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I've always thought that less was a lot more.

quote by Kim Cattrall
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Carrolling II-Parody Lewis CARROLL–The Mad Gardener’s Song

Carolling II

He Thought He Saw

He thought he saw new Internet
exchanging peer to peer,
he looked again and found it was
a mirage for each year
sees more control, “what rôle, ” he said,
“for values once held dear?
Some track to trace attack and get
convictions based on fear.'

He dreamt he saw spam disappear,
all consultations free,
he looked again and found it was
a spybot lottery.
“Is net neutrality”, he said,
“from rash risks viral clear? ”

He dreamt that Microsoft would steer
all trash deleted fast,
then woke to find world insincere
where independence past
was sacrificed throughout the year
to biometrics ghast.

He thought he saw a friend’s hello,
with an attachment piece,
he looked again and found it was
the porno scanning police.
“Politically correct”, he said,
“can’t guarantee release.”

He opened it, discovered though,
a trojan horse to fleece –
he looked again as data flow
declined, - mind not at peace -
and whispered with voice hoarse and low:
'when will our worries cease? ”

He thought he saw a hierophant,
who’d deal successful life,
he looked again and found it was
subpoena from ex-wife
demanding child support, he said,
“cards are cut by Time’s knife.”

He looked once more with rage and rant
and swore like a fishwife

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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Carrolling - Parody Lewis CARROLL – The Mad Gardener’s Song

He thought he saw an Internet
exchanging peer to peer,
he looked again and hedged his bet, -
by middle of next year
new routing tables tuned as yet
unknown may well appear –
on track to trace attack and get
convictions based on fear.

He dreamt that spam would disappear,
all trash deleted fast.
He dreamt that Windows would be clear
of viral bugs’ wormcast.
He woke to find world insincere
where independence past
was sacrificed throughout the year
to biometrics ghast.

He thought he saw a friend’s hello
with an attachment piece,
he opened to discover, though,
a trojan horse release –
He looked again as data flow
declined, - mind not at peace -
and whispered with voice timbre low:
‘I’ll send for the Police! ”

He thought he saw a heirophant
predicting happy life.
He looked again, with rage and rant
discovered from ex-wife
an email angry claiming scant
support, which threatened strife:
“At length I see the immanent
attraction of Time’s knife! ”

He dreamt he saw as he awake
the euro reach a peak,
he saw he dreamt that Bush half bake
would leave the dollar weak: -
he woke to find what grave mistake
was made for the next week
the politicians put a stake
in budget – rocked boats leak!

He thought he saw Commission clerk
jump on bandwagon bus,
he looked again, just for a lark,
and found no tinker’s cuss
the former cared for bite was bark -

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Thanks A Lot, Mom

Thanks a Lot, Mom

Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for loving me to no end.
Thanks for being my loving mother.
Thanks for being my thoughtful friend.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for feeding me and giving me a home.
Thanks for clothing me and holding me tight.
Thanks for caring when I felt alone.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for always making me smile.
Thanks for giving me the extra push.
Thanks for going that extra mile.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for living with no regrets.
Thanks for being the life of the party.
Thanks for going all in on bets.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for being my inspiration.
Thanks for helping me with my homework.
Thanks for giving me motivation.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for treating me with respect.
Thanks for knowing I'm growing up.
Thanks for knowing what to expect.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for kicking me while I was down.
Thanks for telling me I'm a liar.
Thanks for knowing what comes around.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for giving me my many scars.
Thanks for making me feel at home.
Thanks for breaking my aching heart.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for taking away my friends.
Thanks for taking away my family.
Thanks for not having to pretend.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for kicking me out of my home.
Thanks for calling me cheap and attention-seeking.
Thanks for putting me out on my own.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for ripping away my Brett.
Thanks for saying you don't remember.
Thanks for saying I should forget.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
Thanks for believing your husband over your kid.
Thanks for rewarding him for a crime.
Thanks for punishing me for what he did.

[...] Read more

poem by Rebecca Paul
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Virginia's Story

Elizabeth Gates-Wooten is my Grand mom.

She was born in Canada with her father and brothers.
They owned a Barber Shoppe.
I don't remember exactly where in Canada.
I believe it was right over the border like Windsor or Toronto.
I never knew exactly where it was.

When she was old enough she got married.

First, she married a man by the name of Frank Gates.
He was from Madagascar.
He fathered my mom and her brother and sister.
The boy's name was Frank Gates, Jr.
Two girls name were Anna and Agnes.

Agnes was my mother.

Frank Gates went crazy after the war
He drank a lot and died
Then grandma Elizabeth married a man by the name of Mr. Wooten.
He had a German name, but I don't think he was German.
She took his last name after they got married.

Then they moved to West Virginia in the United States.

Their son, Frank Gates Jr. Became a delegate in the democratic party.
He use to get into a lot of trouble because he liked to fight.
He was a delegate from the 1940's to 1970's.
He died of gout in the 1970's.

Anna was a maid and cook.

She baked cakes and stuff for people as a side line.
She had a hump on her back (scoliosis) .
She had to walk with a cane.
She could cook good though.
She did this kind of work all of her life, just like her mom, Elizabeth

They were both good cooks

They had a lot of money because they had these skills
Especially when people had parties.
Because they would make all of this food and then they would have left-overs.
We got to eat a lot of stuff we normally wouldn't get because of that.
When they cooked, they didn't use no measuring stuff, they would just use there hand.

My moms name was Agnes Barrie Gates.

She married James Wright and moved to Cleveland.

[...] Read more

poem by Talile Ali
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Dangerous Type

Can I touch you, are you out of touch
I guess I never noticed that much
Geranium lover, Im live on your wire
Oo come and take me whoever you are
Shes a lot like you
The dangerous type
Shes a lot like you
Come on and hold me tight
Oo inside angel, always upset
Keeps on forgettin that we ever met
Can I bring you out in the light
My curiositys got me tonight
Shes a lot like you
The dangerous type
Oo shes a lot like you
Come on and hold me tight
Museum directors with high shaking heads
They kick white shadows until they play dead
They want to crack your crossword smile
Oo can I take you out for awhile, yeah
Shes a lot like you
The dangerous type
Shes a lot like you
Come on and hold me tight
Shes a lot like you
The dangerous type
Shes a lot like you
Come on and hold me tight
Tonight
Shes a lot like you
The dangerous type
Shes a lot like you
Come on and hold me tight
Tonight
Shes a lot like you
The dangerous type, alright
Shes a lot like you
Come on and hold me tight
(tonight) tonight
Shes a lot like you
The dangerous type
Tonight
Shes a lot like you
Come on and hold me tight
Tonight
Shes a lot like you
The dangerous type
Shes a lot like you
Tonight
Shes a lot like you

[...] Read more

song performed by Cars
Added by Lucian Velea
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She Thought She Saw-Parody Lewis CARROLL–The Mad Gardener’s Song

She Thought She Saw

She thought she saw quite equal pay
afforded equal work,
she looked again and found it was
a most unusual quirk.
“That men should keep their cake, ” she said,
“and eat it too, must irk.”

She thought she saw that light of day
would filter through each jerk,
she looked again and found it was
belief most held beserk.
“That men should nappies change, ” she said,
“would wipe off every smirk! ”

She thought she saw fair interplay
where men would never shirk,
she looked again and found it was
a most miasmic murk
where rights were flouted, - “Hey! ” she said,
“men stand, wait, feeble lurk! ”

(15 April 2007 Parody Lewis CARROLL Some Hallucinations
The Mad Gardener's Dream Sylvie and Bruno Ch.5 See below Carolling and Carolling II)

Carolling

He thought he saw an Internet
exchanging peer to peer,
he looked again and hedged his bet, -
by middle of next year
new routing tables tuned as yet
unknown may well appear –
on track to trace attack and get
convictions based on fear.

He dreamt that spam would disappear,
all trash deleted fast.
He dreamt that Windows would be clear
of viral bugs’ wormcast.
He woke to find world insincere
where independence past
was sacrificed throughout the year
to biometrics ghast.

He thought he saw a friend’s hello
with an attachment piece,

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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We Care A Lot

We care a lot
We care a lot
We care a lot about disasters, fires, floods and killer bees
We care a lot about nasa shuttle falling in the sea
We care a lot about starvation and the food that live aid bought
We care a lot about disease, baby, rock hudson, rock yeah!
We care a lot
We care a lot
We care a lot about the gamblers and the pushers and the freaks
We care a lot about the people who live off the street
We care a lot about the welfare of all the boys and girls
We care a lot about you people cause were out to save the world
Yeah!
(chorus) and its a dirty job but someones got to do it!
We care a lot about the army, navy, air force, and marines
We care a lot about the ny, sf, and lapd
We care a lot about you people, about your guns
We care a lot about the wars youre fighting, gee, that looks like fun
We care a lot about the cabbage patch, the smurfs, and dmc
We care a lot about madonna and we cop for mr.t
We care a lot about the little things, the bigger things we top
We care a lot about you people, yeah, you bet we care a lot
(chorus) and its a dirty job but someones gotta do it....

song performed by Faith No More
Added by Lucian Velea
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Mama Says

Eat a lot sleep a lot brush em like crazy
Run a lot do a lot never be lazy
(good boy)
Eat a lot sleep a lot brush em like crazy
Run a lot do a lot never be lazy
Eat a lot sleep a lot brush em like crazy
Run a lot do a lot never be lazy
Eat a lot sleep a lot brush em like crazy
Run a lot do a lot never be lazy
Never be lazy be lazy
Eat a lot sleep a lot brush em like crazy
Run a lot do a lot never be lazy boy
Poof!

song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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If It Was About A Lot Of Money

If it was about a lot of money...
My mind would be,
Trimmed in dollar bills.
With-my-thoughts-on a million of them,
And a caring less of my fellowman.

And if it was about a lot of money...
I'd ignore,
Every two cents made.
By anybody wanting to deliver to me,
Any consciousness attached to common sense.

If it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money...
I wouldn't be concerned about the suffering seen.

And if it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money.
And if it was about a lot of money...
My eyes wouldn't cry when I see these scenes.

If it was about a lot of money...
My mind would be,
Trimmed in dollar bills.
With-my-thoughts-on a million of them,
And a caring less of my fellowman.

If it was about a lot of money...
I'd ignore,
Every two cents made.
By anybody wanting to deliver to me,
Any consciousness to instigate.

If it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money...
I wouldn't be concerned about the suffering seen.

I'd fill my pockets and get away!
If it was about a lot of money.
I'd fill my pockets each and everyday.
If it was about a lot of money.
I'd fill my pockets and get away!
If it was about a lot of money.
I'd fill my pockets up and run the other way.
If it was about a lot of money.

If it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Too Much Of Anything

I think these hands have felt a lot,
I think these hands have felt a lot,
I dont know, what have I touched,
I dont know, what have I touched,
I think these eyes have seen a lot,
I think these eyes have seen a lot,
I dont know, maybe theyve seen too much.
I dont know, maybe theyve seen too much.
I think this brain has thought a lot,
I think this brain has thought a lot,
Searching, trying to find the crutch,
Searching, trying to find the crutch,
I think this heart has bled once too often,
I think this heart has bled once too often,
This time its bled a bit too much.
This time its bled a bit too much.
Too much of anything, too much for me,
Too much of anything, too much for me,
Too much of everything gets too much for me.
Too much of everything gets too much for me.
I cant remember before 49,
I cant remember before 49,
But I know that 48 was there,
But I know that 48 was there,
My ears let in what I should speak out,
My ears let in what I should speak out,
Hmmm, theres something in the air.
Hmmm, theres something in the air.
Ooh, Ive overloaded on my way,
Ooh, Ive overloaded on my way,
Bye, bye, bye, bye, you better keep in touch.
Bye, bye, bye, bye, you better keep in touch.
Think your ears hear a whole lot of music,
Think your ears hear a whole lot of music,
And like me theyve caught a bit too much.
And like me theyve caught a bit too much.
Too much of anything, is too much for me,
Too much of anything, is too much for me,
Too much of everything gets too much for me.
Too much of everything gets too much for me.
I think these hands have felt a lot,
I think these hands have felt a lot,
I dont know, what have I touched,
I dont know, what have I touched,
I think these eyes have seen a lot,
I think these eyes have seen a lot,
I dont know, maybe theyve seen too much.
I dont know, maybe theyve seen too much.
I think this brain has thought a lot,
I think this brain has thought a lot,

[...] Read more

song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Dream

'TWAS summer eve; the changeful beams still play'd
On the fir-bark and through the beechen shade;
Still with soft crimson glow'd each floating cloud;
Still the stream glitter'd where the willow bow'd;
Still the pale moon sate silent and alone,
Nor yet the stars had rallied round her throne;
Those diamond courtiers, who, while yet the West
Wears the red shield above his dying breast,
Dare not assume the loss they all desire,
Nor pay their homage to the fainter fire,
But wait in trembling till the Sun's fair light
Fading, shall leave them free to welcome Night!

So when some Chief, whose name through realms afar
Was still the watchword of succesful war,
Met by the fatal hour which waits for all,
Is, on the field he rallied, forced to fall,
The conquerors pause to watch his parting breath,
Awed by the terrors of that mighty death;
Nor dare the meed of victory to claim,
Nor lift the standard to a meaner name,
Till every spark of soul hath ebb'd away,
And leaves what was a hero, common clay.

Oh! Twilight! Spirit that dost render birth
To dim enchantments; melting Heaven with Earth,
Leaving on craggy hills and rumning streams
A softness like the atmosphere of dreams;
Thy hour to all is welcome! Faint and sweet
Thy light falls round the peasant's homeward feet,
Who, slow returning from his task of toil,
Sees the low sunset gild the cultured soil,
And, tho' such radliance round him brightly glows,
Marks the small spark his cottage window throws.
Still as his heart forestals his weary pace,
Fondly he dreams of each familiar face,
Recalls the treasures of his narrow life,
His rosy children, and his sunburnt wife,

To whom his coming is the chief event
Of simple days in cheerful labour spent.
The rich man's chariot hath gone whirling past,
And those poor cottagers have only cast
One careless glance on all that show of pride,
Then to their tasks turn'd quietly aside;
But him they wait for, him they welcome home,
Fond sentinels look forth to see him come;
The fagot sent for when the fire grew dim,
The frugal meal prepared, are all for him;
For him the watching of that sturdy boy,

[...] Read more

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Got A Lot O Livin To Do

(words & music by aaron schroeder - ben weisman)
Oh yes Ive got a lot o living to do
A whole lot o loving to do
Come on baby, to make a party takes two
Oh yes Ive got a lot o living to do
A whole lot o loving to do
And theres no one who Id rather do it with-a than you
Theres a moon thats big and bright in the milky way tonight
But the way you act you never would know its there
So baby, times a wasting
A lot of kisses I aint been tasting
I dont know about you but Im gonna get my share
Oh got a lot o living to do
A whole lot o loving to do
Come on baby, to make a party takes two
Oh yes Ive got a lot o living to do
A whole lot o loving to do
And theres no one who Id rather do it with-a than you
Theres a balmy little breeze
Thats whistling through the trees
And its telling you to pitch a little woo with me
Why dont you take a listen
Youll never know what youve been missing
Cuddle up a little closer and be my little honey bee
Oh got a lot o living to do
A whole lot o loving to do
Come on baby, to make a party takes two
Oh yes Ive got a lot o living to do
A whole lot o loving to do
And theres no one who Id rather do it with-a than you
Youre the prettiest thing Ive seen
But you treat me so doggone mean
Aint you got no heart, Im dying to hold you near
Why do you keep me waiting
Why dont you start co-operating
And the things I say are things you want to hear
Oh got a lot o living to do
A whole lot o loving to do
Come on baby, to make a party takes two
Oh yes Ive got a lot o living to do
A whole lot o loving to do
And theres no one who Id rather do it with-a than you

song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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Got A Lot O' Livin' To Do (Film Version)

Oh yes Ive got a lot o' living to do
A whole lot o' loving to do
Come on baby, to make a party takes two
Oh yes Ive got a lot o' living to do
A whole lot o' loving to do
And there's no one who I'd rather do it with-a than you
There's a moon that's big and bright in the milky way tonight
But the way you act you never would know it's there
So baby, time's a wasting
A lot of kisses I ain't been tasting
I don't know about you but Im gonna get my share
Oh got a lot o' living to do
A whole lot o' loving to do
Come on baby, to make a party takes two
Oh yes Ive got a lot o' living to do
A whole lot o' loving to do
And there's no one who I'd rather do it with-a than you
There's a balmy little breeze
That's whistling through the trees
And it's telling you to pitch a little woo with me
Why don't you take a listen
You'll never know what you've been missing
Cuddle up a little closer and be my little honey bee
Oh got a lot o' living to do
A whole lot o' loving to do
Come on baby, to make a party takes two
Oh yes Ive got a lot o' living to do
A whole lot o' loving to do
And there's no one who I'd rather do it with-a than you
You're the prettiest thing Ive seen
But you treat me so doggone mean
Ain't you got no heart, Im dying to hold you near
Why do you keep me waiting
Why don't you start co-operating
And the things I say are things you want to hear
Oh got a lot o' living to do
A whole lot o' loving to do
Come on baby, to make a party takes two
Oh yes Ive got a lot o' living to do
A whole lot o' loving to do
And there's no one who I'd rather do it with-a than you

song performed by Elvis Presley
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Like It

I like it a lot
Oh
I like it a lot
Oh
I like it a lot
I liked it
I liked it a lot
Stip there, sooner or not
Right there, there on the ground
Did I say I liked it?
Yes you did
Did I say I liked it?
Yes you did
I like it
I liked it a lot
I like everything about you
I like everything we try
I like everything we did then
I liked it so good inside,
So good inside
I liked it
No, I liked it a lot
I liked it
Oh way to go
Take this
You did it a lot
It's better
Better then once
I liked it
I liked it a lot
I liked it
I liked it a lot
Did I say I liked it?
Did I say that now?
Did I say I loved it?
Did you understand?
Did you get it right now?
Didn't it sounds..
Did it feel good now?
Did I say I liked it?
I liked it a lot
I liked it
I liked it a lot
Did I say I liked it?
I liked it a lot
Did I say I liked it?
You know I liked it a lot
I liked it
I liked it a lot
I liked it

[...] Read more

song performed by Moby
Added by Lucian Velea
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Tamar

I
A night the half-moon was like a dancing-girl,
No, like a drunkard's last half-dollar
Shoved on the polished bar of the eastern hill-range,
Young Cauldwell rode his pony along the sea-cliff;
When she stopped, spurred; when she trembled, drove
The teeth of the little jagged wheels so deep
They tasted blood; the mare with four slim hooves
On a foot of ground pivoted like a top,
Jumped from the crumble of sod, went down, caught, slipped;
Then, the quick frenzy finished, stiffening herself
Slid with her drunken rider down the ledges,
Shot from sheer rock and broke
Her life out on the rounded tidal boulders.

The night you know accepted with no show of emotion the little
accident; grave Orion
Moved northwest from the naked shore, the moon moved to
meridian, the slow pulse of the ocean
Beat, the slow tide came in across the slippery stones; it drowned
the dead mare's muzzle and sluggishly
Felt for the rider; Cauldwell’s sleepy soul came back from the
blind course curious to know
What sea-cold fingers tapped the walls of its deserted ruin.
Pain, pain and faintness, crushing
Weights, and a vain desire to vomit, and soon again
die icy fingers, they had crept over the loose hand and lay in the
hair now. He rolled sidewise
Against mountains of weight and for another half-hour lay still.
With a gush of liquid noises
The wave covered him head and all, his body
Crawled without consciousness and like a creature with no bones,
a seaworm, lifted its face
Above the sea-wrack of a stone; then a white twilight grew about
the moon, and above
The ancient water, the everlasting repetition of the dawn. You
shipwrecked horseman
So many and still so many and now for you the last. But when it
grew daylight
He grew quite conscious; broken ends of bone ground on each
other among the working fibers
While by half-inches he was drawing himself out of the seawrack
up to sandy granite,
Out of the tide's path. Where the thin ledge tailed into flat cliff
he fell asleep. . . .
Far seaward
The daylight moon hung like a slip of cloud against the horizon.
The tide was ebbing
From the dead horse and the black belt of sea-growth. Cauldwell
seemed to have felt her crying beside him,

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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The Undying One- Canto III

'THERE is a sound the autumn wind doth make
Howling and moaning, listlessly and low:
Methinks that to a heart that ought to break
All the earth's voices seem to murmur so.
The visions that crost
Our path in light--
The things that we lost
In the dim dark night--
The faces for which we vainly yearn--
The voices whose tones will not return--
That low sad wailing breeze doth bring
Borne on its swift and rushing wing.
Have ye sat alone when that wind was loud,
And the moon shone dim from the wintry cloud?
When the fire was quench'd on your lonely hearth,
And the voices were still which spoke of mirth?

If such an evening, tho' but one,
It hath been yours to spend alone--
Never,--though years may roll along
Cheer'd by the merry dance and song;
Though you mark'd not that bleak wind's sound before,
When louder perchance it used to roar--
Never shall sound of that wintry gale
Be aught to you but a voice of wail!
So o'er the careless heart and eye
The storms of the world go sweeping by;
But oh! when once we have learn'd to weep,
Well doth sorrow his stern watch keep.
Let one of our airy joys decay--
Let one of our blossoms fade away--
And all the griefs that others share
Seem ours, as well as theirs, to bear:
And the sound of wail, like that rushing wind
Shall bring all our own deep woe to mind!

'I went through the world, but I paused not now
At the gladsome heart and the joyous brow:
I went through the world, and I stay'd to mark
Where the heart was sore, and the spirit dark:
And the grief of others, though sad to see,
Was fraught with a demon's joy to me!

'I saw the inconstant lover come to take
Farewell of her he loved in better days,
And, coldly careless, watch the heart-strings break--
Which beat so fondly at his words of praise.
She was a faded, painted, guilt-bow'd thing,
Seeking to mock the hues of early spring,
When misery and years had done their worst

[...] Read more

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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The Loves of the Angels

'Twas when the world was in its prime,
When the fresh stars had just begun
Their race of glory and young Time
Told his first birth-days by the sun;
When in the light of Nature's dawn
Rejoicing, men and angels met
On the high hill and sunny lawn,-
Ere sorrow came or Sin had drawn
'Twixt man and heaven her curtain yet!
When earth lay nearer to the skies
Than in these days of crime and woe,
And mortals saw without surprise
In the mid-air angelic eyes
Gazing upon this world below.

Alas! that Passion should profane
Even then the morning of the earth!
That, sadder still, the fatal stain
Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth-
And that from Woman's love should fall
So dark a stain, most sad of all!

One evening, in that primal hour,
On a hill's side where hung the ray
Of sunset brightening rill and bower,
Three noble youths conversing lay;
And, as they lookt from time to time
To the far sky where Daylight furled
His radiant wing, their brows sublime
Bespoke them of that distant world-
Spirits who once in brotherhood
Of faith and bliss near ALLA stood,
And o'er whose cheeks full oft had blown
The wind that breathes from ALLA'S throne,
Creatures of light such as still play,
Like motes in sunshine, round the Lord,
And thro' their infinite array
Transmit each moment, night and day,
The echo of His luminous word!

Of Heaven they spoke and, still more oft,
Of the bright eyes that charmed them thence;
Till yielding gradual to the soft
And balmy evening's influence-
The silent breathing of the flowers-
The melting light that beamed above,
As on their first, fond, erring hours,-
Each told the story of his love,
The history of that hour unblest,
When like a bird from its high nest

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poem by Thomas Moore
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The Court Of Love

With timerous hert and trembling hand of drede,
Of cunning naked, bare of eloquence,
Unto the flour of port in womanhede
I write, as he that non intelligence
Of metres hath, ne floures of sentence;
Sauf that me list my writing to convey,
In that I can to please her hygh nobley.

The blosmes fresshe of Tullius garden soote
Present thaim not, my mater for to borne:
Poemes of Virgil taken here no rote,
Ne crafte of Galfrid may not here sojorne:
Why nam I cunning? O well may I morne,
For lak of science that I can-not write
Unto the princes of my life a-right

No termes digne unto her excellence,
So is she sprong of noble stirpe and high:
A world of honour and of reverence
There is in her, this wil I testifie.
Calliope, thou sister wise and sly,
And thou, Minerva, guyde me with thy grace,
That langage rude my mater not deface.

Thy suger-dropes swete of Elicon
Distill in me, thou gentle Muse, I pray;
And thee, Melpomene, I calle anon,
Of ignoraunce the mist to chace away;
And give me grace so for to write and sey,
That she, my lady, of her worthinesse,
Accepte in gree this litel short tretesse,

That is entitled thus, 'The Court of Love.'
And ye that ben metriciens me excuse,
I you besech, for Venus sake above;
For what I mene in this ye need not muse:
And if so be my lady it refuse
For lak of ornat speche, I wold be wo,
That I presume to her to writen so.

But myn entent and all my besy cure
Is for to write this tretesse, as I can,
Unto my lady, stable, true, and sure,
Feithfull and kind, sith first that she began
Me to accept in service as her man:

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Princess Betrothed To The King Of Garba

WHAT various ways in which a thing is told
Some truth abuse, while others fiction hold;
In stories we invention may admit;
But diff'rent 'tis with what historick writ;
Posterity demands that truth should then
Inspire relation, and direct the pen.

ALACIEL'S story's of another kind,
And I've a little altered it, you'll find;
Faults some may see, and others disbelieve;
'Tis all the same:--'twill never make me grieve;
Alaciel's mem'ry, it is very clear,
Can scarcely by it lose; there's naught to fear.
Two facts important I have kept in view,
In which the author fully I pursue;
The one--no less than eight the belle possessed,
Before a husband's sight her eyes had blessed;
The other is, the prince she was to wed
Ne'er seemed to heed this trespass on his bed,
But thought, perhaps, the beauty she had got
Would prove to any one a happy lot.

HOWE'ER this fair, amid adventures dire,
More sufferings shared than malice could desire;
Though eight times, doubtless, she exchanged her knight
No proof, that she her spouse was led to slight;
'Twas gratitude, compassion, or good will;
The dread of worse;--she'd truly had her fill;
Excuses just, to vindicate her fame,
Who, spite of troubles, fanned the monarch's flame:
Of eight the relict, still a maid received ;--
Apparently, the prince her pure believed;
For, though at times we may be duped in this,
Yet, after such a number--strange to miss!
And I submit to those who've passed the scene,
If they, to my opinion, do not lean.

THE king of Alexandria, Zarus named,
A daughter had, who all his fondness claimed,
A star divine Alaciel shone around,
The charms of beauty's queen were in her found;
With soul celestial, gracious, good, and kind,
And all-accomplished, all-complying mind.

THE, rumour of her worth spread far and wide,
The king of Garba asked her for his bride,
And Mamolin (the sov'reign of the spot,)
To other princes had a pref'rence got.

THE fair, howe'er, already felt the smart

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poem by La Fontaine
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Canto the Fifth

I
When amatory poets sing their loves
In liquid lines mellifluously bland,
And pair their rhymes as Venus yokes her doves,
They little think what mischief is in hand;
The greater their success the worse it proves,
As Ovid's verse may give to understand;
Even Petrarch's self, if judged with due severity,
Is the Platonic pimp of all posterity.

II
I therefore do denounce all amorous writing,
Except in such a way as not to attract;
Plain -- simple -- short, and by no means inviting,
But with a moral to each error tack'd,
Form'd rather for instructing than delighting,
And with all passions in their turn attack'd;
Now, if my Pegasus should not be shod ill,
This poem will become a moral model.

III
The European with the Asian shore
Sprinkled with palaces; the ocean stream
Here and there studded with a seventy-four;
Sophia's cupola with golden gleam;
The cypress groves; Olympus high and hoar;
The twelve isles, and the more than I could dream,
Far less describe, present the very view
Which charm'd the charming Mary Montagu.

IV
I have a passion for the name of "Mary,"
For once it was a magic sound to me;
And still it half calls up the realms of fairy,
Where I beheld what never was to be;
All feelings changed, but this was last to vary,
A spell from which even yet I am not quite free:
But I grow sad -- and let a tale grow cold,
Which must not be pathetically told.

V
The wind swept down the Euxine, and the wave
Broke foaming o'er the blue Symplegades;
'T is a grand sight from off the Giant's Grave
To watch the progress of those rolling seas
Between the Bosphorus, as they lash and lave
Europe and Asia, you being quite at ease;
There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in,
Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

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poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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