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There was a Young Lady of Russia,
Who screamed so that no one could hush her;
Her screams were extreme,--
No one heard such a scream
As was screamed by that Lady from Russia.

limerick by Edward Lear
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Hush

[Intro:]
Hush baby imma let you know (let you know),
This is how its gonna go (gonna go).......
[Chorus:]
Hush baby imma let you know (let you know),
This is how its gonna go (gonna go), (yeah, uh)
If you wanna come and play (come and play),
We gonna do it my way (my way), (my way).....
Hush baby dont talk so much (so much), I just
wanna feel your touch ( feel your touch), Everything will
be OK (be OK) if we do it my way (my way, my
way).....
[LL Cool J - Verse 1:]
You feel so good, rest of my life, I wish I could,
hold you tight and take a flight, out the hood,
was a foul or just misundastood? My man and a
up to no good, it doesnt really matter, either
way I should, maximize the moment, and hold
you close, jump in the drop spida, and cruise
down the coast, who loved you da most, I was
neva close, when lives was on the line,
confusion in your mind, we spiritually acclined,
sometimes I flip, sometimes you flip,
sometimes we wild out and act like lunatics, we
move to fast, and the whole world's in a rush,
everybody just hush.....(hush , hush)....
[Chorus:]
Hush baby imma let you know (let you know),
this is how its gonna go (gonna go), If you
wanna come and play (come and play), we
gonna do it my way (my way, my way).......
Hush baby dont talk so much (so much), I just
wanna feel your touch (feel your touch), Everything will
be OK (be OK), If we do it my way (my way, my
way)......
[LL Cool J - Verse 2:]
Its all a test, the pain, the drama, da billa in a
Bahamas, the highs, the lows, the Hoop De, the
rolls, the money flowin', certain doors that we go
in, the people we meet, the hands that we shake, \
whether its morton's, or sizzle a steak, everything
will be OK (be OK), if we do it my way (my way,
my way)......
[LL Cool J - Verse 3:]
Cuz' i belive in romance, kissin when ya slow
dance, me bouncin' baby no chance, no matter
the circumstance, whatever it takes girl, I'll swim
to France, cuz' your beautys unmatched, your
such a great catch, unconditional love, forever
we are attached, deal wit da drama, we could

[...] Read more

song performed by LL Cool J
Added by Lucian Velea
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Christabel

PART I

'Tis the middle of night by the castle clock
And the owls have awakened the crowing cock;
Tu-whit!- Tu-whoo!
And hark, again! the crowing cock,
How drowsily it crew.
Sir Leoline, the Baron rich,
Hath a toothless mastiff, which
From her kennel beneath the rock
Maketh answer to the clock,
Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour;
Ever and aye, by shine and shower,
Sixteen short howls, not over loud;
Some say, she sees my lady's shroud.

Is the night chilly and dark?
The night is chilly, but not dark.
The thin gray cloud is spread on high,
It covers but not hides the sky.
The moon is behind, and at the full;
And yet she looks both small and dull.
The night is chill, the cloud is gray:
'T is a month before the month of May,
And the Spring comes slowly up this way.
The lovely lady, Christabel,
Whom her father loves so well,
What makes her in the wood so late,
A furlong from the castle gate?
She had dreams all yesternight
Of her own betrothed knight;
And she in the midnight wood will pray
For the weal of her lover that's far away.

She stole along, she nothing spoke,
The sighs she heaved were soft and low,
And naught was green upon the oak,
But moss and rarest mistletoe:
She kneels beneath the huge oak tree,
And in silence prayeth she.

The lady sprang up suddenly,
The lovely lady, Christabel!
It moaned as near, as near can be,
But what it is she cannot tell.-
On the other side it seems to be,
Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree.
The night is chill; the forest bare;
Is it the wind that moaneth bleak?
There is not wind enough in the air

[...] Read more

poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Scream

Scream!
Fell forth, destroy the source
Can't see and my voice is hoarse
Trying to wash your hands off
You should know better than to leave us in disgust
Let me take you right to the point
All you ever do is encage in disjoint
That does it the time has arrived
Take it or leave it you better not side!
You did it again
All you ever did was doubt
What do you want?
Let me tell you what it's all about
One life
Nine hearts
And eighteen hands that'll rip you all apart
We're here to decimate
To show you all we will never fall
It's gonna get serious
And critical
Don't stop because the feeling is terminal!
Scream!
Scream like you never have before!
Scream!
Scream till you cant scream anymore!
Scream!
Scream like your throat is bleeding!
Scream!
Scream till your heart stops beating!
Scream for me!
Get off of me, and get away
Show the whole damn World this will never die
No matter how the energies scatter
Got to know nothing exists but the dream
Give it all
Till there's nothing left to give
Save it all
Quit saving you
If you're going to let the pain inside
Never under estimate the way you live your life
Scream!
Scream like you never have before!
Scream!
Scream till you can't scream anymore!
Scream!
Scream like your throat is bleeding!
Scream!
Scream till your heart stops beating!
Scream for me!
All our lives!

[...] Read more

song performed by Slipknot
Added by Lucian Velea
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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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Little Man Lost at Vespers - Parody A.A. MILNE Vespers

Little man lost in a world with no heart,
little man called upon, playing a part,
hush, hush, whisper who dare,
when will support from society start?

Little man lost, curling up very small
when nobody notices he's there at all,
hush, hush, whisper who dare,
all seems unfair when the cupboard is bare.

Little man lost his job, often apart
from hopes of promotion unless he plays smart,
hush, hush, whisper who dare,
will the votes counted upset apple-cart?

Little man keeling at foot of the bed,
saw gold is dreams, silver wore in hoar head,
hush, hush, whisper who dare,
Christ, no fair Robin Hood's doling fair shares.

Little man's hunger stamps won't ease the cramps
dropp filters through ceiling cracks, happiness damps,
hush, hush, whisper who dare,
for walking is healthy when car has the clamps.

Little man's vista through Visa's gone bust,
global economy's threatened, we must
hush, hush, whisper, who’ll dare
plead for the needy confronting despair?

Little man losing out struggles for work,
T.V. instead of expenses or perk,
hush, hush, whisper who dare,
though welfare for needy, bank bonus for jerk!

Little man lost counts cost down to a penny,
bank lending cuts spending ruts causing for many,
hush, hush, whisper who dare,
when will vain bureaucrat answer vain prayer.

Little man lost with no foot in the door,
Woolworth's now worthless has sunk through the floor,
hush, hush, whisper who dare,
when will the wheel turn to set a fair score?

Little man lost at the foot of the tree,
paying through nose for electricity,
hush, hush, whisper who dare,
redundancies, pensions, who’ll care and who’ll share?

poem by Jonathan Robin
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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:

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Screams Of Passion

Performed by the family
{from the family (1985)}
Woah, no. woah, yeah.
Woah, no, woah no, yeah, yeah
Theres a gentle autumn breeze
That blows whenever we be lyin
Lyin in my bed
The moon appears and disappears
U look at me, my clothes I quickly
I quickly shed
The curtains dance a minuet
Autumn plays the music baby
Come on hold my hand
Leaves are fallin velvet splash
Only u and I can under
Only u can understand
The sunlight draws a picture
Through the silky lace that hangs above your
Hangs above your door
A picture that is waving
That is seems to be with every thrust
U make me beg for more
A robin sings a masterpiece
That lives and dies unheard
For screams of passion
A sound produced by two in love (oh, two in love)
Curtains dance and autumn plays on (and on and on)
The screams of passion
All I hear in my [head/hair]
Echoing like a volcano baby
The screams of passion
Back and forth the raging seas of lust
I want u madly
Cant u tell, cant u tell
Cant u tell, cant u tell, ow!
Take me in your arms, oh baby
The crime is done
Id rather die here in your
Screams of passion (woah, hold me now, baby)
Tell me that u [want/love] me (tell me that u [want/love] me)
Is it sunday or is it passion?
The screams of passion (the screams of passion, yeah)
The screams of... the screams of...
The screams of passion (passion)
Yeah! (shhh, not so loud, baby)
Yeah! (shhh, shhh)
The screams of passion
The screams of passion
The screams of passion
The screams of... the screams of...

[...] Read more

song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Cōforte of Louers

The prohemye.

The gentyll poetes/vnder cloudy fygures
Do touche a trouth/and clokeit subtylly
Harde is to cōstrue poetycall scryptures
They are so fayned/& made sētēcyously
For som do wryte of loue by fables pryuely
Some do endyte/vpon good moralyte
Of chyualrous actes/done in antyquyte
Whose fables and storyes ben pastymes pleasaunt
To lordes and ladyes/as is theyr lykynge
Dyuers to moralyte/ben oft attendaunt
And many delyte to rede of louynge
Youth loueth aduenture/pleasure and lykynge
Aege foloweth polycy/sadnesse and prudence
Thus they do dyffre/eche in experyence
I lytell or nought/experte in this scyence
Compyle suche bokes/to deuoyde ydlenes
Besechynge the reders/with all my delygence
Where as I offende/for to correct doubtles
Submyttynge me to theyr grete gentylnes
As none hystoryagraffe/nor poete laureate
But gladly wolde folowe/the makynge of Lydgate
Fyrst noble Gower/moralytees dyde endyte
And after hym Cauncers/grete bokes delectable
Lyke a good phylozophre/meruaylously dyde wryte
After them Lydgate/the monke commendable
Made many wonderfull bokes moche profytable
But syth the are deed/& theyr bodyes layde in chest
I pray to god to gyue theyr soules good rest

Finis prohemii.

Whan fayre was phebus/w&supere; his bemes bryght
Amyddes of gemyny/aloft the fyrmament
Without blacke cloudes/castynge his pured lyght
With sorowe opprest/and grete incombrement
Remembrynge well/my lady excellent
Saynge o fortune helpe me to preuayle
For thou knowest all my paynfull trauayle
I went than musynge/in a medowe grene
Myselfe alone/amonge the floures in dede
With god aboue/the futertens is sene
To god I sayd/thou mayst my mater spede
And me rewarde/accordynge to my mede
Thou knowest the trouthe/I am to the true
Whan that thou lyst/thou mayst them all subdue
Who dyde preserue the yonge edyppus
Whiche sholde haue be slayne by calculacyon
To deuoyde grete thynges/the story sheweth vs

[...] Read more

poem by Stephen Hawes
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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)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Seagulls Screamed in the Sky Above (Do Not Stand Under This Poem)

The seagulls screamed in the sky above
seagulls screamed in the sky above The
screamed in the sky above The seagulls
in the sky above The seagulls screamed
the sky above The seagulls screamed in
sky above The seagulls screamed in the
above The seagulls screamed in the sky
Thanks, I wondered what that racket was.

The seagulls screamed in the sky above
The seagulls screamed in the sky
The seagulls screamed in the
The seagulls screamed in
The seagulls screamed
The seagulls
The
Thanks, I wondered what that racket was.
above
sky above
the sky above
in the sky above
screamed in the sky above
seagulls screamed in the sky above
The seagulls screamed in the sky above
Thanks, I wondered what that racket was.

I wondered what that racket was. Thanks,
wondered what that racket was. Thanks, I
what that racket was. Thanks, I wondered
that racket was. Thanks, I wondered what
racket was. Thanks, I wondered what that
was. Thanks, I wondered what that racket
Thanks, I wondered what that racket was.
The seagulls screamed in the sky above

poem by Sean Joyce
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The seagulls screamed in the sky above (Do not stand under this poem)

The seagulls screamed in the sky above
seagulls screamed in the sky above The
screamed in the sky above The seagulls
in the sky above The seagulls screamed
the sky above The seagulls screamed in
sky above The seagulls screamed in the
above The seagulls screamed in the sky
Thanks, I wondered what that racket was.

The seagulls screamed in the sky above
The seagulls screamed in the sky
The seagulls screamed in the
The seagulls screamed in
The seagulls screamed
The seagulls
The
Thanks, I wondered what that racket was.
above
sky above
the sky above
in the sky above
screamed in the sky above
seagulls screamed in the sky above
The seagulls screamed in the sky above
Thanks, I wondered what that racket was.

I wondered what that racket was. Thanks,
wondered what that racket was. Thanks, I
what that racket was. Thanks, I wondered
that racket was. Thanks, I wondered what
racket was. Thanks, I wondered what that
was. Thanks, I wondered what that racket
Thanks, I wondered what that racket was.
The seagulls screamed in the sky above

poem by Sean Joyce
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Hush

I got a certan little girl shes on my mind
No doubt about it she looks so fine
Shes the best girl that I ever had
Sometimes shes gonna make me feel so bad
Hush, hush
I thought I heard her calling my name now
Hush, hush
She broke my heart but I love her just the same now
Hush, hush
Thought I heard her calling my name now
Hush, hush
I need her loving and Im not to blame now
(love, love)
They got it early in the morning
(love, love)
They got it late in the evening
(love, love)
Well, I want that, need it
(love, love)
Oh, I gotta gotta have it
Shes got loving like quicksand
Only took one touch of her hand
To blow my mind and Im in so deep
That I cant eat and I cant sleep
Listen
Hush, hush
Thought I heard her calling my name now
Hush, hush
She broke my heart but I love her just the same now
Hush, hush
Thought I heard her calling my name now
Hush, hush
I need her loving and Im not to blame now
(love, love)
They got it early in the morning
(love, love)
They got it late in the evening
(love, love)
Well, I want that, need it
(love, love)
Oh, I gotta gotta have it

song performed by Deep Purple
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hsh

Na na na naa...na na naa na naa...
Na na na naa...na na naa na naa...
Well I got a silly little girl, she's on my mind
Look at her, she looks so fine
She's a best girl I've ever had
Except that she's gonna make me feel so sad
Na na na naa...na na naa na naa...
Na na na naa...na na naa na naa...
Hush, hush...I thought heard you're calling my name now
Hush, hush...you broke my heart but that was a dream now
Hush, hush...I thought I heard you're calling my name now
Hush, hush...you broke my heart but that was a dream now
Early in the morning, late in the evening
Oh gotta believe me honey, I never was a dreamer
Hush, hush...I thought heard you're calling my name now
Hush, hush...you broke my heart but that was a dream now
Hush, hush...I thought I heard you're calling my name now
Hush, hush...you broke my heart but that was a dream now
Early in the morning, late in the evening
ohhh yeah...
Na na na naa na na naa na naaa...
Na na na naa na na naa na naaa...
Naaaaa naa naa naaaaa naa naa naaaaa naa naa naaaaaaa

song performed by Kula Shaker
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hush-a-bye Hard Times

Many years you have lingered around my cabin door
Oh hard times come again no more
Oh hard times come again no more
Oh hush a bye hard times, go ye away
Cause my hungry baby wants a gingerbread cake
Not a cow in the barn yard no money to spend
Not an egg in the hayloft, no little red hen
Chorus:
So, hush a bye baby dont cry no more
Your mama cant give you what youre crying for
Theres a wolf at the door with an angry
Cold hungry stare, he keeps howling of hard times
And the cupboard is bare
Oh, hush a bye hard times go ye to rest
Cause my ragged baby wants a new ruffled dress
And she wants some new shoes with buckles to wear
And she wants some silver bows for her golden hair
Repeat chorus twice
Hush a bye hard times go ye away
I dont intend to be treated this way
So, hush a bye baby
Hush a bye hard times
Hush a bye baby
Dont cry no more
Hush a bye hard times
Hush a bye baby
Hush a bye hard times
Come ye no more
Fade:
Many years you have lingered around my cabin door
Hush a bye hard times
Come ye no more
Hush a bye baby
Hush a bye hard times
Hush a bye baby
Dont cry no more
Hush a bye hard times
Hush a bye baby
Hush a bye hard times
Come ye no more

song performed by Dolly Parton
Added by Lucian Velea
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O Hush Thee, - Though Maybe parody Sir Walter Scott - Lullaby on an Infant Chief

O Hush Thee, - Though Maybe...

O hush thee, though maybe desires in the night
for [s]mothering lady, lewd, lovely and tight,
would make you less lonely, sweet dreams would flow free,
they’d all tell of longings precocious in thee!

O flush not the toilet for loudly it blows,
awaking the warders who guard thy repose,
their belts they’d unbuckle, bare bottoms be red,
should any young lady draw near to your bed.

Don’t blush for, sweet baby, the time may soon come
when thy sleep shall be broken by bosom and bum,
then hush thee, my darling, fake rest while you may,
till a wife takes your manhood, - then rake every day!

25 April 1990 Parody Sir Walter SCOTT – Lullaby for an Infant Chief

O Hush Thee, My Baby - Parody Sir Walter Scott


O hush thee, my baby, thy sire was a Chimp,
his ancestor’s mother amoeba or shrimp,
the woods and the glens you see, once under sea,
all bear silent witness to thy history.

Fear not evolution, for progress revolves
around its lost secrets ‘til scientist solves
how toes, once extended prehensile, could free
Mankind for steps taken to end up with thee!

Soon brain implantations shall banish revolt,
dispensing with thoughts non-conformist with jolt
shocks of a nature to well guarantee
subservience set in tag RFID.

Yet brain stimulation through radio waves
may set the ball rolling for much mankind craves
as areas, dormant, awake for fresh free
with flash telepathic advancing on key.

Know privacy, freedoms, most must sacrifice
in the name of the fight for what’s Right versa vice, -
and verses like this may to posterity
be unknown in a world were none dare disagree.

‘O, hush thee, my baby, take rest while I croon,
for ‘Progress’ comes early, and Freedom too soon’
may with some liberal economy

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Flight of the Duchess

I

You're my friend:
I was the man the Duke spoke to;
I helped the Duchess to cast off his yoke, too;
So here's the tale from beginning to end,
My friend!

II

Ours is a great wild country:
If you climb to our castle's top,
I don't see where your eye can stop;
For when you've passed the cornfield country,
Where vineyards leave off, flocks are packed,
And sheep-range leads to cattle-tract,
And cattle-tract to open-chase,
And open-chase to the very base
Of the mountain where, at a funeral pace,
Round about, solemn and slow,
One by one, row after row,
Up and up the pine-trees go,
So, like black priests up, and so
Down the other side again
To another greater, wilder country,
That's one vast red drear burnt-up plain,
Branched through and through with many a vein
Whence iron's dug, and copper's dealt;
Look right, look left, look straight before—
Beneath they mine, above they smelt,
Copper-ore and iron-ore,
And forge and furnace mould and melt,
And so on, more and ever more,
Till at the last, for a bounding belt,
Comes the salt sand hoar of the great sea shore
—And the whole is our Duke's country.

III

I was born the day this present Duke was—
(And O, says the song, ere I was old!)
In the castle where the other Duke was—
(When I was happy and young, not old!)
I in the kennel, he in the bower:
We are of like age to an hour.
My father was huntsman in that day;
Who has not heard my father say
That, when a boar was brought to bay,

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poem by Robert Browning from Dramatic Romances and Lyrics (1845)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Flight Of The Duchess, The

I.

You're my friend:
I was the man the Duke spoke to;
I helped the Duchess to cast off his yoke, too;
So here's the tale from beginning to end,
My friend!

II.

Ours is a great wild country:
If you climb to our castle's top,
I don't see where your eye can stop;
For when you've passed the cornfield country,
Where vineyards leave off, flocks are packed,
And sheep-range leads to cattle-tract,
And cattle-tract to open-chase,
And open-chase to the very base
Of the mountain where, at a funeral pace,
Round about, solemn and slow,
One by one, row after row,
Up and up the pine-trees go,
So, like black priests up, and so
Down the other side again
To another greater, wilder country,
That's one vast red drear burnt-up plain,
Branched through and through with many a vein
Whence iron's dug, and copper's dealt;
Look right, look left, look straight before,---
Beneath they mine, above they smelt,
Copper-ore and iron-ore,
And forge and furnace mould and melt,
And so on, more and ever more,
Till at the last, for a bounding belt,
Comes the salt sand hoar of the great sea-shore,
---And the whole is our Duke's country.

III.

I was born the day this present Duke was---
(And O, says the song, ere I was old!)
In the castle where the other Duke was---
(When I was happy and young, not old!)
I in the kennel, he in the bower:
We are of like age to an hour.
My father was huntsman in that day;
Who has not heard my father say
That, when a boar was brought to bay,
Three times, four times out of five,
With his huntspear he'd contrive

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poem by Robert Browning
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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

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poem by John Keats
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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,

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poem by Robinson Jeffers
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