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I am a person whose father had no religion but who went to the nuns for a couple of years. And I think I'm the same: On one hand, I pray; on the other hand, I don't believe. I am constantly between the two.

quote by Angelica Houston
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Wasteland

Out into the wasteland
Out into the wasteland
No religion
No religion, no religion at all
No religion
No religion, no religion at all
No religion, no religion at all
No religion
No religion, no religion at all
No religion
No religion at all
No religion
Emissionary man amongst the heathen
Cant you see a modern primitive
I came back, Im gonna find,
Im gonna give religion
When there was, no religion at all
Im outta the wasteland
Im into this head man
Im outta the wasteland
No religion at all
Im outta the wasteland
Im into this head man
Im outta the wasteland
No religion, no religion at all
Theres a man in need of resurrection
(no religion)
Cant you see a modern primitive
(no religion)
But Im a man I need my love and
Freedom (no religion)
When there was no freedom at all
Im outta the wasteland
Im into this head man
Im outta the wasteland
No religion at all
Im outta the wasteland
Im into this head man
Im outta the wasteland
No religion, no religion at all
No religion
No religion at all
No religion
No religion at all
In vr land
The future of fun
Tell me what to do
In vr law
Computer crime
Um, so sublime

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song performed by Billy Idol
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Cenci : A Tragedy In Five Acts

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

Count Francesco Cenci.
Giacomo, his Son.
Bernardo, his Son.
Cardinal Camillo.
Orsino, a Prelate.
Savella, the Pope's Legate.
Olimpio, Assassin.
Marzio, Assassin.
Andrea, Servant to Cenci.
Nobles, Judges, Guards, Servants.
Lucretia, Wife of Cenci, and Step-mother of his children.
Beatrice, his Daughter.

The Scene lies principally in Rome, but changes during the Fourth Act to Petrella, a castle among the Apulian Apennines.
Time. During the Pontificate of Clement VIII.

ACT I

Scene I.
-An Apartment in the Cenci Palace.
Enter Count Cenci, and Cardinal Camillo.

Camillo.
That matter of the murder is hushed up
If you consent to yield his Holiness
Your fief that lies beyond the Pincian gate.-
It needed all my interest in the conclave
To bend him to this point: he said that you
Bought perilous impunity with your gold;
That crimes like yours if once or twice compounded
Enriched the Church, and respited from hell
An erring soul which might repent and live:-
But that the glory and the interest
Of the high throne he fills, little consist
With making it a daily mart of guilt
As manifold and hideous as the deeds
Which you scarce hide from men's revolted eyes.

Cenci.
The third of my possessions-let it go!
Ay, I once heard the nephew of the Pope
Had sent his architect to view the ground,
Meaning to build a villa on my vines
The next time I compounded with his uncle:
I little thought he should outwit me so!

[...] Read more

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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V. Count Guido Franceschini

Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Guinevere

Queen Guinevere had fled the court, and sat
There in the holy house at Almesbury
Weeping, none with her save a little maid,
A novice: one low light betwixt them burned
Blurred by the creeping mist, for all abroad,
Beneath a moon unseen albeit at full,
The white mist, like a face-cloth to the face,
Clung to the dead earth, and the land was still.

For hither had she fled, her cause of flight
Sir Modred; he that like a subtle beast
Lay couchant with his eyes upon the throne,
Ready to spring, waiting a chance: for this
He chilled the popular praises of the King
With silent smiles of slow disparagement;
And tampered with the Lords of the White Horse,
Heathen, the brood by Hengist left; and sought
To make disruption in the Table Round
Of Arthur, and to splinter it into feuds
Serving his traitorous end; and all his aims
Were sharpened by strong hate for Lancelot.

For thus it chanced one morn when all the court,
Green-suited, but with plumes that mocked the may,
Had been, their wont, a-maying and returned,
That Modred still in green, all ear and eye,
Climbed to the high top of the garden-wall
To spy some secret scandal if he might,
And saw the Queen who sat betwixt her best
Enid, and lissome Vivien, of her court
The wiliest and the worst; and more than this
He saw not, for Sir Lancelot passing by
Spied where he couched, and as the gardener's hand
Picks from the colewort a green caterpillar,
So from the high wall and the flowering grove
Of grasses Lancelot plucked him by the heel,
And cast him as a worm upon the way;
But when he knew the Prince though marred with dust,
He, reverencing king's blood in a bad man,
Made such excuses as he might, and these
Full knightly without scorn; for in those days
No knight of Arthur's noblest dealt in scorn;
But, if a man were halt or hunched, in him
By those whom God had made full-limbed and tall,
Scorn was allowed as part of his defect,
And he was answered softly by the King
And all his Table. So Sir Lancelot holp
To raise the Prince, who rising twice or thrice
Full sharply smote his knees, and smiled, and went:
But, ever after, the small violence done

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poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Lancelot And Elaine

Elaine the fair, Elaine the loveable,
Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat,
High in her chamber up a tower to the east
Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot;
Which first she placed where the morning's earliest ray
Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam;
Then fearing rust or soilure fashioned for it
A case of silk, and braided thereupon
All the devices blazoned on the shield
In their own tinct, and added, of her wit,
A border fantasy of branch and flower,
And yellow-throated nestling in the nest.
Nor rested thus content, but day by day,
Leaving her household and good father, climbed
That eastern tower, and entering barred her door,
Stript off the case, and read the naked shield,
Now guessed a hidden meaning in his arms,
Now made a pretty history to herself
Of every dint a sword had beaten in it,
And every scratch a lance had made upon it,
Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh;
That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle;
That at Caerleon; this at Camelot:
And ah God's mercy, what a stroke was there!
And here a thrust that might have killed, but God
Broke the strong lance, and rolled his enemy down,
And saved him: so she lived in fantasy.

How came the lily maid by that good shield
Of Lancelot, she that knew not even his name?
He left it with her, when he rode to tilt
For the great diamond in the diamond jousts,
Which Arthur had ordained, and by that name
Had named them, since a diamond was the prize.

For Arthur, long before they crowned him King,
Roving the trackless realms of Lyonnesse,
Had found a glen, gray boulder and black tarn.
A horror lived about the tarn, and clave
Like its own mists to all the mountain side:
For here two brothers, one a king, had met
And fought together; but their names were lost;
And each had slain his brother at a blow;
And down they fell and made the glen abhorred:
And there they lay till all their bones were bleached,
And lichened into colour with the crags:
And he, that once was king, had on a crown
Of diamonds, one in front, and four aside.
And Arthur came, and labouring up the pass,
All in a misty moonshine, unawares

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poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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I Believe

Yeah
Uh, uh
Uh
Yeah
Yeah
There could be dark clouds up over me, yeah
Still I know I can stand tall, yeah
And I can be the only man in the middle of the sea
And still somehow I wouldn't feel small, no, no
Ever since I found you, baby, it's been my attitude,
yes, it has
I wouldn't trade you for the world, uh-uh
If I bet my money on you, baby, I would never lose, no
'Cause you're my inspiration, girl
With you by my side, I believe
(Oh, I believe) I believe
(Oh, I believe) Yes, I
(I believe) I believe
(Oh, I believe) Oh, I believe
(Oh, I believe) I believe
(I believe) Yes, I
Now there could be a roadblock right in front of me,
mmm
And it wouldn't be in my way, no
Even if they locked me up and threw away the key, yeah
Somehow I know it would be okay, yeah
'Cause ever since I met you, girl, I've been positive,
oh, yes
You gave me a reason why, yes, you did
I kinda gave up on life, but now I wanna live, yeah
'Cause in the tunnel you were my light
And with you by my side, I believe
(Oh, I believe) Oh, I believe
(Oh, I believe) Oh, I believe, yeah
(I believe) I believe
(Oh, I believe) Woo...I
(Oh, I believe) I believe
(I believe) Oh, ho, I believe
And I remember when I wrote this song
It was at a time when I, I couldn't go wrong
But since I met you
(Oh, I believe) I believe
(Oh, I believe) Said I
(I believe) I believe
(Oh, I believe) Oh, I believe
(Oh, I believe) Yeah
(I believe) Yes, I, when the clouds are hanging over
us, woo
(Oh, I believe) And the going's tough
(Oh, I believe) I

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song performed by R. Kelly
Added by Lucian Velea
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Believe It...Or Not

I Believe

I believe, that life is likened to, a
piece of fine crystal. It can be
beautiful, or in a moments notice,
be shattered, beyond repair.

If you do not believe in love at
first sight, believe...that perhaps,
your vision is impaired.

It matters not your age in life,
I believe love, should be
welcomed and treasured.

I believe, that many of our unanswered
questions, are only answered, when
we are no longer, of earthly matter.

I believe that some things are better
kept to ones self.

I believe that there are rooms in life's
experience, that should not be entered.

Do you believe in your God? Do you
believe, that your religion is the right
religion? What do you believe of the
billions of people who do not believe,
as you believe?

I believe, it could not be, that one religion,
is the true way to worship.
I believe, that there is one Supreme Being.
I believe this Supreme Being, is by-lingual,
multi-colored and of all ethnic races.
I believe He loves and blesses us all.

I believe, in order for this to be a better
world, it must begin with each
of us trying to be better.

I believe that the billions, upon billions
of dollars spent on the machine of war,
could better be used for poor and
disenfranchised.

I believe in a new days discovery.
I believe, in the beauty of nature.
I believe, in the kiss of the rain.

[...] Read more

poem by Joe Fazio
Added by Poetry Lover
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Reasons For LIving...

I Believe

I believe, that life is likened to, a
piece of fine crystal. It can be
beautiful, or in a moments notice,
be shattered, beyond repair.

If you do not believe in love at
first sight, believe...that perhaps,
your vision is impaired.

It matters not your age in life,
I believe love, should be
welcomed and treasured.

I believe, that many of our unanswered
questions, are only answered, when
we are no longer, of earthly matter.

I believe that some things are better
kept to ones self.

I believe that there are rooms in life's
experience, that should not be entered.

Do you believe in your God? Do you
believe, that your religion is the right
religion? What do you believe of the
billions of people who do not believe,
as you believe?

I believe, it could not be, that one religion,
is the true way to worship.
I believe, that there is one Supreme Being.
I believe this Supreme Being, is by-lingual,
multi-colored and of all ethnic races.
I believe He loves and blesses us all.

I believe, in order for this to be a better
world, it must begin with each
of us trying to be better.

I believe that the billions, upon billions
of dollars spent on the machine of war,
could better be used for poor and
disenfranchised.

I believe in a new days discovery.
I believe, in the beauty of nature.
I believe, in the kiss of the rain.

[...] Read more

poem by Joe Fazio
Added by Poetry Lover
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Something To Believe In...

I Believe

I believe, that life is likened to, a
piece of fine crystal. It can be
beautiful, or in a moments notice,
be shattered, beyond repair.

If you do not believe in love at
first sight, believe...that perhaps,
your vision is impaired.

It matters not your age in life,
I believe love, should be
welcomed and treasured.

I believe, that many of our unanswered
questions, are only answered, when
we are no longer, of earthly matter.

I believe that some things are better
kept to ones self.

I believe that there are rooms in life's
experience, that should not be entered.

Do you believe in your God? Do you
believe, that your religion is the right
religion? What do you believe of the
billions of people who do not believe,
as you believe?

I believe, it could not be, that one religion,
is the true way to worship.
I believe, that there is one Supreme Being.
I believe this Supreme Being, is by-lingual,
multi-colored and of all ethnic races.
I believe He loves and blesses us all.

I believe, in order for this to be a better
world, it must begin with each
of us trying to be better.

I believe that the billions, upon billions
of dollars spent on the machine of war,
could better be used for poor and
disenfranchised.

I believe in a new days discovery.
I believe, in the beauty of nature.
I believe, in the kiss of the rain.

[...] Read more

poem by Joe Fazio
Added by Poetry Lover
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004-I Believe.

..

I believe, that life is likened to, a
piece of fine crystal. It can be
beautiful, or in a moments notice,
be shattered, beyond repair.

If you do not believe in love at
first sight, believe...that perhaps,
your vision is impaired.

It matters not your age in life,
I believe love, should be
welcomed and treasured.

I believe, that many of our unanswered
questions, are only answered, when
we are no longer, of earthly matter.

I believe that some things are better
kept to ones self.

I believe that there are rooms in life's
experience, that should not be entered.

Do you believe in your God? Do you
believe, that your religion is the right
religion? What do you believe of the
billions of people who do not believe,
as you believe?

I believe, it could not be, that one religion,
is the true way to worship.
I believe, that there is one Supreme Being.
I believe this Supreme Being, is by-lingual,
multi-colored and of all ethnic races.
I believe He loves and blesses us all.

I believe, in order for this to be a better
world, it must begin with each
of us trying to be better.

I believe that the billions, upon billions
of dollars spent on the machine of war,
could better be used for poor and
disenfranchised.

I believe in a new days discovery.

[...] Read more

poem by Waldon Pond Productions
Added by Poetry Lover
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Convictions Of Life

.

I believe, that life is likened to, a
piece of fine crystal. It can be
beautiful, or in a moments notice,
be shattered, beyond repair.

If you do not believe in love at
first sight, believe...that perhaps,
your vision is impaired.

It matters not your age in life,
I believe love, should be
welcomed and treasured.

I believe, that many of our unanswered
questions, are only answered, when
we are no longer, of earthly matter.

I believe that some things are better
kept to ones self.

I believe that there are rooms in life's
experience, that should not be entered.

Do you believe in your God? Do you
believe, that your religion is the right
religion? What do you believe of the
billions of people who do not believe,
as you believe?

I believe, it could not be, that one religion,
is the true way to worship.
I believe, that there is one Supreme Being.
I believe this Supreme Being, is by-lingual,
multi-colored and of all ethnic races.
I believe He loves and blesses us all.

I believe, in order for this to be a better
world, it must begin with each
of us trying to be better.

I believe that the billions, upon billions
of dollars spent on the machine of war,
could better be used for poor and
disenfranchised.

I believe in a new days discovery.

[...] Read more

poem by Joe Fazio
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

I Believe

I believe, that life is likened to, a
piece of fine crystal. It can be
beautiful, or in a moments notice,
be shattered, beyond repair.

If you do not believe in love at
first sight, believe...that perhaps,
your vision is impaired.

It matters not your age in life,
I believe love, should be
welcomed and treasured.

I believe, that many of our unanswered
questions, are only answered, when
we are no longer, of earthly matter.

I believe that some things are better
kept to ones self.

I believe that there are rooms in life's
experience, that should not be entered.

Do you believe in your God? Do you
believe, that your religion is the right
religion? What do you believe of the
billions of people who do not believe,
as you believe?

I believe, it could not be, that one religion,
is the true way to worship.
I believe, that there is one Supreme Being.
I believe this Supreme Being, is by-lingual,
multi-colored and of all ethnic races.
I believe He loves and blesses us all.

I believe, in order for this to be a better
world, it must begin with each
of us trying to be better.

I believe that the billions, upon billions
of dollars spent on the machine of war,
could better be used for poor and
disenfranchised.

I believe in a new days discovery.
I believe, in the beauty of nature.
I believe, in the kiss of the rain.
I believe that true friends are rare.

[...] Read more

poem by Joe Fazio
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Convent Gardener Of Lamporechio

WHEN Cupid with his dart, would hearts assail,
The rampart most secure is not the VEIL;
A husband better will the FAIR protect,
Than walls or lattices, I much suspect.
Those parents, who in nunneries have got
Their daughters (whether willingly or not),
Most clearly in a glaring error prove,
To fancy God will round their actions move;
'Tis an abuse of what we hold divine;
The Devil with them surely must combine.
Besides, 'twere folly to suppose that vice
Ne'er entered convent walls, and nuns were ice.
A very diff'rent sentiment I hold:
Girls, who in publick move, however bold,
Have greater terrors lest they get a stain;
For, honour lost, they never fame regain.
Few enemies their modesty attack;
The others have but one their minds to rack.
TEMPTATION, daughter of the drowsy dame,
That hates to move, and IDLENESS we name,
Is ever practising each wily art,
To spread her snares around the throbbing heart;
And fond DESIRE, the child of lorn CONSTRAINT,
Is anxious to the soul soft scenes to paint.
If I've a worthy daughter made a nun,
Is that a reason she's a saint?--Mere fun!
Avaunt such folly!--three in four you'll find,
Of those who wear the veil--have changed their mind;
Their fingers bite, and often do much worse:
Those convent vows, full soon, become a curse;
Such things at least have sometimes reached my ear
(For doubtless I must speak from others here);
Of his Boccace a merry tale has told,
Which into rhyme I've put, as you'll behold.

WITHIN a nunnery, in days of yore,
A good old man supplied the garden-store;
The nuns, in general, were smart and gay,
And kept their tongues in motion through the day.
Religious duties they regarded less,
Than for the palour to be nice in dress
Arranging ev'ry article to please,
That each might captivate and charm at ease;
The changes constantly they rang around,
And made the convent-walls with din resound.
Eight sisters and an abbess held the place,
And strange to say--there DISCORD you might trace.
All nine had youth, and many beauty too:
Young friars round the place were oft in view,
Who reckoned ev'ry step they took so well,

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poem by La Fontaine
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VII. Pompilia

I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.

All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.

Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Canto the First

I
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan—
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.

II
Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,
Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,
Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
And fill'd their sign posts then, like Wellesley now;
Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk,
Followers of fame, "nine farrow" of that sow:
France, too, had Buonaparté and Dumourier
Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.

III
Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau,
Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette,
Were French, and famous people, as we know:
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,
Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Desaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,
Exceedingly remarkable at times,
But not at all adapted to my rhymes.

IV
Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,
And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd;
There's no more to be said of Trafalgar,
'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd;
Because the army's grown more popular,
At which the naval people are concern'd;
Besides, the prince is all for the land-service,
Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.

V
Brave men were living before Agamemnon
And since, exceeding valorous and sage,
A good deal like him too, though quite the same none;
But then they shone not on the poet's page,
And so have been forgotten:—I condemn none,
But can't find any in the present age
Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one);
So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
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First Book

OF writing many books there is no end;
And I who have written much in prose and verse
For others' uses, will write now for mine,–
Will write my story for my better self,
As when you paint your portrait for a friend,
Who keeps it in a drawer and looks at it
Long after he has ceased to love you, just
To hold together what he was and is.

I, writing thus, am still what men call young;
I have not so far left the coasts of life
To travel inland, that I cannot hear
That murmur of the outer Infinite
Which unweaned babies smile at in their sleep
When wondered at for smiling; not so far,
But still I catch my mother at her post
Beside the nursery-door, with finger up,
'Hush, hush–here's too much noise!' while her sweet eyes
Leap forward, taking part against her word
In the child's riot. Still I sit and feel
My father's slow hand, when she had left us both,
Stroke out my childish curls across his knee;
And hear Assunta's daily jest (she knew
He liked it better than a better jest)
Inquire how many golden scudi went
To make such ringlets. O my father's hand,
Stroke the poor hair down, stroke it heavily,–
Draw, press the child's head closer to thy knee!
I'm still too young, too young to sit alone.

I write. My mother was a Florentine,
Whose rare blue eyes were shut from seeing me
When scarcely I was four years old; my life,
A poor spark snatched up from a failing lamp
Which went out therefore. She was weak and frail;
She could not bear the joy of giving life–
The mother's rapture slew her. If her kiss
Had left a longer weight upon my lips,
It might have steadied the uneasy breath,
And reconciled and fraternised my soul
With the new order. As it was, indeed,
I felt a mother-want about the world,
And still went seeking, like a bleating lamb
Left out at night, in shutting up the fold,–
As restless as a nest-deserted bird
Grown chill through something being away, though what
It knows not. I, Aurora Leigh, was born
To make my father sadder, and myself
Not overjoyous, truly. Women know
The way to rear up children, (to be just,)

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Spectacles

I LATELY vowed to leave the nuns alone,
So oft their freaks have in my page been shown.
The subject may at length fatigue the mind;
My Muse the veil howe'er is still inclined,
Conspicuously to hold to publick view,
And, 'mong the sisters, scene and scene pursue.
Is this too much?--the nicest tricks they play;
Through soft amours oft artfully they stray,
And these in full I'd readily detail,
If I were sure the subject would not fail;
And that's impossible I must admit,
'Twould endless be, the tales appear so fit;
There's not a clerk so expeditious found,
Who could record the stories known around.
The sisters to forget, were I to try,
Suspicions might arise that, by and by,
I should return: some case might tempt my pen;
So oft I've overrun the convent-den,
Like one who always makes, from time to time,
The conversation with his feelings chime.
But let us to an end the subject bring,
And after this, of other matters sing.

IN former times was introduced a lad
Among the nuns, and like a maiden clad;
A charming girl by all he was believed;
Fifteen his age; no doubts were then conceived;
Coletta was the name the youth had brought,
And, till he got a beard, was sister thought.

THE period howsoe'er was well employed,
And from it Agnes profit had enjoyed;
What profit?--truly better had I said,
That sister Agnes by him was misled,
And store of ills received; misfortune dire
Obliged the nun more girdle to require,
And ultimately to produce (in spite
Of ev'ry wish to guard the fact from light)
A little creature that our hist'ries say,
Was found Coletta's features to display.

GREAT scandal quickly through the convent ran:
How could this child arrive?--the sisters 'gan
To laugh and ask, if in an evil hour,
The mushroom could have fallen with a show'r?
Or self-created was it not supposed?
Much rage the abbess presently disclosed;
To have her holy mansion thus disgraced!
Forthwith the culprit was in prison placed.

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poem by La Fontaine
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Would you ever believe

WOULD YOU EVER believe if I called a nondescript table of teakwood; as a vivacious bird soaring high in the sky,

Would you ever believe if I called a ruffled sheet of paper; as a chunk of glittering gold,

Would you ever believe if I called a grandiloquent watch embodied with diamonds; as a lump of bedraggled stone,

Would you ever believe if I called a mountain of compacted mud; as a switchboard of pugnacious electricity,

Would you ever believe if I called a resplendent rainbow in the sky; as a broomstick with incongruous bristles,

Would you ever believe if I called a rusty canister of dilapidated iron; as a mesmerizing rose growing in the garden,

Would you ever believe if I called a pink tablet of luxury soap; as a mosquito hovering acrimoniously in the cloistered room,

Would you ever believe if I called a boat rollicking merrily on the undulating waves; as a rustic jungle spider,

Would you ever believe if I called a valley profusely embedded with snow; as an unscrupulous dog on the street,

Would you ever believe if I called a pair of luscious lips; as a disdainfully fetid shoe,

Would you ever believe if I called a fluorescent rod of light; as a jagged bush of cactus growing in the sweltering desert,

Would you ever believe if I called the blazing sun; as a pudgy bar of delectable chocolate,
Would you ever believe if I called an angular sculptured bone; as acid bubbling in a swanky bottle,

Would you ever believe if I called a scintillating oyster; as an inarticulate matchstick coated with lead,

Would you ever believe if I called a cluster of bells jingling from the ceiling; as a sordid cockroach philandering beside the lavatory seat,

Would you ever believe if I called a fruit of succulent coconut; as a dead mans morbid tooth,

Would you ever believe If I called a steaming cup of filter coffee; as gaudily colored water emanating from the street fountains,

Would you ever believe if I called the majestic statue of a revered historian; as a slab of tangy peanut butter,

Would you ever believe if I called a vibrant shirt; as a protuberant pigeon discerningly pecking its beak at grains scattered on the floor,

Would you ever believe if I called a flocculent bud of cotton; as a camouflaged lizard transgressing through wild projections of grass,

Would you ever believe if I called a photograph depicting the steep gorges; as a gutter inundated with obnoxious sewage,

Would you ever believe if I called a lanky giraffe; as a convict nefariously lurking through solitary streets of the city,

Would you ever believe if I called a pair of flamboyant sunglasses; as a weird tattoo to be adhered to the chest,

Would you ever believe if I called a chicken’s egg; as logs of sooty charcoal abundantly stashed in the colossal warehouse,

Would you ever believe if I called a biscuit replete with golden honey; as a ominously slithering reptile in the jungles,

Would you ever believe if I called a bald man possessing a profoundly tonsured scalp; as a gas balloon floating in insipid air,

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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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

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I believe in a second chance

I believe that the sun shines after the rain
I believe if you don't get hurt you'll never gain
I believe in not doing things the easy way
I believe that being selfish doesn’t pay

I believe in a second chance
I believe in a life long romance
I believe there is life after death
And standing up to a life of mess

I believe in love at first sight
I believe that revenge isn’t right
I believe that first impressions last
And there is nothing better then a good laugh

I believe that dreams do come true, I believe there's destiny for me and you,
I believe something good comes from something bad I believe everyone has one true love

I believe there's destiny for me and you
I believe that good things come to those who wait
I believe love never arrives too late

I believe something good comes from something bad
I believe that for tears of happiness there are tears of sad
I believe everyone has a guardian angel
And the good you do will be rewarded well

I believe sometimes there is no explanation
I believe money can't buy people's affection
I believe you don't know what you've got until it's gone
I believe a new day arrives with every dawn

I believe a smile can be contagious
I believe in being very outrageous
I believe in living with no regrets
I believe that life is as good as it gets

I believe that God watches over us
I believe the little things are worth the fuss
I believe you have each friend for a reason
I believe you will get punished for treason

I believe that what comes first is family
I believe we should all live in harmony
I believe in making the most of a beautiful day
And it's not the end until everything's okay

I believe absence makes the heart grow fonder

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poem by Egyptian Heart
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