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My problem was I let myself become known before I knew myself.

quote by Elliott Gould
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Problems

Too many problems, oh why am I here?
I need to be me, cause youre all to clear
And I can see theres something wrong with you
Oh, what do you expect me to do?
At least I gotta know what I wanna be
Dont come to me if you need pity
Are you lonely, you got no-one
You got your body in suspension
Thats a problem, problem, problem
The problem is you
Eat your heart out on a plastic tray
You dont do what you want and you fade away
You work for me, youre working nine-to-five
Its too much fun of being alive
Im using my feet for my human machine
You work for me, living for the screen
Are you lonely, all needs catered
You got your brains dehydrated
Problem, problem, problem, the problem is you
Oh what what you gonna do, problem, problem
Problem, problem, problem, the problem is you
Well, what you gonna do with your problem
The problem is you, problem
I aint death trip, but I aint automatic
You work for me, just stay ecstatic
Dont you give me any orders
To people like me, there is no order
Bet you thought you had it all worked out
Bet you thought you knew what I was about
Bet you thought youd solved all your problems
But you are the problem
Problem, problem, problem, the problem is you
Oh, what you gonna do with your problem?
Ill leave it up to you, oh problem
The problem is you, you got a problem
Oh what you gonna do?
They know a doctor, gonna take you away
Thay take you away and they throw away the key
They dont want you and they dont want me
You got a problem the problem is you
Problem, well, what you gonna do?
Problem, have you got a problem?
Problem, well you got a problem
Problem (x17)

song performed by Megadeth
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Have A Woman Inside My Soul

I have a woman inside my soul,
Her eyes sombre and sad.
She waves her hand to try to reach me,
But I cant hear what she says.
I wish I knew what she says,
I wish I knew what she wants,
I wish I knew what she says to me,
I wish I knew what she means to me.
I see an asphalt road inside my soul,
Its pale even in a warm summers day.
It stretches into the mist and calls me,
But I dont know what it takes.
I wish I knew what it takes, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew what it gives, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew what it says to me, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew what it means to me. (I wish I knew)
I see a tombstone inside my soul,
Its old and mossy, covered in dead leaves.
It stands with an engraving on it surface,
But I dont know what it reads.
I wish I knew what it reads, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew what it says, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew what it says to me, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew what it means to me. (I wish I knew)
(yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, hey)
I feel snow covering inside my soul,
Its hard and shining in shades of grey.
No footsteps ever made their marks,
And I dont know when it melts.
I wish I knew when it melts, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew when it happens, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew if it happens at all, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew what it means to me. (I wish I knew)
I hear a stream running inside my soul,
Its cold and clear and carries a tune.
But I dont know what it sings and tells,
I dont know where it goes.
I wish I knew what it sings,
I wish I knew where it goes,
I wish I knew what it sings, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew where it goes, (I wish I knew)
I wish I knew what it sings. (I wish I knew)
(I wish I knew)
(I wish I knew) (yeah!)
(I wish I knew)
(I wish I knew)

song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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Avon's Harvest

Fear, like a living fire that only death
Might one day cool, had now in Avon’s eyes
Been witness for so long of an invasion
That made of a gay friend whom we had known
Almost a memory, wore no other name
As yet for us than fear. Another man
Than Avon might have given to us at least
A futile opportunity for words
We might regret. But Avon, since it happened,
Fed with his unrevealing reticence
The fire of death we saw that horribly
Consumed him while he crumbled and said nothing.

So many a time had I been on the edge,
And off again, of a foremeasured fall
Into the darkness and discomfiture
Of his oblique rebuff, that finally
My silence honored his, holding itself
Away from a gratuitous intrusion
That likely would have widened a new distance
Already wide enough, if not so new.
But there are seeming parallels in space
That may converge in time; and so it was
I walked with Avon, fought and pondered with him,
While he made out a case for So-and-so,
Or slaughtered What’s-his-name in his old way,
With a new difference. Nothing in Avon lately
Was, or was ever again to be for us,
Like him that we remembered; and all the while
We saw that fire at work within his eyes
And had no glimpse of what was burning there.

So for a year it went; and so it went
For half another year—when, all at once,
At someone’s tinkling afternoon at home
I saw that in the eyes of Avon’s wife
The fire that I had met the day before
In his had found another living fuel.
To look at her and then to think of him,
And thereupon to contemplate the fall
Of a dim curtain over the dark end
Of a dark play, required of me no more
Clairvoyance than a man who cannot swim
Will exercise in seeing that his friend
Off shore will drown except he save himself.
To her I could say nothing, and to him
No more than tallied with a long belief
That I should only have it back again
For my chagrin to ruminate upon,
Ingloriously, for the still time it starved;

[...] Read more

poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Song of the Dardanelles

The Wireless tells and the cable tells
How our boys behaved by the Dardanelles.
Some thought in their hearts “Will our boys make good?”
We knew them of old and we knew they would!
Knew they would—
Knew they would;
We were mates of old and we knew they would.
They laughed and they larked and they loved likewise,
For blood is warm under Southern skies;
They knew not Pharoah (’tis understood),
And they got into scrapes, as we knew they would.
Knew they would—
Knew they would;
And they got into scrapes, as we knew they would.

They chafed in the dust of an old dead land
At the long months’ drill in the scorching sand;
But they knew in their hearts it was for their good,
And they saw it through as we knew they would.
Knew they would—
Knew they would;
And they saw it through as we knew they would.

The Coo-ee called through the Mena Camp,
And an army roared like the Ocean’s tramp
On a gale-swept beach in her wildest mood,
Till the Pyramids shook as we knew they would.
Knew they would—
Knew they would.
(And the Sphinx woke up as we knew she would.)

They were shipped like sheep when the dawn was grey;
(But their officers knew that no lambs were they).
They squatted and perched where’er they could,
And they “blanky-ed” for joy as we knew they would.
Knew they would—
Knew they would;
They “blanky-ed” for joy as we knew they would.

The sea was hell and the shore was hell,
With mine, entanglement, shrapnel and shell,
But they stormed the heights as Australians should,
And they fought and they died as we knew they would.
Knew they would—
Knew they would;
They fought and they died as we knew they would.

From the southern hills and the city lanes,
From the sandwaste lone and the Blacksoil Plains;
The youngest and strongest of England’s brood!—

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
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The Big Problem....

There is this BIG PROBLEM
WE decided not to talk about it
We think that that problem must solve itself
Auto-resolution

So day and night the problem stays there
Like a drunkard in the room
Vomiting
To every nook of the house
The house
That smells like fucking
Shit

But that problem is never considered a problem
There is a room for it to stay
And it can stay
It cannot consume us
It has no mouth and so it has no teeth
It has no tongue it cannot say a word
It stays there like a piece of art
And we begin to appreciate it
Like a piece of rock
Unchanged in the middle of the living room
We eat lunch there
They prepare nice dinners
We drink red wine
We munch chocolates
And sweet berries
The problem stays but it cannot nag us
Because we can pretend
That it is a brother
That we cannot junk but only love
And keep as part of the
Company

There is still this problem
And it did not solve itself
We live by this problem and this problem lives with us
Symbiosis

And so now
What is the problem? Is this a problem after all these years?
It is not anymore
We have learned that it is not a problem anymore
We die soon
And it shall perhaps disappear
Shall it weep over our departure?
That is its problem.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Book of Annandale

I

Partly to think, more to be left alone,
George Annandale said something to his friends—
A word or two, brusque, but yet smoothed enough
To suit their funeral gaze—and went upstairs;
And there, in the one room that he could call
His own, he found a sort of meaningless
Annoyance in the mute familiar things
That filled it; for the grate’s monotonous gleam
Was not the gleam that he had known before,
The books were not the books that used to be,
The place was not the place. There was a lack
Of something; and the certitude of death
Itself, as with a furtive questioning,
Hovered, and he could not yet understand.
He knew that she was gone—there was no need
Of any argued proof to tell him that,
For they had buried her that afternoon,
Under the leaves and snow; and still there was
A doubt, a pitiless doubt, a plunging doubt,
That struck him, and upstartled when it struck,
The vision, the old thought in him. There was
A lack, and one that wrenched him; but it was
Not that—not that. There was a present sense
Of something indeterminably near—
The soul-clutch of a prescient emptiness
That would not be foreboding. And if not,
What then?—or was it anything at all?
Yes, it was something—it was everything—
But what was everything? or anything?
Tired of time, bewildered, he sat down;
But in his chair he kept on wondering
That he should feel so desolately strange
And yet—for all he knew that he had lost
More of the world than most men ever win—
So curiously calm. And he was left
Unanswered and unsatisfied: there came
No clearer meaning to him than had come
Before; the old abstraction was the best
That he could find, the farthest he could go;
To that was no beginning and no end—
No end that he could reach. So he must learn
To live the surest and the largest life
Attainable in him, would he divine
The meaning of the dream and of the words
That he had written, without knowing why,
On sheets that he had bound up like a book
And covered with red leather. There it was—
There in his desk, the record he had made,

[...] Read more

poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Problem Child

(roy orbison)
Roy orbison (sun, 1957)
Well my heartbeat is running wild
Because of you my problem child
Oh-oh baby, don't be running wild
Well cool off baby, don't be a problem child
Well don't you see this shakin' spree
Is bound to be the death of me
Oh baby, don't be running wild
Well cool off baby, don't be a problem child
Well my heartbeat is runnin' wild
Because of you my problem child
Oh baby, don't be running wild
Control yourself, don't be a problem child
Well don't you see this shakin' spree
Is bound to be the death of me
Oh baby, don't be running wild
Well cool off baby, don't be a problem child
Well then i'm gone, that's all she wrote
You'll sing this same song note for note
Oh baby, don't be running wild
Control yourself, you're a problem child
Ooh, problem child
Yeah, problem child
Well, problem child
Yeah, problem child
Oh baby,you're a problem child
Slow down girl, down
Slow down girl, down
Down girl, down
Slow down girl, down......

song performed by Roy Orbison
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Bride's Prelude

“Sister,” said busy Amelotte
To listless Aloÿse;
“Along your wedding-road the wheat
Bends as to hear your horse's feet,
And the noonday stands still for heat.”
Amelotte laughed into the air
With eyes that sought the sun:
But where the walls in long brocade
Were screened, as one who is afraid
Sat Aloÿse within the shade.
And even in shade was gleam enough
To shut out full repose
From the bride's 'tiring-chamber, which
Was like the inner altar-niche
Whose dimness worship has made rich.
Within the window's heaped recess
The light was counterchanged
In blent reflexes manifold
From perfume-caskets of wrought gold
And gems the bride's hair could not hold,
All thrust together: and with these
A slim-curved lute, which now,
At Amelotte's sudden passing there,
Was swept in somewise unaware,
And shook to music the close air.
Against the haloed lattice-panes
The bridesmaid sunned her breast;
Then to the glass turned tall and free,
And braced and shifted daintily
Her loin-belt through her côte-hardie.
The belt was silver, and the clasp
Of lozenged arm-bearings;
A world of mirrored tints minute
The rippling sunshine wrought into 't,
That flushed her hand and warmed her foot.
At least an hour had Aloÿse—
Her jewels in her hair—
Her white gown, as became a bride,
Quartered in silver at each side—
Sat thus aloof, as if to hide.
Over her bosom, that lay still,
The vest was rich in grain,
With close pearls wholly overset:
Around her throat the fastenings met
Of chevesayle and mantelet.
Her arms were laid along her lap
With the hands open: life
Itself did seem at fault in her:
Beneath the drooping brows, the stir
Of thought made noonday heavier.

[...] Read more

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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No Problem

(r. palmer)
I think the two of us
Should visit paradise
Wed be so calm inside
Id be your alibi
I want to be the one
That shares in all your dreams
Always be there for you
To staisfy your needs
Thered be no problem - even if you just need someone to talk to
Ill be there to listen any time of day
Theres no problem you cant tell me about it
Oh baby I could make you happy more than any other man
Someone to rely on and
Care for you
I could keep you warm
Protect you from all harm
Id be right by your side
To keep you satisfied
No problem - even if you just need someone to talk to
Ill be there to listen any time of day
Thered be no problem if you tell me about it
Oh baby I could make you happy more than any other man
Someone to rely on and
Care for you girl
No problem
No problem
I think the two of us
Should visit paradise
Youd be so calm inside
Id be your alibi
You could get in my heart
And we could take a ride
We could go all the way
Or just to paradise
No problem
No problem
No problem
No problem

song performed by Robert Palmer
Added by Lucian Velea
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Problem Solver

If we stuck by the rules,
To ensure they're obeyed...
I can be,
A problem solver.
You can be,
A problem solver.
We could all be problem solvers,
If we got to be involved.

I can be,
A problem solver.
You can be,
A problem solver.
We could all be problem solvers,
If we got to be involved.

Troubles would diminish...
If we all got now involved.
Anguishing would disappear...
If it was not thought a job,
To be labored then be robbed!

Troubles would diminish...
If we all got now involved.
Anguishing would disappear...
If it was not thought a job,
To be labored then be robbed!

If we stuck by the rules,
To ensure they're obeyed...
Oh I can be,
A problem solver.
You can be,
A problem solver.
We could all be problem solvers,
If we got to be involved.

Troubles would diminish...
If we all got now involved.
Anguishing would disappear...
If it was not thought a job!
We could all be problem solvers,
If we got to be involved.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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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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I Thought She Knew

She was my once in a lifetime
Happy ending come true
Oh I guess I should have told her
I thought she knew

She said I took her for granted
That's the last thing I would do
Whoa I'll never understand it
I thought she knew
I thought she knew

I thought she knew
My world revolved around her
My love light burned for her alone
But she couldn't see the flame
Only myself to blame
I should have known
I should have known

A heart full of words left unspoken
Now that we're through
I'd sell my soul to have this silence broken
Oh I thought she knew
I thought she knew

I thought she knew
My world revolved around her
My love light burned for her alone
But she couldn't see the flame
Only myself to blame
I should have known
I should have known

She was my once in a lifetime
Happy ending come true
Whoa I guess I should have told her
But I thought she knew
I thought she knew
I thought she knew
I thought she knew
I thought she knew
I thought she knew

Oooooooo
Oh I thought that she knew
Yeah ooooooo

song performed by N Sync from No Strings Attached
Added by Lucian Velea
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Who Is The Real Problem?

i am the real problem
i Do not have anything to do with my Life, it has only lonelines as the real cause of its misery.

i am the real problem
i Have figured out the real issue
Of the problem and
it is not capable of exact
Definition,

That seemingly is a problem apparently
Appearing to me as life but there is
No life in it
The right to call it life
Cannot be true, this is just to be frank about it.

I refer to the expertise of sorceress
She put some aluminates in cinders
And she figures out the illuminated forms of my
Problem,

a snake is the illuminated form of my misery

There is a snake in my house
Or
could be in my office or could be in my world.

The real problem is i
Do not believe the sorceress
And I am left with nothing to do but figure out the real
Problem in my dreams

Planes taking off and exploding in mid air
Rivers rising flooding and making a town disappear
Bamboo poles with lots of coconut oil rubbed on its sides and I cannot climb
My way of jumping into murky rivers filled with goldfishes floating dead
A brook filled with feces and I am there swimming
A snake chasing me and I cannot run as fast as I can
and it bites me
And I

Wake up
profusely sweating and trembling

i get a glass of water and
ThankGod that everything is simply
a bad dream

The real problem really is,
On the other hand,
I waking up

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Canto the Second

I
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,
I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,
It mends their morals, never mind the pain:
The best of mothers and of educations
In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain,
Since, in a way that's rather of the oddest, he
Became divested of his native modesty.

II
Had he but been placed at a public school,
In the third form, or even in the fourth,
His daily task had kept his fancy cool,
At least, had he been nurtured in the north;
Spain may prove an exception to the rule,
But then exceptions always prove its worth -—
A lad of sixteen causing a divorce
Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.

III
I can't say that it puzzles me at all,
If all things be consider'd: first, there was
His lady-mother, mathematical,
A—never mind; his tutor, an old ass;
A pretty woman (that's quite natural,
Or else the thing had hardly come to pass);
A husband rather old, not much in unity
With his young wife—a time, and opportunity.

IV
Well—well, the world must turn upon its axis,
And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,
And live and die, make love and pay our taxes,
And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails;
The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us,
The priest instructs, and so our life exhales,
A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame,
Fighting, devotion, dust,—perhaps a name.

V
I said that Juan had been sent to Cadiz -—
A pretty town, I recollect it well -—
'T is there the mart of the colonial trade is
(Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel),
And such sweet girls—I mean, such graceful ladies,
Their very walk would make your bosom swell;
I can't describe it, though so much it strike,
Nor liken it—I never saw the like:

[...] Read more

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

LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls. Since erst he lay
friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,
till before him the folk, both far and near,
who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts: a good king he!
To him an heir was afterward born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.
Famed was this Beowulf: far flew the boast of him,
son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.
So becomes it a youth to quit him well
with his father's friends, by fee and gift,
that to aid him, aged, in after days,
come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,
liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds
shall an earl have honor in every clan.
Forth he fared at the fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.
Then they bore him over to ocean's billow,
loving clansmen, as late he charged them,
while wielded words the winsome Scyld,
the leader beloved who long had ruled….
In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,
ice-flecked, outbound, atheling's barge:
there laid they down their darling lord
on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings,
by the mast the mighty one. Many a treasure
fetched from far was freighted with him.
No ship have I known so nobly dight
with weapons of war and weeds of battle,
with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped hoard that hence should go
far o'er the flood with him floating away.
No less these loaded the lordly gifts,
thanes' huge treasure, than those had done
who in former time forth had sent him
sole on the seas, a suckling child.
High o'er his head they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,
gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits,
mournful their mood. No man is able

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poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Forever

I never wanted another
Come over to me and discover
How i want to be near you
And you need to be far away
You always seem to make me feel at home
Hey you
People like
I never knew, i never knew, i never knew why
You make me wanna cry
I never knew, i never knew, i never knew why
Forever live and die
I look at all of the people
Doing it over and over
You never get any older
I wish that you could be here
I look at you and i
Make the same mistakes
Hey you
People like
I never knew, i never knew, i never knew why
You make me wanna cry
I never knew, i never knew, i never knew why
Forever live and die
I never knew, i never knew, i never knew why
You make me wanna cry
I never knew, i never knew, i never knew why
Forever live and die
Repeat to fade

song performed by Omd
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Garden of Years

I

I have shut fast the door, and am alone
With the sweet memory of this afternoon,
That saw my vague dreams on a sudden grown
Into fulfilment, as I oft have known
Stray notes upon a keyboard fall atune
When least persuaded. I besought no boon
Of Fate to-day; I that, since first Love came
Into my life, have been so importune.
To-day alone I did not press my claim,
And lo! all I have dreamed of is my own!

II

I have shut fast the door, for so I may
Relive that moment of the turn of tide—
That swift solution of the long delay
That clothed with silver splendor dying day;
And, with low-whispering memory for guide,
See once again your startled eyes confide
The secret of surrender; and your hand
Flutter toward mine, before you turn aside—
And the gold wings of young consent expand
Fresh from the cracking chrysalis of Nay!

III

I did not dare to speak at first. It seemed
A thing unreal, that with the air might blend—
That strange swift signal—and I feared I dreamed!
Ahead, the city’s lamps, converging, gleamed
To a thin angle at the street’s far bend,
And, as we neared, each from its column’s end
Stepped out, and past us, furtive, slipped away:
Nor could Love’s self a longer respite lend
The radiant moments of our shortening day,
That Time, the donor, one by one redeemed.

IV

We spoke of eloquently empty things;
Of younger days that were before we met,
The trivial acts to which the memory clings,
And in familiar spots unbidden brings
To mind, when graver matters we forget.
The sacred secret lay unspoken, yet
Hovered, half-veiled, between our conscious eyes,
Touched with an indefinable regret
For that swift moment of our love’s surprise—

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poem by Guy Wetmore Carryl from The Garden of Years and Other Poems (1901)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Lara

LARA. [1]

CANTO THE FIRST.

I.

The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain, [2]
And slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord —
The long self-exiled chieftain is restored:
There be bright faces in the busy hall,
Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall;
Far chequering o'er the pictured window, plays
The unwonted fagots' hospitable blaze;
And gay retainers gather round the hearth,
With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth.

II.

The chief of Lara is return'd again:
And why had Lara cross'd the bounding main?
Left by his sire, too young such loss to know,
Lord of himself; — that heritage of woe,
That fearful empire which the human breast
But holds to rob the heart within of rest! —
With none to check, and few to point in time
The thousand paths that slope the way to crime;
Then, when he most required commandment, then
Had Lara's daring boyhood govern'd men.
It skills not, boots not, step by step to trace
His youth through all the mazes of its race;
Short was the course his restlessness had run,
But long enough to leave him half undone.

III.

And Lara left in youth his fatherland;
But from the hour he waved his parting hand
Each trace wax'd fainter of his course, till all
Had nearly ceased his memory to recall.
His sire was dust, his vassals could declare,
'Twas all they knew, that Lara was not there;
Nor sent, nor came he, till conjecture grew
Cold in the many, anxious in the few.
His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name,
His portrait darkens in its fading frame,
Another chief consoled his destined bride,
The young forgot him, and the old had died;
"Yet doth he live!" exclaims the impatient heir,
And sighs for sables which he must not wear.

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poem by Byron
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Lara. A Tale

The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain,
And slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord--
The long self-exiled chieftain is restored:
There be bright faces in the busy hall,
Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall;
Far chequering o'er the pictured window, plays
The unwonted fagots' hospitable blaze;
And gay retainers gather round the hearth,
With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth.

II.
The chief of Lara is return'd again:
And why had Lara cross'd the bounding main?
Left by his sire, too young such loss to know,
Lord of himself;--that heritage of woe,
That fearful empire which the human breast
But holds to rob the heart within of rest!--
With none to check, and few to point in time
The thousand paths that slope the way to crime;
Then, when he most required commandment, then
Had Lara's daring boyhood govern'd men.
It skills not, boots not, step by step to trace
His youth through all the mazes of its race;
Short was the course his restlessness had run,
But long enough to leave him half undone.

III.
And Lara left in youth his fatherland;
But from the hour he waved his parting hand
Each trace wax'd fainter of his course, till all
Had nearly ceased his memory to recall.
His sire was dust, his vassals could declare,
'Twas all they knew, that Lara was not there;
Nor sent, nor came he, till conjecture grew
Cold in the many, anxious in the few.
His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name,
His portrait darkens in its fading frame,
Another chief consoled his destined bride,
The young forgot him, and the old had died;
'Yet doth he live!' exclaims the impatient heir,
And sighs for sables which he must not wear.
A hundred scutcheons deck with gloomy grace
The Laras' last and longest dwelling-place;
But one is absent from the mouldering file,
That now were welcome to that Gothic pile.

IV.
He comes at last in sudden loneliness,
And whence they know not, why they need not guess;

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poem by Byron
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