activeties
It's a glass war
Cause it's made of smoke and mirrors
It's a glass war
It's a glass war
It's a glass war
Cause only poor men are dyin in the
Gas war
Cause we know why it was started
It's an ass war
Cause the president's an asshole
It's an ass war
It's a glass war
It's a gas war
Cause the starters are all victims of the
Glass war
The slogan men were starters of the
Last war
Now the southern men are starters of the
Glass war
It's a Glass War
It's a Glass war
And the shards are gunna start another glass war
And the shards are gunna start another glass war
And the shards are gunna start another glass war
And the shards are gunna start another glass war
And the shards are gunna start another glass war
It's a glass war
It's a glass war
song performed by NOFX
Added by Lucian Velea
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Yaw, Dot Ish So!
Yaw, dot ish so! Yaw, dot ish so!
"Dis vorldt vas all a fleeting show."
I shmokes mine pipe,
I trinks mine bier,
Und efry day to vork I go;
"Dis vorldt vas all a fleeting show;"
"Yaw, dot ish so !
Yaw, dot ish so! Yaw, dot ish so!
I don'd got mooch down here below,
I eadt and trink,
I vork und shleep,
Und find oudt, as I oldter grow,
I haf a hardter row to hoe;
Yaw, dot ish so!
Yaw, dot ish so! Yaw, dot ish so!
Dis vorldt don'd gife me haf a show;
Somedings to vear,
Some food to eadt;
Vot else ? Shust vait a minude, dough;
Katriua, und der poys! Oho!
Yaw, dot ish so!
Yaw, dot ish so! Yaw, dot ish so!
Dis vorldt don'd been a fleeting show.
I haf mine frau,
I haf mine poys,
To cheer me daily, as I go;
Dot's pest as anydings I know;
Yaw, dot ish so!
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Hans and Fritz
Hans and Fritz were two Deutschers who lived side by side,
Remote from the world, its deceit and its pride:
With their pretzels and beer the spare moments were spent,
And the fruits of their labor were peace and content.
Hans purchased a horse of a neighbor one day,
And, lacking a part of the Geld, — as they say, —
Made a call upon Fritz to solicit a loan
To help him to pay for his beautiful roan.
Fritz kindly consented the money to lend,
And gave the required amount to his friend;
Remarking,—his own simple language to quote,—
"Berhaps it vas bedder ve make us a note."
The note was drawn up in their primitive way, —
"I, Hans, gets from Fritz feefty tollars to-day;"
When the question arose, the note being made,
"Vich von holds dot baper until it vas baid?"
"You geeps dot," says Fritz, "und den you vill know
You owes me dot money." Says Hans, "Dot ish so:
Dot makes me remempers I haf dot to bay,
Und I prings you der note und der money some day."
A month had expired, when Hans, as agreed,
Paid back the amount, and from debt he was freed.
Says Fritz, " Now dot settles us." Hans replies,
"Yaw: Now who dakes dot baper accordings by law ?"
"I geeps dot now, aind't it?" says Fritz ; " den, you see,
I alvays remempers you baid dot to me."
Says Hans, "Dot ish so: it vas now shust so blain,
Dot I knows vot to do ven I porrows again."
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Vas Marriage a Failure?
Vas marriage a failure? "Veil, now, dot depends Altogeddher on how you look at it, mine friends. Like dhose double-horse teams dot you see at
der races,
It depends pooty much on der pair in der traces; Eef dhey don'd pool togeddher righdt off at der
shtart, Ten dimes oudt off nine dhey van beddher apart.
Vas marriage a failure? Der vote vas in doubt; Dhose dot's oudt vould be in, dhose dot's in
vould be oudt:
Der man mit oxberience, good looks und dash, Gets a vife mit some fife hundord dousand in
cash,
Budt, after der honeymoon, vhere vas der honey? She haf der oxberience — he haf der money.
Vas marriage a failure? Eef dot vas der case, Vot vas to pecome off der whole human race? Vot you dink dot der oldt "Pilgrim fader?
vould say, "Who came in dot Sunflower to oldt Plymouth
Bay,
To see der fine coundtry dis peoples haf got, Und dhen hear dhem ask sooch conondhrums
as dot?
Vas marriage a failure ? Shust go, ere you tell,
To dot Bunker Mon Ilillument, vhere Varren fell;
Dink off Yashington, Franklin, nnd "Honest Old Abe" —
Dhey vas all been aroundt since dot first Plymouth babe.
I vas only a Deutscher, budt I tells you vot!
I pelief, every dime, in sooch "failures" as dot.
Vas marriage a failure? I ask mine Katrine, Und she look off me so dot I feels pooty mean. Dhen she say: "Meester Strauss, shust come
here eef you blease," Und she take me vhere Yawcob und leedle
Loweeze By dheir shnug trundle-bed vas shust saying
dheir prayer, Und she say, mit some pride: "" Dhere vas no
failures dhere!"
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Annus Mirabilis, The Year Of Wonders, 1666
1
In thriving arts long time had Holland grown,
Crouching at home and cruel when abroad:
Scarce leaving us the means to claim our own;
Our King they courted, and our merchants awed.
2
Trade, which, like blood, should circularly flow,
Stopp'd in their channels, found its freedom lost:
Thither the wealth of all the world did go,
And seem'd but shipwreck'd on so base a coast.
3
For them alone the heavens had kindly heat;
In eastern quarries ripening precious dew:
For them the Idumaean balm did sweat,
And in hot Ceylon spicy forests grew.
4
The sun but seem'd the labourer of the year;
Each waxing moon supplied her watery store,
To swell those tides, which from the line did bear
Their brimful vessels to the Belgian shore.
5
Thus mighty in her ships, stood Carthage long,
And swept the riches of the world from far;
Yet stoop'd to Rome, less wealthy, but more strong:
And this may prove our second Punic war.
6
What peace can be, where both to one pretend?
(But they more diligent, and we more strong)
Or if a peace, it soon must have an end;
For they would grow too powerful, were it long.
7
Behold two nations, then, engaged so far
That each seven years the fit must shake each land:
Where France will side to weaken us by war,
Who only can his vast designs withstand.
8
See how he feeds the Iberian with delays,
To render us his timely friendship vain:
And while his secret soul on Flanders preys,
He rocks the cradle of the babe of Spain.
9
Such deep designs of empire does he lay
[...] Read more
poem by John Dryden
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Sestina - Cycling
November bomb-fires refuse to take light
Like sultry splutters of a lazy passion.
And drowsy hedgehogs under dead, damp wood
Dream snail’s trail filaments of kiss and touch.
Autumnal sodden leaves, leave underfoot,
A worn, discarded carpet once so lush.
Cold winter heart of mornings, sunlight lush,
Spangle frosts on bare branches and delight
In shining grass blades crunching underfoot.
Invade my sleepy heart, excite my passion.
I yearn for kisses, search for trembling touch.
Tentatively snap dead-wood’s bitter wood.
Rising greenly, sap springs through new wood,
Feeding fresh leaf, nourishing bud till lush
Summer arrives. Await the radiant touch!
Anticipate! The sun’s young rays spread light,
Tempting seeds of lust to swell in passion,
Crushing memories which echo underfoot.
Wise warnings thud above whilst underfoot
The thundering tramplings of the wild, wild wood
Call out. “Unleash your thwarted passion.
Drink in the nectar of life’s root, the lush
Intoxicating spirit that sets light
Your body with the need for urgent touch.
Laden boughs bend overhead to touch
A verdant rug of green laid underfoot.
Sky brightness winks and blinks. The broken light
Peeps through. Charcoal dark, my cleft heart of wood
Remnant of fire, lies guarded in the lush
Cutting blades of grass that hide my passion.
Leaves scuttle, dry husks rush round with passion
Press-ganged by the wind. Gems dyed by the touch
Of death in glowing hues. Fruit full and lush
With wasps, reaping juice fallen underfoot.
For good, my soul is yearly marked like wood
Rings revealing all, sealed away from light.
Envoi
Can passion trampled underfoot spring up
Again? Can touch revive the flame in wood
Snuffed by lush, lush rain? Can kisses make light?
poem by Janet Budd
Added by Poetry Lover
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Enoch Arden
Long lines of cliff breaking have left a chasm;
And in the chasm are foam and yellow sands;
Beyond, red roofs about a narrow wharf
In cluster; then a moulder'd church; and higher
A long street climbs to one tall-tower'd mill;
And high in heaven behind it a gray down
With Danish barrows; and a hazelwood,
By autumn nutters haunted, flourishes
Green in a cuplike hollow of the down.
Here on this beach a hundred years ago,
Three children of three houses, Annie Lee,
The prettiest little damsel in the port,
And Philip Ray the miller's only son,
And Enoch Arden, a rough sailor's lad
Made orphan by a winter shipwreck, play'd
Among the waste and lumber of the shore,
Hard coils of cordage, swarthy fishing-nets,
Anchors of rusty fluke, and boats updrawn,
And built their castles of dissolving sand
To watch them overflow'd, or following up
And flying the white breaker, daily left
The little footprint daily wash'd away.
A narrow cave ran in beneath the cliff:
In this the children play'd at keeping house.
Enoch was host one day, Philip the next,
While Annie still was mistress; but at times
Enoch would hold possession for a week:
`This is my house and this my little wife.'
`Mine too' said Philip `turn and turn about:'
When, if they quarrell'd, Enoch stronger-made
Was master: then would Philip, his blue eyes
All flooded with the helpless wrath of tears,
Shriek out `I hate you, Enoch,' and at this
The little wife would weep for company,
And pray them not to quarrel for her sake,
And say she would be little wife to both.
But when the dawn of rosy childhood past,
And the new warmth of life's ascending sun
Was felt by either, either fixt his heart
On that one girl; and Enoch spoke his love,
But Philip loved in silence; and the girl
Seem'd kinder unto Philip than to him;
But she loved Enoch; tho' she knew it not,
And would if ask'd deny it. Enoch set
A purpose evermore before his eyes,
To hoard all savings to the uttermost,
To purchase his own boat, and make a home
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Street Fighting Man
Everywhere I hear the sound of marching, charging feet, boy
cause summers here and the time is right for fighting in the street, boy
Tell me what can a poor boy do
cept for sing for a rock n roll band
cause in this sleepy l.a. town
Theres just no place for a street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
Do you think the time is right for a palace revolution
Where I live the game to play is compromise solution
Well then what can a poor boy
cept for sing for a rock n roll band
cause in this sleepy l.a. town
Theres just no place for a street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
Well what else can a poor boy do?
Well what else can a poor boy do?
Well what else can a poor boy do?
Well what else can a poor boy do?
Hey my name is called disturbance
Ill shout and scream, Ill kill the king, Ill rail at all his servants
Well what can a poor boy do
For sing for a rock n roll band
In this sleepy l.a. town
Theres just no place for
For a street fighting man
A street fighting man
For a street fighting man
A street fighting man
For a street fighting man
A street fighting man
For a street fighting man
A street fighting man
For a street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
A street fighting man
song performed by Rage Against The Machine
Added by Lucian Velea
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Faces In The Street
They lie, the men who tell us in a loud decisive tone
That want is here a stranger, and that misery's unknown;
For where the nearest suburb and the city proper meet
My window-sill is level with the faces in the street --
Drifting past, drifting past,
To the beat of weary feet --
While I sorrow for the owners of those faces in the street.
And cause I have to sorrow, in a land so young and fair,
To see upon those faces stamped the marks of Want and Care;
I look in vain for traces of the fresh and fair and sweet
In sallow, sunken faces that are drifting through the street --
Drifting on, drifting on,
To the scrape of restless feet;
I can sorrow for the owners of the faces in the street.
In hours before the dawning dims the starlight in the sky
The wan and weary faces first begin to trickle by,
Increasing as the moments hurry on with morning feet,
Till like a pallid river flow the faces in the street --
Flowing in, flowing in,
To the beat of hurried feet --
Ah! I sorrow for the owners of those faces in the street.
The human river dwindles when 'tis past the hour of eight,
Its waves go flowing faster in the fear of being late;
But slowly drag the moments, whilst beneath the dust and heat
The city grinds the owners of the faces in the street --
Grinding body, grinding soul,
Yielding scarce enough to eat --
Oh! I sorrow for the owners of the faces in the street.
And then the only faces till the sun is sinking down
Are those of outside toilers and the idlers of the town,
Save here and there a face that seems a stranger in the street,
Tells of the city's unemployed upon his weary beat --
Drifting round, drifting round,
To the tread of listless feet --
Ah! My heart aches for the owner of that sad face in the street.
And when the hours on lagging feet have slowly dragged away,
And sickly yellow gaslights rise to mock the going day,
Then flowing past my window like a tide in its retreat,
Again I see the pallid stream of faces in the street --
Ebbing out, ebbing out,
To the drag of tired feet,
While my heart is aching dumbly for the faces in the street.
And now all blurred and smirched with vice the day's sad pages end,
For while the short `large hours' toward the longer `small hours' trend,
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Lawson
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Vision Of Columbus - Book 1
Long had the Sage, the first who dared to brave
The unknown dangers of the western wave,
Who taught mankind where future empires lay
In these fair confines of descending day,
With cares o'erwhelm'd, in life's distressing gloom,
Wish'd from a thankless world a peaceful tomb;
While kings and nations, envious of his name,
Enjoy'd his toils and triumph'd o'er his fame,
And gave the chief, from promised empire hurl'd,
Chains for a crown, a prison for a world.
Now night and silence held their lonely reign,
The half-orb'd moon declining to the main;
Descending clouds, o'er varying ether driven,
Obscured the stars and shut the eye from heaven;
Cold mists through opening grates the cell invade,
And deathlike terrors haunt the midnight shade;
When from a visionary, short repose,
That raised new cares and temper'd keener woes,
Columbus woke, and to the walls address'd
The deep-felt sorrows of his manly breast.
Here lies the purchase, here the wretched spoil,
Of painful years and persevering toil:
For these dread walks, this hideous haunt of pain,
I traced new regions o'er the pathless main,
Dared all the dangers of the dreary wave,
Hung o'er its clefts and topp'd the surging grave,
Saw billowy seas, in swelling mountains roll,
And bursting thunders rock the reddening pole,
Death rear his front in every dreadful form,
Gape from beneath and blacken in the storm;
Till, tost far onward to the skirts of day,
Where milder suns dispens'd a smiling ray,
Through brighter skies my happier sails descry'd
The golden banks that bound the western tide,
And gave the admiring world that bounteous shore
Their wealth to nations and to kings their power
Oh land of transport! dear, delusive coast,
To these fond, aged eyes forever lost!
No more thy gladdening vales I travel o'er,
For me thy mountains rear the head no more,
For me thy rocks no sparkling gems unfold,
Or streams luxuriant wear their paths in gold;
From realms of promised peace forever borne,
I hail dread anguish, and in secret mourn
But dangers past, fair climes explored in vain,
And foes triumphant shew but half my pain
Dissembling friends, each earlier joy who gave,
[...] Read more
poem by Joel Barlow
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Yawcob Strauss
I Haf von funny leedle poy,
Vot gomes schust to mine knee;
Der queerest schap, der Greatest rogue,
As efer you dit see.
He runs, und schumps, and schmashes dings
In all barts off der house:
But vot off dot? he vas mine son,
Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss.
He get der measles und der mumbs,
Und eferyding dot's oudt;
He sbills mine glass off lager bier,
Foots schnuff indo mine kraut.
He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese,-
Dot vas der roughest chouse:
I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy
But leedle Yawcob Strauss.
He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum,
Und cuts mine cane in dwo,
To make der schticks to beat it mit,
Mine cracious, dot vas drue!
I dinks mine hed vas schplit abart,
He kicks oup sooch a touse:
But nefer mind; der poys vas few
Like dot young Yawcob Strauss.
He asks me questions sooch as dese:
Who baints mine nose so red?
Who vas it cuts dot schmoodth blace oudt
Vrom der hair ubon mine hed?
Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp
Vene'er der glim I douse.
How gan I all dose dings eggsblain
To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss ?
I somedimes dink I schall go vild
Mit sooch a grazy poy,
Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest,
Und beaceful dimes enshoy;
But ven he vas ashleep in ped,
So guiet as a mouse,
I prays der Lord," Dake anyding,
But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss."
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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