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You've Done That Already To Yourself

You told others I attacked you,
With abusive language.
You also suggested...
My tone of voice was not what you liked.

And I've taken everything I've heard,
Into consideration.
And I have come to apologize.
With the understanding I am so wrong.

'So
You're not angry with me for not paying you back,
The two hundred dollars I said I would pay you...
More than three months ago? '

No!
Not at all.
In fact
I want you to forget about that.
And every favor I have ever done for you.
At the expense of my own sacrificing done.

'WHY?
What are you going to do to me? '

Why would I want to do anything to you?
You've done that already to yourself.
I've just come to extend and express,
My condolences.
That's all.

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What Have I Done To Deserve This?

(lowe/willis/tennant)
------------------------------------
You always wanted a lover
I only wanted a job
Ive always worked for my living
How am I gonna get through?
How am I gonna get through?
I come here looking for money
(got to have it)
And end up living with love, oh, oh
Now you left me with nothing
(cant take it)
How am I gonna get through?
How am I gonna get through?
I bought you drinks, I brought you flowers
I read you books and talked for hours
Every day, so many drinks
Such pretty flowers, so tell me
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
What have i, what have i, what have I ...
Since you went away Ive been hanging around
Ive been wondering why Im feeling down
You went away, it should make me feel better
But I dont know, oh
How Im gonna get through?
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
How Im gonna get through?
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
You always wanted me to be something I wasnt
You always wanted too much, oh, oh
Now I can do what I want to - forever
How am I gonna get through?
How am I gonna get through?
At night, the people come and go
They talk too fast, and walk too slow
Chasing time from hour to hour
I pour the drinks and crush the flowers
What have i, what have I done to deserve this?
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
What have i, what have i, what have I ...
Since you went away Ive been hanging around
Ive been wondering why Im feeling down
You went away, it should make me feel better
But I dont know, oh
How Im gonna get through? (baby)
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
How Im gonna get through? (baby)
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
How Im gonna get through? (baby)
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
How Im gonna get through? (tell me)
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
How Im gonna get through? (baby)
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
How Im gonna get through? (yeah)
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
Gonna get through?
Gonna get through?
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
Im gonna get through, right?
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
We dont have to fall apart, we dont have to fight
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
We dont need to go to hell and back every night
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
You never ever left me, baby, think of me...
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
Oh, babe
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
We dont have to fall apart, we dont have to fight
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
We dont need to go to hell and back every night
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
Gonna get through, baby, Im gonna get
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
Forever
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
Gonna get through, baby, yeah,
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
Gonna get through, get through, baby, ooh
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?

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What Have I Done To Deserve This

(tennant / lowe / willis)
Duet with the pet shop boys
Indentation as follows :
Neil tennant singing
Dusty singing
Both singing
You always wanted a lover
I only wanted a job
Ive always worked for a living
Howm I gonna get through?
Howm I gonna get through?
I come here looking for money
Got to have it
And end up living with love, oh, oh
Now you left me with nothing
Cant take it
Howm I gonna get through?
Howm I gonna get through?
I bought you drinks, I brought you flowers
I read you books and talked for hours
Every day, so many drinks
Such pretty flowers, so tell me
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
What have i, what have i, what have I ...
Since you went away Ive been hanging around
Ive been wondering why Im feeling down
You went away, it should make me feel better
But I dont know, oh
How Im gonna get through?
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
How Im gonna get through?
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
You always wanted me to be something I wasnt
You always wanted too much, oh, oh
Now I can do what I want to - forever
How am I gonna get through?
How am I gonna get through?
At night, the people come and go
They talk too fast, and walk too slow
Chasing time from hour to hour
I pour the drinks and crush the flowers
What have i, what have I done to deserve this?
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
What have i, what have i, what have I ...
Since you went away Ive been hanging around
Ive been wondering why Im feeling down
You went away, it should make me feel better
But I dont know, oh
How Im gonna get through? , baby
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
How Im gonna get through? , baby
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
How Im gonna get through? , baby
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
How Im gonna get through? , tell me
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
How Im gonna get through? , baby
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
How Im gonna get through? , ah-ah-ha
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
How Im gonna get through?
How Im gonna get through?
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
Im gonna get through, baby
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
We dont have to fall apart, we dont have to fight
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
We dont need to go to hell and back every night
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
You never ever left me, baby, think of me...
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
Oh, babe
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
We dont have to fall apart, we dont have to fight
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
We dont need to go to hell and back every night
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
Gonna get through, baby, Im gonna get
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
Forever
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
Gonna get through, baby, yeah,
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?
Gonna get through, get through, baby, ooh
What have i, what have i, what have I done to deserve this?

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The People Wanted to Feel Invited

A tone of voice was not accepted.
Because of the rawness of the message delivered.
And the context of it was ignored.
As has been done a countless number of times before.
Those listening to the messenger...
Preferred to receive information that poisoned,
With sweeteners...
Initialed and italicized.
And personally handed to them before consumption.
The people wanted to feel invited.
More involved in their own demise.
Although this was not cost effective...
The compliance to their wishes was applied.
As the messengers stood aside,
To observe those ignorant...
Delight in the process of their 'digestable' genocide!

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What Have I Done For You

What have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Round the world on your bugles blown!

Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Down the years on your bugles blown?

Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:-
'Take and break us: we are yours,
'England, my own!
'Life is good, and joy runs high
'Between English earth and sky:
'Death is death; but we shall die
'To the Song on your bugles blown,
'England -
'To the stars on your bugles blown!

They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!

Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!

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Come and sit with me for a whil and you'll see

come sit with me for a while.
And then you can see the real me.
But then you'll see my horrible world.
Come be a shadow on the wall.
Be invisible and sit with me.

Will You see how I cry for my gran.
Will you see how I torture myself for that last agument.
Will you see how abusers have messed my head.

You will see my cry.
Come sit with me for a while.
I'll welcome you in to my quiet world.
A world of lonnliness and dispair.

But if you did come sit with me for a while'
Would you like the ral me?
The one that mkaes herself bleed.

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Most Likely You Go Your Way And I'll Go Mine

You say you love me and you thinking of me
But you know you could be wrong
You say you told me that you want to hold me
But you know you're not that strong
I just can't do what I done before
I just can't beg you anymore
I'm just gonna let you pass
I'm gonna last
'Cause time will tell just who has fell
And who's been left behind
When you go your way and I go mine
You say you disturb me and you don't deserve me
But you know sometimes you lie
You say you're breaking and you're always aching
But you know how hard you try
Sometimes it gets so hard to care
You just can't be this way everywhere
I'm gonna let you pass
Well the judge he holds a grudge
He's gonna call on you
But he's badly built and he walks on stilts
Watch out he don't fall on you
You say you're sorry for telling stories
That you know I believe are true
You say you got some other kind of lover
And I guess I believe you do
You say my kisses aren't like his
This time I ain't gonna tell you why that is
I'm just gonna let you pass

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You Are 'Never' Going To Change

Here it comes, again.
That same denial I make attempts to forget.
The same one about my missing someone loved.
Someone I am trying my best not to admit.

Why me?
Why can't you just leave me alone,
And be about your own business.
Here I sit alone for a few minutes.
With the thought of this on my mind.
And then I believe from me those feelings go.

And then when I 'think' the coast is clear.
Those feelings come again.
They without notice re-appear.

So I pick up the telephone.
Blocking out my number before I dial.
Knowing those feelings once had in me are gone.
To announce very quickly to 'whoever' answers...
That the number I dialed was wrong.

Why me?
I find I am asking myself this,
Constantly.

Here it comes, again.
That same denial I make attempts to forget.
The same one about my missing someone loved.
Someone I am trying my best not to admit.

So I pick up the telephone.
Blocking out my number out before I dial.
Knowing those feelings once had in me are gone.
To announce very quickly,
The number I dialed was wrong.

'Why can't you just leave me alone? '

Excuse me?
Didn't you here me say...
I dialed a wrong number?
You are 'never' going to change!

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You Feel That The World Is Against You

You feel that the World is against you and nothing for you is going right
And you struggle just for to make ends meet and life is a hard uphill fight
But than you there are far worse off people though you do not see things that way
In Rwanda a Country in Africa teenagers to support their families work today.

Their parents by war taken from them and the eldest members of the family
Must work for to support their younger siblings they only know of poverty
In our society you may seem a poor man but poverty one can compare
And in the eyes of a Rwandan you would be a multi billionaire.

On five hundred dollars a week take home pay you support your two young children and your wife
As well as buy food, pay bills and the mortgage you do know about the hard life
In this Land they call you a battler you struggle just for to get by
Though the millions of battlers of Rwanda would say that the good life you enjoy.

You feel the whole World is against you a poor fellow on a poor street
But your fridge of food never empty and you and your family
have plenty to eat
And the hungry poor of Rwanda with you only would disagree
They would see you as a wealthy person for they know of extreme poverty

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The Grave that I Dug for You!

It was three o'clock in the morning
On the final day of spring,
I was stuck in a hole in the graveyard
Of Saint Matthews, Nether Ling,
I like to dig them at nightfall when
The folk are home, in bed,
Not wandering round the churchyard
Making a racket, waking the dead!

It's creepy enough as it is, whenever
The Moon sails over the church,
And shines its beams on the headstones
Of Jack Dervish, or Bill Burch,
Of mad old Widow Maloney, who,
The stories do abound,
Was carried kicking and screaming
In her coffin, and put in the ground.

My job is a labour of love, I've lived
In this village, all my life,
I know each one who lives here, every
Mistress, husband and wife,
Whenever I dig a grave, I know
Exactly who it's for,
And shed the bitter, parting tear
For the ones who go before.

I've even dug for my own, my
Darling mother, and my dad,
They left on that last long journey when
I was but still a lad,
The Vicar made me the Sexton, so
That I could earn my keep,
Living alone in the cottage, ghosts
Would haunt me in my sleep.

I often manage an extra grave,
That I dig by the iron fence,
All overhung with the creepers, that
I buy, for Peter's Pence,
They're there for the poor and needy who
Can't manage a burial fee,
So I carry the bodies at midnight, drop
Them in, all buried for free!

I always attend the services,
And stand right up at the back,
And that's where I first saw Caroline,
My love, my Caroline Black,
She went to her brother's funeral
With veil, and covered in lace,
But the wind blew up as she left, and then
I saw sweet Caroline's face.

I fell; I saw and was smitten,
She had given me half a smile,
I felt so bold as to ask her if
I could walk with her, for a while.
We went some way, she held my hand
And she looked me, square in the eye,
What would you say if I told you that
My mother's about to die? '

It seemed that her mother had cancer,
So she told me, with a tear,
They'd told her mother three months ago
She wouldn't live out the year,
She lived way up on the hillside there
In the mansion called ‘Beau Clair',
I thought that she must have money
But she said - ‘The cupboard is bare! '

The money they'd paid for the funeral
Of her brother had been the last,
Her father had gone some years ago,
And had left them little cash,
‘How will I bury my mother, ' Caroline
Cried, as women will do,
‘Now don't you fret, ' I assured her,
I have a grave I've dug for you! '

The mother died the following week,
The doctor had thought it strange,
He'd given the mother a bill of health
To last to a ripe old age,
The coroner was quite upset
When he found how the woman died,
It seemed the autopsy findings showed
Her full of insecticide.

The brother was raised at once, I know,
I dug him up in the night,
Surrounded by Sheriff's officers
Who carried a lantern light,
They found the same insecticide
Had seeped right into his bones,
And Caroline went on trial that day
In spite of her sobs, and moans.

I saw her once, right after the trial
When the judge put on his hat,
That little black square of portent
That had sentenced Caroline Black.
He'd said: ‘You shall be hanged by the neck,
Pray God for your soul to save,
Your crimes are the crimes of parricide,
They will follow you, into the grave! '

They let me into the holding cell
As she waited to be sent down,
So pale and brave now the deed was done
Though she kept her eyes on the ground.
‘If only…' I had begun to say,
But she stayed me: ‘What can you do? '
I can keep you warm, and comfortable,
In the grave that I dug for you! '

9 September 2012

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The Expense Others Have To Pay

I know you perceive me to be against your kept delusions.
I am not.
What I am against is the expense others have to pay,
To keep your point of view fantasized.
And so far what has been tried over and over again,
Is an obvious waste of valuable time...
With a funding of them that has reached its end.

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What have I done, dear, to you....

I feel and ask myself, my love!
What have I done, dear, to you....

Whenever she quarrels frequently
and finds fault with me unnecessarily,
I used to ask myself, 'What have
I done, dear, to you?

Now I understand, 'she thinks that
my love and me are unnecessary'!
What have I done, dear, to you....

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Will I Ever Write The Poem That Will Take You Away Into Another Higher World Within Yourself?

WILL I EVER WRITE THE POEM THAT WILL TAKE YOU AWAY INTO ANOTHER HIGHER WORLD WITHIN YOURSELF?

Will I ever write the poem that will take you away
Into another higher world within yourself?
That will move you into feeling the beauty of life
The long deep beauty that lifts the soul beyond itself
That makes you want to live and live more and more?

Will I ever write the poem that makes the music you are
Go beyond any feeling you have ever known
In ecstasy at your life for whatever it is in its own inner song?

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Don't Make Me Come Over There And Love You

Don't make me come over there and love you I'd be beside you in a single bound.
Don't make me come over there and love you, 'cause I will, right now
I don't need any explanation for why I crave all your honey talk.
Don't make me come over there and love you, 'cause it's a short walk.
You better tone down your persuasion. Start behavin', before I go and fall apart.
My heart's been on a long vacation, but now it's beatin like a cha-cha-cha.
Don't make me come over there and love you, 'cause I will, right now.
(Music Break)
You better tone down your persuasion. Start behavin', before I go and fall apart.
Don't make me come over there and love you, because it's lookin' like a perfect spot.
Don't make me come over there and love you and give all I got.
Don't make me come over there and love you, 'cause I will, right now,
yes, I will, right now.
Don't make me come over there and love you

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I was not born because you died

I was not born because you died
And I'm not the dawn
because you wanted to be the twilight
And I'm not a stone statue
You keep circling about
The way the mist spins around a treetop
Because a treetop is the map without a city
You are looking for
Each bough leads back to its root
In watered shadows foretold
Because a treetop is a barren autumn lightning
Burning the skylinks of earth hooks pinned on leaves
Except that the treetop it wants to stay and grow
Don't think I've got leaves because you pruned me
Or that the green is the colour of an ever life

I was not born because you died
And I'm not the light because you chose your dark
And I'm not the hope because you leave things hopeless
I'm neither your failure nor your success
And you cannot teach me because you know it all
Because you know better than that
Because there's no knowledge except for the heart
Eager to love and not play on oppositions
Spitting everybody's ‘but' flaws difference rising

I was not born because you died
I don't owe you anything
And my life I owe to Love
That will embrace us both

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Have You Ever Done That Before?

Your 'things' do not make you a better human being.
You may believe they establish you a status.
But there is something that can be said about pretense...
That leaves those hungering to spend their time,
With people who express a common sense...
From thought producing minds.

It is a rarity to find folks,
Who have not been tainted or provoked...
By teased materialistic dreams.
Or the kind of people who become identified...
By where they live and what they drive.
Living a quality of life that seems delightfully contrived.
Yet inside of them there is a frightful hollowness...
That is silently screamed,
And quietly demeaning them.

Your 'things' do not make you a better human being.
And their absence,
Also has not revealed you possess an integrity.

With your identity gone packed away with your 'things'...
And no integrity left you can display or bring,
What is it that you claim you can give to offer?
Superficiality?
Okay...
And,
What else do you have besides that?

Do you have anything we can chew on that's concrete?
How about a conversation we all can contribute.
Have you ever done that before?
Had you considered comprehending after listening,
To complete sentences...
Delivered to your assuming ears.

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I will always be the other girl and friend, but truely nothing more

call me crazy,
i just can't shake the facts,
what are we so afraid of?
we admit our lover for each other,
when we met up again,
when we found each other,
all i knew was you were single,
than three months of consent talking,
you have a girl you want to marry,

did i read the facts wrong?
i was the girl you would call,
late at night to talk and laugh,
you asked for my opinion,
and i often gave it,
don't get me wrong,
the girl you with is alot better,
than the other girls,
you've been with in the past,
but why did you drag me along for the ride?
and gave me hope,
that one day we will be together?

just like you always told me,
when we were kids,
but that all i'm here for,
to be taken on a ride,
that don't really include us,
it always included just you,

i get we no longer kids,
but if you truely cared about me,
like you said,
why try to get me jealous of what you have?
you did it when we were kids growing up,
and you doing it now,
if you knew i had a crush on you,
and we opened up how we felt about each other,
why did you not be honest about the other girl?
i knew there were others,
but you changed girls like seasons,
none you were serious with,
but out of the blue,
this is the girl you want to marry?

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What Have They Done To You

Written by james young and tommy shaw
Lead vocals by james young and tommy shaw
There must be something out there,
There must be something real
Well this mysterys a nightmare
And I dont know what to feel
Well I heard you had a hell of a time there
I guess it chilled you down to the bone
If theres one thing I can tell you
Itll never leave you less than alone
In spite of everything you told me
In spite of everything Ive heard
Theres nothing here that I call holy
Not a solitary word
Could you tell me what its like on the outside
Were you really lost and out of control
Were you reaching for your freedom
When the gatekeeper called for the toll
Oh-oh, what have they done to you
Where, where have you gone
Oh-oh, I wanna run to you
In spite of what youre saying
I still cant let you go
Well they say you witnessed some kind of lefe there
Was it something real or nothing at all
Or is your imagination all thats there to catch you
If you start to fall
Oh-oh, what have they done to you
Where, where have you gone
Oh-oh I wanna run to you
In spite of what youre saying
I still cant let you go
Oh-oh, what have they done to you
Where, where have you gone
Oh-oh I wanna run to you
In spite of what youre saying
I still cant let you go
What have they done to you

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Poem For The Two Hundred And Fiftieth Anniversary Of The Founding Of Harvard College

TWICE had the mellowing sun of autumn crowned
The hundredth circle of his yearly round,
When, as we meet to-day, our fathers met:
That joyous gathering who can e'er forget,
When Harvard's nurslings, scattered far and wide,
Through mart and village, lake's and ocean's side,
Came, with one impulse, one fraternal throng,
And crowned the hours with banquet, speech, and song?

Once more revived in fancy's magic glass,
I see in state the long procession pass
Tall, courtly, leader as by right divine,
Winthrop, our Winthrop, rules the marshalled line,
Still seen in front, as on that far-off day
His ribboned baton showed the column's way.
Not all are gone who marched in manly pride
And waved their truncheons at their leader's side;
Gray, Lowell, Dixwell, who his empire shared,
These to be with us envious Time has spared.

Few are the faces, so familiar then,
Our eyes still meet amid the haunts of men;
Scarce one of all the living gathered there,
Whose unthinned locks betrayed a silver hair,
Greets us to-day, and yet we seem the same
As our own sires and grandsires, save in name.
There are the patriarchs, looking vaguely round
For classmates' faces, hardly known if found;
See the cold brow that rules the busy mart;
Close at its side the pallid son of art,
Whose purchased skill with borrowed meaning clothes,
And stolen hues, the smirking face he loathes.
Here is the patient scholar; in his looks
You read the titles of his learned books;
What classic lore those spidery crow's-feet speak!
What problems figure on that wrinkled cheek!
For never thought but left its stiffened trace,
Its fossil footprint, on the plastic face,
As the swift record of a raindrop stands,
Fixed on the tablet of the hardening sands.
On every face as on the written page
Each year renews the autograph of age;
One trait alone may wasting years defy,--
The fire still lingering in the poet's eye,
While Hope, the siren, sings her sweetest strain,--
_Non omnis moriar_ is its proud refrain.

Sadly we gaze upon the vacant chair;
He who should claim its honors is not there,--
Otis, whose lips the listening crowd enthrall
That press and pack the floor of Boston's hall.
But Kirkland smiles, released from toil and care
Since the silk mantle younger shoulders wear,--
Quincy's, whose spirit breathes the selfsame fire
That filled the bosom of his youthful sire,
Who for the altar bore the kindled torch
To freedom's temple, dying in its porch.

Three grave professions in their sons appear,
Whose words well studied all well pleased will hear
Palfrey, ordained in varied walks to shine,
Statesman, historian, critic, and divine;
Solid and square behold majestic Shaw,
A mass of wisdom and a mine of law;
Warren, whose arm the doughtiest warriors fear,
Asks of the startled crowd to lend its ear,--
Proud of his calling, him the world loves best,
Not as the coming, but the parting guest.

Look on that form,--with eye dilating scan
The stately mould of nature's kingliest man!
Tower-like he stands in life's unfaded prime;
Ask you his name? None asks a second time
He from the land his outward semblance takes,
Where storm-swept mountains watch o'er slumbering lakes.
See in the impress which the body wears
How its imperial might the soul declares
The forehead's large expansion, lofty, wide,
That locks unsilvered vainly strive to hide;
The lines of thought that plough the sober cheek;
Lips that betray their wisdom ere they speak
In tones like answers from Dodona's grove;
An eye like Juno's when she frowns on Jove.
I look and wonder; will he be content--
This man, this monarch, for the purple meant--
The meaner duties of his tribe to share,
Clad in the garb that common mortals wear?
Ah, wild Ambition, spread thy restless wings,
Beneath whose plumes the hidden cestrum stings;

Thou whose bold flight would leave earth's vulgar crowds,
And like the eagle soar above the clouds,
Must feel the pang that fallen angels know
When the red lightning strikes thee from below!

Less bronze, more silver, mingles in the mould
Of him whom next my roving eyes behold;
His, more the scholar's than the statesman's face,
Proclaims him born of academic race.
Weary his look, as if an aching brain
Left on his brow the frozen prints of pain;
His voice far-reaching, grave, sonorous, owns
A shade of sadness in its plaintive tones,
Yet when its breath some loftier thought inspires
Glows with a heat that every bosom fires.
Such Everett seems; no chance-sown wild flower knows
The full-blown charms of culture's double rose,--
Alas, how soon, by death's unsparing frost,
Its bloom is faded and its fragrance lost!

Two voices, only two, to earth belong,
Of all whose accents met the listening throng:
Winthrop, alike for speech and guidance framed,
On that proud day a twofold duty claimed;
One other yet,--remembered or forgot,--
Forgive my silence if I name him not.
Can I believe it? I, whose youthful voice
Claimed a brief gamut,--notes not over choice,
Stood undismayed before the solemn throng,
And _propria voce_ sung that saucy song
Which even in memory turns my soul aghast,--
_Felix audacia_ was the verdict cast.

What were the glory of these festal days
Shorn of their grand illumination's blaze?
Night comes at last with all her starry train
To find a light in every glittering pane.
From 'Harvard's' windows see the sudden flash,--
Old 'Massachusetts' glares through every sash;
From wall to wall the kindling splendors run
Till all is glorious as the noonday sun.

How to the scholar's mind each object brings
What some historian tells, some poet sings!
The good gray teacher whom we all revered--
Loved, honored, laughed at, and by freshmen feared,
As from old 'Harvard,' where its light began,
From hall to hall the clustering splendors ran--
Took down his well-worn Eschylus and read,
Lit by the rays a thousand tapers shed,
How the swift herald crossed the leagues between
Mycenae's monarch and his faithless queen;
And thus he read,--my verse but ill displays
The Attic picture, clad in modern phrase.

On Ida's summit flames the kindling pile,
And Lemnos answers from his rocky isle;
From Athos next it climbs the reddening skies,
Thence where the watch-towers of Macistus rise.
The sentries of Mesapius in their turn
Bid the dry heath in high piled masses burn,
Cithoeron's crag the crimson billows stain,
Far AEgiplanctus joins the fiery train.
Thus the swift courier through the pathless night
Has gained at length the Arachnoean height,
Whence the glad tidings, borne on wings offlame,
'Ilium has fallen!' reach the royal dame.

So ends the day; before the midnight stroke
The lights expiring cloud the air with smoke;
While these the toil of younger hands employ,
The slumbering Grecian dreams of smouldering Troy.

As to that hour with backward steps I turn,
Midway I pause; behold a funeral urn!
Ah, sad memorial! known but all too well
The tale which thus its golden letters tell:

This dust, once breathing, changed its joyous life
For toil and hunger, wounds and mortal strife;
Love, friendship, learning's all prevailing charms,
For the cold bivouac and the clash of arms.
The cause of freedom won, a race enslaved
Called back to manhood, and a nation saved,
These sons of Harvard, falling ere their prime,
Leave their proud memory to the coming time.

While in their still retreats our scholars turn
The mildewed pages of the past, to learn
With endless labor of the sleepless brain
What once has been and ne'er shall be again,
We reap the harvest of their ceaseless toil
And find a fragrance in their midnight oil.
But let a purblind mortal dare the task
The embryo future of itself to ask,
The world reminds him, with a scornful laugh,
That times have changed since Prospero broke his staff.
Could all the wisdom of the schools foretell
The dismal hour when Lisbon shook and fell,
Or name the shuddering night that toppled down
Our sister's pride, beneath whose mural crown
Scarce had the scowl forgot its angry lines,
When earth's blind prisoners fired their fatal mines?

New realms, new worlds, exulting Science claims,
Still the dim future unexplored remains;
Her trembling scales the far-off planet weigh,
Her torturing prisms its elements betray,--
We know what ores the fires of Sirius melt,
What vaporous metals gild Orion's belt;
Angels, archangels, may have yet to learn
Those hidden truths our heaven-taught eyes discern;
Yet vain is Knowledge, with her mystic wand,
To pierce the cloudy screen and read beyond;
Once to the silent stars the fates were known,
To us they tell no secrets but their own.

At Israel's altar still we humbly bow,
But where, oh where, are Israel's prophets now?
Where is the sibyl with her hoarded leaves?
Where is the charm the weird enchantress weaves?
No croaking raven turns the auspex pale,
No reeking altars tell the morrow's tale;
The measured footsteps of the Fates are dumb,
Unseen, unheard, unheralded, they come,
Prophet and priest and all their following fail.
Who then is left to rend the future's veil?
Who but the poet, he whose nicer sense
No film can baffle with its slight defence,
Whose finer vision marks the waves that stray,
Felt, but unseen, beyond the violet ray?--
Who, while the storm-wind waits its darkening shroud,
Foretells the tempest ere he sees the cloud,--
Stays not for time his secrets to reveal,
But reads his message ere he breaks the seal.
So Mantua's bard foretold the coming day
Ere Bethlehem's infant in the manger lay;
The promise trusted to a mortal tongue
Found listening ears before the angels sung.
So while his load the creeping pack-horse galled,
While inch by inch the dull canal-boat crawled,
Darwin beheld a Titan from 'afar
Drag the slow barge or drive the rapid car,'
That panting giant fed by air and flame,
The mightiest forges task their strength to tame.

Happy the poet! him no tyrant fact
Holds in its clutches to be chained and racked;
Him shall no mouldy document convict,
No stern statistics gravely contradict;
No rival sceptre threats his airy throne;
He rules o'er shadows, but he reigns alone.
Shall I the poet's broad dominion claim
Because you bid me wear his sacred name
For these few moments? Shall I boldly clash
My flint and steel, and by the sudden flash
Read the fair vision which my soul descries
Through the wide pupils of its wondering eyes?
List then awhile; the fifty years have sped;
The third full century's opened scroll is spread,
Blank to all eyes save his who dimly sees
The shadowy future told in words like these.

How strange the prospect to my sight appears,
Changed by the busy hands of fifty years!
Full well I know our ocean-salted Charles,
Filling and emptying through the sands and marls
That wall his restless stream on either bank,
Not all unlovely when the sedges rank
Lend their coarse veil the sable ooze to hide
That bares its blackness with the ebbing tide.
In other shapes to my illumined eyes
Those ragged margins of our stream arise
Through walls of stone the sparkling waters flow,
In clearer depths the golden sunsets glow,
On purer waves the lamps of midnight gleam,
That silver o'er the unpolluted stream.
Along his shores what stately temples rise,
What spires, what turrets, print the shadowed skies!
Our smiling Mother sees her broad domain
Spread its tall roofs along the western plain;
Those blazoned windows' blushing glories tell
Of grateful hearts that loved her long and well;
Yon gilded dome that glitters in the sun
Was Dives' gift,--alas, his only one!
These buttressed walls enshrine a banker's name,
That hallowed chapel hides a miser's shame;
Their wealth they left,--their memory cannot fade
Though age shall crumble every stone they laid.

Great lord of millions,--let me call thee great,
Since countless servants at thy bidding wait,--
Richesse oblige: no mortal must be blind
To all but self, or look at human kind
Laboring and suffering,--all its want and woe,--
Through sheets of crystal, as a pleasing show
That makes life happier for the chosen few
Duty for whom is something not to do.
When thy last page of life at length is filled,
What shall thine heirs to keep thy memory build?
Will piles of stone in Auburn's mournful shade
Save from neglect the spot where thou art laid?
Nay, deem not thus; the sauntering stranger's eye
Will pass unmoved thy columned tombstone by,
No memory wakened, not a teardrop shed,
Thy name uncared for and thy date unread.
But if thy record thou indeed dost prize,
Bid from the soil some stately temple rise,--
Some hall of learning, some memorial shrine,
With names long honored to associate thine:
So shall thy fame outlive thy shattered bust
When all around thee slumber in the dust.
Thus England's Henry lives in Eton's towers,
Saved from the spoil oblivion's gulf devours;
Our later records with as fair a fame
Have wreathed each uncrowned benefactor's name;
The walls they reared the memories still retain
That churchyard marbles try to keep in vain.
In vain the delving antiquary tries
To find the tomb where generous Harvard lies
Here, here, his lasting monument is found,
Where every spot is consecrated ground!
O'er Stoughton's dust the crumbling stone decays,
Fast fade its lines of lapidary praise;
There the wild bramble weaves its ragged nets,
There the dry lichen spreads its gray rosettes;
Still in yon walls his memory lives unspent,
Nor asks a braver, nobler monument.
Thus Hollis lives, and Holden, honored, praised,
And good Sir Matthew, in the halls they raised;
Thus live the worthies of these later times,
Who shine in deeds, less brilliant, grouped in rhymes.
Say, shall the Muse with faltering steps retreat,
Or dare these names in rhythmic form repeat?
Why not as boldly as from Homer's lips
The long array, of Argive battle-ships?
When o'er our graves a thousand years have past
(If to such date our threatened globe shall last)
These classic precincts, myriad feet have pressed,
Will show on high, in beauteous garlands dressed,
Those honored names that grace our later day,--
Weld, Matthews, Sever, Thayer, Austin, Gray,
Sears, Phillips, Lawrence, Hemenway,--to the list
Add Sanders, Sibley,--all the Muse has missed.

Once more I turn to read the pictured page
Bright with the promise of the coming age.
Ye unborn sons of children yet unborn,
Whose youthful eyes shall greet that far-off morn,
Blest are those eyes that all undimmed behold
The sights so longed for by the wise of old.
From high-arched alcoves, through resounding halls,
Clad in full robes majestic Science calls,
Tireless, unsleeping, still at Nature's feet,
Whate'er she utters fearless to repeat,
Her lips at last from every cramp released
That Israel's prophet caught from Egypt's priest.
I see the statesman, firm, sagacious, bold,
For life's long conflict cast in amplest mould;
Not his to clamor with the senseless throng
That shouts unshamed, 'Our party, right or wrong,'
But in the patriot's never-ending fight
To side with Truth, who changes wrong to right.
I see the scholar; in that wondrous time
Men, women, children, all can write in rhyme.
These four brief lines addressed to youth inclined
To idle rhyming in his notes I find:

Who writes in verse that should have writ in prose
Is like a traveller walking on his toes;
Happy the rhymester who in time has found
The heels he lifts were made to touch the ground.

I see gray teachers,--on their work intent,
Their lavished lives, in endless labor spent,
Had closed at last in age and penury wrecked,
Martyrs, not burned, but frozen in neglect,
Save for the generous hands that stretched in aid
Of worn-out servants left to die half paid.
Ah, many a year will pass, I thought, ere we
Such kindly forethought shall rejoice to see,--
Monarchs are mindful of the sacred debt
That cold republics hasten to forget.
I see the priest,--if such a name he bears
Who without pride his sacred vestment wears;
And while the symbols of his tribe I seek
Thus my first impulse bids me think and speak:

Let not the mitre England's prelate wears
Next to the crown whose regal pomp it shares,
Though low before it courtly Christians bow,
Leave its red mark on Younger England's brow.
We love, we honor, the maternal dame,
But let her priesthood wear a modest name,
While through the waters of the Pilgrim's bay
A new-born Mayflower shows her keels the way.
Too old grew Britain for her mother's beads,--
Must we be necklaced with her children's creeds?
Welcome alike in surplice or in gown
The loyal lieges of the Heavenly Crown!
We greet with cheerful, not submissive, mien
A sister church, but not a mitred Queen!

A few brief flutters, and the unwilling Muse,
Who feared the flight she hated to refuse,
Shall fold the wings whose gayer plumes are shed,
Here where at first her half-fledged pinions spread.
Well I remember in the long ago
How in the forest shades of Fontainebleau,
Strained through a fissure in a rocky cell,
One crystal drop with measured cadence fell.
Still, as of old, forever bright and clear,
The fissured cavern drops its wonted tear,
And wondrous virtue, simple folk aver,
Lies in that teardrop of la roche qui pleure.

Of old I wandered by the river's side
Between whose banks the mighty waters glide,
Where vast Niagara, hurrying to its fall,
Builds and unbuilds its ever-tumbling wall;
Oft in my dreams I hear the rush and roar
Of battling floods, and feel the trembling shore,
As the huge torrent, girded for its leap,
With bellowing thunders plunges down the steep.
Not less distinct, from memory's pictured urn,
The gray old rock, the leafy woods, return;
Robed in their pride the lofty oaks appear,
And once again with quickened sense I hear,
Through the low murmur of the leaves that stir,
The tinkling teardrop of _la roche qui pleure_.

So when the third ripe century stands complete,
As once again the sons of Harvard meet,
Rejoicing, numerous as the seashore sands,
Drawn from all quarters,--farthest distant lands,
Where through the reeds the scaly saurian steals,
Where cold Alaska feeds her floundering seals,
Where Plymouth, glorying, wears her iron crown,
Where Sacramento sees the suns go down;
Nay, from the cloisters whence the refluent tide
Wafts their pale students to our Mother's side,--
Mid all the tumult that the day shall bring,
While all the echoes shout, and roar, and ring,
These tinkling lines, oblivion's easy prey,
Once more emerging to the light of day,
Not all unpleasing to the listening ear
Shall wake the memories of this bygone year,
Heard as I hear the measured drops that flow
From the gray rock of wooded Fontainebleau.

Yet, ere I leave, one loving word for all
Those fresh young lives that wait our Mother's call:
One gift is yours, kind Nature's richest dower,--
Youth, the fair bud that holds life's opening flower,
Full of high hopes no coward doubts enchain,
With all the future throbbing in its brain,
And mightiest instincts which the beating heart
Fills with the fire its burning waves impart.

O joyous youth, whose glory is to dare,--
Thy foot firm planted on the lowest stair,
Thine eye uplifted to the loftiest height
Where Fame stands beckoning in the rosy light,
Thanks for thy flattering tales, thy fond deceits,
Thy loving lies, thy cheerful smiling cheats
Nature's rash promise every day is broke,--
A thousand acorns breed a single oak,
The myriad blooms that make the orchard gay
In barren beauty throw their lives away;
Yet shall we quarrel with the sap that yields
The painted blossoms which adorn the fields,
When the fair orchard wears its May-day suit
Of pink-white petals, for its scanty fruit?
Thrice happy hours, in hope's illusion dressed,
In fancy's cradle nurtured and caressed,
Though rich the spoils that ripening years may bring,
To thee the dewdrops of the Orient cling,--
Not all the dye-stuffs from the vats of truth
Can match the rainbow on the robes of youth!

Dear unborn children, to our Mother's trust
We leave you, fearless, when we lie in dust:
While o'er these walls the Christian banner waves
From hallowed lips shall flow the truth that saves;
While o'er those portals Veritas you read
No church shall bind you with its human creed.
Take from the past the best its toil has won,
But learn betimes its slavish ruts to shun.
Pass the old tree whose withered leaves are shed,
Quit the old paths that error loved to tread,
And a new wreath of living blossoms seek,
A narrower pathway up a loftier peak;
Lose not your reverence, but unmanly fear
Leave far behind you, all who enter here!

As once of old from Ida's lofty height
The flaming signal flashed across the night,
So Harvard's beacon sheds its unspent rays
Till every watch-tower shows its kindling blaze.
Caught from a spark and fanned by every gale,
A brighter radiance gilds the roofs of Yale;
Amherst and Williams bid their flambeaus shine,
And Bowdoin answers through her groves of pine;
O'er Princeton's sands the far reflections steal,
Where mighty Edwards stamped his iron heel;
Nay, on the hill where old beliefs were bound
Fast as if Styx had girt them nine times round,
Bursts such a light that trembling souls inquire
If the whole church of Calvin is on fire!
Well may they ask, for what so brightly burns
As a dry creed that nothing ever learns?
Thus link by link is knit the flaming chain
Lit by the torch of Harvard's hallowed plain.

Thy son, thy servant, dearest Mother mine,
Lays this poor offering on thy holy shrine,
An autumn leaflet to the wild winds tost,
Touched by the finger of November's frost,
With sweet, sad memories of that earlier day,
And all that listened to my first-born lay.
With grateful heart this glorious morn I see,--
Would that my tribute worthier were of thee!

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The Best You Have Ever Had

I will never brag and say,
For you I will be the best you have ever had...
In each and every way.

But I am determined to be the best I can be.
And hopefully 'that' you will see,
To eliminate any guessing if I can pass your tests.

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The Taking of Our Own Feet Out of Our Mouths

Say what you will.
Most opinionated people do.
Eventually,
They will notice...
Like you,
Myself included.
And a few others too.
The taking of our own feet out of our mouths.

Having one foot stuck there,
Is a quicker recovery than having two.

Once again,
To experience this...
Is a better teacher,
Than any picture can depict.

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