I don't think anybody steals anything; all of us borrow.
quote by B.B. King
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Love's Reward
It was a knight of the southern land
Rode forth upon the way
When the birds sang sweet on either hand
About the middle of the May.
But when he came to the lily-close,
Thereby so fair a maiden stood,
That neither the lily nor the rose
Seemed any longer fair nor good.
“All hail, thou rose and lily-bough!
What dost thou weeping here,
For the days of May are sweet enow,
And the nights of May are dear?”
“Well may I weep and make my moan,
Who am bond and captive here;
Well may I weep who lie alone,
Though May be waxen dear.”
“And is there none shall ransom thee;
Mayst thou no borrow find?”
“Nay, what man may my borrow be,
When all my wealth is left behind?
“Perchance some ring is left with thee,
Some belt that did thy body bind?”
“Nay, no man may my borrow be,
My rings and belt are left behind.”
“The shoes that the May-blooms kissed on thee
Might yet be things to some men’s mind.”
“Nay, no man may my borrow be,
My golden shoes are left behind.”
“The milk-white sark that covered thee
A dear-bought token some should find.”
“Nay, no man may my borrow be,
My silken sark is left behind.”
“The kiss of thy mouth and the love of thee
Better than world’s wealth should I find.”
“Nay, thou mayst not my borrow be,
For all my love is left behind.
“A year agone come Midsummer-night
I woke by the Northern sea;
I lay and dreamed of my delight
Till love no more would let me be.
[...] Read more
poem by William Morris
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Hes A Thief
He steals hearts and he steals my kisses
He stole away my love
He steals my thoughts
And now it seems
He stole into my dreams
Cos hes a thief , oh
Hes a thief
Hes a thief
Hes got me ensnared in his clutches
His love does not seem real
Hes got me there , in solitaire
His love is made of steel
But hes a thief , oh yeah
Hes a thief , oh
Hes a thief
I locked my heart and threw away the key
But hes knocked once and open sesame
He steals hearts and he steals my kisses
He stole away my love
He steals my thoughts
And now it seems
He stole into my dreams
But hes a thief
Oh, hes a thief
Hes a thief ( fadeout)
song performed by Bee Gees
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sistamamalover
I've gone from talkin' to walkin'
You touch me deep down inside
Oh can't you see that I'm fallin'
And I can no longer hide
You are my everything
My sistamamalover
You give me everything
I have no need to borrow
And when I think of you
You take away my sorrow
I'll always love you baby
Like there's no tomorrow
When I get up in the morning ( When I get up in the morning )
I feel like I'm so alive (Feel so alive)
With you it never gets boring (Hmm hmm that's right)
'Cause you always get me high (Get me high)
High
You are my everything
My sistamamalover
You give me everything
I have no need to borrow
And when I think of you
You take away my sorrow
I'll always love you baby
Like there's no tomorrow
I'll never go with another
'Cause baby you are so fly (You know you're fly)
Don't have to live undercover (That's right)
Because I don't have to lie (I don't have to lie baby)
You are my everything
My sistamamalover
You give me everything
I have no need to borrow
And when I think of you
You take away my sorrow
I'll always love you baby
Like there's no tomorrow
You are my everything (My everything!)
My sistamamalover (Sistermama...lover!)
You give me everything
I have no need to borrow
And when I think of you (And when I think of you)
You take away my sorrow
I'll always love you baby (I'll always love you)
Like there's no tomorrow (Like there's no tomorrow)
You are my everything
My sistamamalover
(Sistermama...lover!)
You give me everything
I have no need to borrow (Waouh !)-ac
song performed by Lenny Kravitz
Added by Lucian Velea
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Not To Temporary Borrow
What is it you are here to prove?
A truth...
That I borrowed?
And,
What is it you're here to prove and to who?
A truth...
Untold?
With a telling of a version,
You hope gets sold.
The truth I know is in me and it is maintained.
And...
Not to temporary borrow,
No!
The truth I know is in me and it is maintained.
And...
Not to temporary borrow,
No!
What is it you're here to prove and to who?
A truth...
That I borrowed?
Well...
The truth I know is in me and it is maintained.
And...
Not to temporary borrow,
No!
The truth I know is in me and it is sustained.
And...
Not to temporary borrow,
No!
The truth I know is in me and remains unchanged.
And...
Not to temporary borrow,
No!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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On A Landscape Bt Rubens
Nay, let us gaze, ev'n till the sense is full,
Upon the rich creation, shadowed so
That not great Nature, in her loftiest pomp
Of living beauty, ever on the sight
Rose more magnificent; nor aught so fair
Hath Fancy, in her wildest, brightest mood,
Imaged of things most lovely, when the sounds
Of this cold cloudy world at distance sink,
And all alone the warm idea lives
Of what is great, or beautiful, or good,
In Nature's general plan.
So the vast scope,
O Rubens! of thy mighty mind, and such
The fervour of thy pencil, pouring wide
The still illumination, that the mind
Pauses, absorbed, and scarcely thinks what powers
Of mortal art the sweet enchantment wrought.
She sees the painter, with no human touch,
Create, embellish, animate at will,
The mimic scenes, from Nature's ampler range
Caught as by inspiration; while the clouds,
High wandering, and the fairest form of things,
Seem at his bidding to emerge, and burn
With radiance and with life!
Let us, subdued,
Now to the magic of the moment lose
The thoughts of life, and mingle every sense
Ev'n in the scenes before us!
The fresh morn
Of summer shines; the white clouds of the east
Are crisped; beneath, the bright blue champaign steams;
The banks, the meadows, and the flowers, send up
An incensed exhalation, like the meek
And holy praise of Him whose soul's deep joy
The lone woods witness. Thou, whose heart is sick
Of vanities; who, in the throng of men,
Dost feel no lenient fellowship; whose eye
Turns, with a languid carelessness, around
Upon the toiling crowd, still murmuring on,
Restless;--oh, think, in summer scenes like these,
How sweet the sense of quiet gladness is,
That, like the silent breath of morning, steals
From lowly nooks, and feels itself expand
Amid the works of Nature, to the Power
That made them: to the awful thought of HIM
Who, when the morning stars shouted for joy,
Bade the great sun from tenfold darkness burst,
The green earth roll in light, and solitude
First hear the voice of man, whilst hills and woods
Stood eminent, in orient hues arrayed,
[...] Read more
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Hope Steals In
Hope steals in
Through the largest of cracks
It makes silver from tin
And nothing feels to lack.
Hope steals in
Through the stormiest of clouds
It lets light shine in,
And makes the quiet, loud.
Hope steals in
Through he darkest of night
It kicks bedtime haunts in the shin
And ends a scary plight.
Hope steals in
Through all troubles met in life
It helps you once again begin
And resist everlasting strife.
poem by Margaret Everard
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War on depression
Depression is a fight
Or a flight
Depression is a theif
That should be locked up
Depression steals...
Happiness
Motivation
Sleep
Your appetite
It steals your view on life
It steals how you view yourself
Sometimes it even steals your life
poem by Ferret Girl
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Christmas, Like A Lullaby
This song was first released on the christmas, like a lullaby album. it is the only album it has been released on.
Christmas like a lullaby steals across the land
A breeze upon the waters, rainfall on the sand
We celebrate a baby born from spirit into man
And christmas like a lullaby steals across the land
Its morning in australia; in fact its christmas day
And colorado never seemed so very far away
Back where night has fallen and its still christmas eve
And snow is in the mountains that I always hate to leave
But here I am down under with a brand new family
Christmas bells are ringing
Theres presents neath the tree
I know that its been said before and now I know its true
That home is where the heart is
And christmas lives there too
And on this morning peace on earth
Is still your fervent prayer
And I can feel it being
Whispered softly everywhere
And guns are are called to silence
And anger called to still
And brotherhood and sisterhood
Surrounded by goodwill
Christmas like a lullaby steals across the land
A breeze upon the waters, rainfall on the sand
We celebrate a baby born from spirit into man
And christmas like a lullaby steals across the land
Words and music by john denver
song performed by John Denver
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sail Away
If youre driftin on an empty ocean
With no wind to fill your sail,
The future, your horizon,
Its like searchin for the holy grail.
You feel theres no tomorrow
As you look into the water below.
Its only your reflection
And you still aint got no place to go.
Time will show,
When, I dont know.
Sail away tomorrow,
Sailin far away.
To find it steal or borrow.
Ill be there someday
Oh, woman, I keep returnin
To sing the same old song.
The storys been told, now Im gettin old.
Tell me,where do I belong?
Feel like Im goin to surrender,
Nard times Ive had enough.
If I could find a place to hide my face,
I believe, I could get back up.
Time will show,
When, I dont know.
Sail away tomorrow,
Sailin far away.
To find it steal or borrow.
But Ill be there someday
Sail away tomorrow,
Sailin far away.
To find it steal or borrow.
But Ill be there someday
Sail away tomorrow,
Sailin far away.
To find it steal or borrow.
But Ill be there someday
song performed by Deep Purple
Added by Lucian Velea
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Venus and Adonis
Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis tried him to the chase;
Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him.
'Thrice fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses;
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses:
'And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety;
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'
With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens;--O! how quick is love:--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:
Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,
And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.
So soon was she along, as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'
He burns with bashful shame; she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;
[...] Read more
poem by William Shakespeare (1593)
Added by Dan Costinaş
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Shehanu
Tomorrow, borrow, sorrow;
But it dates back! !
And today you will still borrow.
Morrow, borrow, sorrow;
But it dates back! !
And today you will still borrow.
Then comes tomorrow for your sorrow!
And like the Egyptian Obelisk;
But, your love is unsurpassed.
Pressure, sure, pure, jure, sure, lure, cure;
And from the things to come!
But, i am Shehanu in your neighbourhood.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Added by Poetry Lover
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Endymion: Book IV
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!
O first-born on the mountains! by the hues
Of heaven on the spiritual air begot:
Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot,
While yet our England was a wolfish den;
Before our forests heard the talk of men;
Before the first of Druids was a child;--
Long didst thou sit amid our regions wild
Rapt in a deep prophetic solitude.
There came an eastern voice of solemn mood:--
Yet wast thou patient. Then sang forth the Nine,
Apollo's garland:--yet didst thou divine
Such home-bred glory, that they cry'd in vain,
"Come hither, Sister of the Island!" Plain
Spake fair Ausonia; and once more she spake
A higher summons:--still didst thou betake
Thee to thy native hopes. O thou hast won
A full accomplishment! The thing is done,
Which undone, these our latter days had risen
On barren souls. Great Muse, thou know'st what prison
Of flesh and bone, curbs, and confines, and frets
Our spirit's wings: despondency besets
Our pillows; and the fresh to-morrow morn
Seems to give forth its light in very scorn
Of our dull, uninspired, snail-paced lives.
Long have I said, how happy he who shrives
To thee! But then I thought on poets gone,
And could not pray:--nor can I now--so on
I move to the end in lowliness of heart.----
"Ah, woe is me! that I should fondly part
From my dear native land! Ah, foolish maid!
Glad was the hour, when, with thee, myriads bade
Adieu to Ganges and their pleasant fields!
To one so friendless the clear freshet yields
A bitter coolness, the ripe grape is sour:
Yet I would have, great gods! but one short hour
Of native air--let me but die at home."
Endymion to heaven's airy dome
Was offering up a hecatomb of vows,
When these words reach'd him. Whereupon he bows
His head through thorny-green entanglement
Of underwood, and to the sound is bent,
Anxious as hind towards her hidden fawn.
"Is no one near to help me? No fair dawn
Of life from charitable voice? No sweet saying
To set my dull and sadden'd spirit playing?
No hand to toy with mine? No lips so sweet
[...] Read more
poem by John Keats
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When I Borrow
I borrow some blue from the sky,
Pour them on my sadness
And living becomes joy!
I borrow some laughter from the spring,
Rub them over my face
And returns my happiness!
I borrow a little of the tree's selflessness
Plant them in my heart
And living becomes caring for others!
I borrow some radiance of the sun,
Store them in my eyes
And all darkness is illumined!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Handles Bermuda
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b ean bags bulk
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beijo bags
[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Luggage Canada
b ean bag stoer
bed liner motorcycle bags
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bean bag shells shotgun
[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Venus and Adonis
'Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.'
To the right honorable Henry Wriothesly, Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield.
Right honorable.
I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burden only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish and the world's hopeful expectation.
Your honour's in all duty.
Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.
'Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses;
'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety,
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'
With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens:--O, how quick is love!--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:
[...] Read more
poem by William Shakespeare
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Song of the Indian Maid, from 'Endymion
O SORROW!
Why dost borrow
The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?--
To give maiden blushes
To the white rose bushes?
Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips?
O Sorrow!
Why dost borrow
The lustrous passion from a falcon-eye?--
To give the glow-worm light?
Or, on a moonless night,
To tinge, on siren shores, the salt sea-spry?
O Sorrow!
Why dost borrow
The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue?--
To give at evening pale
Unto the nightingale,
That thou mayst listen the cold dews among?
O Sorrow!
Why dost borrow
Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?--
A lover would not tread
A cowslip on the head,
Though he should dance from eve till peep of day--
Nor any drooping flower
Held sacred for thy bower,
Wherever he may sport himself and play.
To Sorrow
I bade good morrow,
And thought to leave her far away behind;
But cheerly, cheerly,
She loves me dearly;
She is so constant to me, and so kind:
I would deceive her
And so leave her,
But ah! she is so constant and so kind.
Beneath my palm-trees, by the river side,
I sat a-weeping: in the whole world wide
There was no one to ask me why I wept,--
And so I kept
Brimming the water-lily cups with tears
Cold as my fears.
Beneath my palm-trees, by the river side,
I sat a-weeping: what enamour'd bride,
[...] Read more
poem by John Keats
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Infinitely, Before You Arrived
You can not borrow from my time,
Infinitely.
Infinitely.
Infinitely...You can not borrow from my time,
Infinitely.
Infinitely.
Infinitely...To take,
And try to make your mission my condition.
To leave me in suspicion wishing,
For your absence I was missing...
Before you arrived.
You can not borrow my time to take...
And try to make your mission,
My condition.
Before you arrived.
You can not borrow from my time,
Infinitely.
Infinitely.
Infinitely...To take,
And try to make your mission my condition.
To leave me in suspicion wishing,
For your absence I was missing...
Before you arrived.
To lie and scheme by my side.
Infinitely.
Before you arrived.
Infinitely.
To lie and scheme by my side.
Infinitely.
Before you arrived.
Infinitely.
To lie and scheme by my side.
Infinitely.
Before you arrived.
Infinitely.
To lie and scheme by my side.
Infinitely.
Infinitely.
Infini tely...
To lie and scheme by my side.
Infinitely.
Infinitely.
Infinitely.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Self Communion
'The mist is resting on the hill;
The smoke is hanging in the air;
The very clouds are standing still:
A breathless calm broods everywhere.
Thou pilgrim through this vale of tears,
Thou, too, a little moment cease
Thy anxious toil and fluttering fears,
And rest thee, for a while, in peace.'
'I would, but Time keeps working still
And moving on for good or ill:
He will not rest or stay.
In pain or ease, in smiles or tears,
He still keeps adding to my years
And stealing life away.
His footsteps in the ceaseless sound
Of yonder clock I seem to hear,
That through this stillness so profound
Distinctly strikes the vacant ear.
For ever striding on and on,
He pauses not by night or day;
And all my life will soon be gone
As these past years have slipped away.
He took my childhood long ago,
And then my early youth; and lo,
He steals away my prime!
I cannot see how fast it goes,
But well my inward spirit knows
The wasting power of time.'
'Time steals thy moments, drinks thy breath,
Changes and wastes thy mortal frame;
But though he gives the clay to death,
He cannot touch the inward flame.
Nay, though he steals thy years away,
Their memory is left thee still,
And every month and every day
Leaves some effect of good or ill.
The wise will find in Memory's store
A help for that which lies before
To guide their course aright;
Then, hush thy plaints and calm thy fears;
Look back on these departed years,
And, say, what meets thy sight?'
'I see, far back, a helpless child,
Feeble and full of causeless fears,
Simple and easily beguiled
To credit all it hears.
More timid than the wild wood-dove,
[...] Read more
poem by Anne Brontë
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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He who steals a little steals with the same wish as he who steals much, but with less power.