Film clip
She sat alone in the bus shelter
playing with a rubber band
between the fingers of each hand
and singing quietly to herself
everything I do
I do because of you
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Related quotes
Quietly Making Noise
Quietly making noise
By: jimmy buffett, michael tschudin
1993
Oscar wilde died in bed
Several floors above my head
Living well beyond his means
In that crazy paris scene
Rain falls down in sheets so clear
And no one ever calls me hear
Travelin by myself these days
Im into jazz and felt berets
Far from that old eastern shore
Searchin for strange metaphors
I dont want to be another victim of fashion
No I dont want to see my name in the paper each day
Hey you can leave that to the young turks
Theyre handsome and dashing
Posing for paparazzis down laguna way
Now down in the metro I feel the world start to multiply
Bastille, rubber wheels, spiked heels
Subterranean lullaby
Met an african prancer, a hemisphere dancer
Spied the ghost of brassens
We smiled at the secret we shared
And I hid it like contraband
Quietly making noise (quietly making noise)
Starts with kindergarten toys
Not too soft, not too loud
Just enough to draw a crowd
Quietly, quietly, quietly making noise
Followed the beat
Hey I found myself in this patois spot
Outside a blizzard was blowin
But inside the joint was hot
Zouk songs, rubber thongs, sing-a-longs
The words flew right by my face
You know rhythm and motions a blamma jamma potion
You cannot erase
Quietly making noise (quietly making noise)
Pissin off the old kill-joys
Glasspacks on an hot mustang
A telecaster with a twang
Quietly, quietly, quietly making noise
Yes
Singers and writers and poets
Have flocked here for centuries
The city of light is built upon mountains of memories
Baritone saxophones, monotones
Speak with a voice Ive heard before
Its a lasting impression
[...] Read more
song performed by Jimmy Buffett
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Rain
(rock the joint)
Me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh-huh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
When the rain hits my window
I take and {inhale, cough} me some indo
Me and timbaland, ooh, we sang a jangle
We so tight, that you get our styles tango
Sway on dosie-do like you loco
{singing} can we get kinky tonight?
Like coco, so-so
You don't wanna play with my yo-yo
I smoke my hydro on the dee-low
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (say what?)
Yeah..
Beep beep, who got the keys to the jeep? v-r-rrrrrrrooooom!
(uh-huh) i'm drivin to the beach
Top down, loud sounds, see my peeps (uhh)
Give them pounds, now look who it be (who it be)
It be me me me and timothy (me me!)
Look like it's bout to rain, what a shame (uh-huh)
I got the armor-all to shine up the stain
Oh missy, try to maintain
Icky-icky-icky-icky-icky-icky-icky..
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
(uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (say what? uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (yeah)
[...] Read more
song performed by Missy Elliott
Added by Lucian Velea
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Beowulf
LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls. Since erst he lay
friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,
till before him the folk, both far and near,
who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts: a good king he!
To him an heir was afterward born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.
Famed was this Beowulf: far flew the boast of him,
son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.
So becomes it a youth to quit him well
with his father's friends, by fee and gift,
that to aid him, aged, in after days,
come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,
liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds
shall an earl have honor in every clan.
Forth he fared at the fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.
Then they bore him over to ocean's billow,
loving clansmen, as late he charged them,
while wielded words the winsome Scyld,
the leader beloved who long had ruled….
In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,
ice-flecked, outbound, atheling's barge:
there laid they down their darling lord
on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings,
by the mast the mighty one. Many a treasure
fetched from far was freighted with him.
No ship have I known so nobly dight
with weapons of war and weeds of battle,
with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped hoard that hence should go
far o'er the flood with him floating away.
No less these loaded the lordly gifts,
thanes' huge treasure, than those had done
who in former time forth had sent him
sole on the seas, a suckling child.
High o'er his head they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,
gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits,
mournful their mood. No man is able
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Magic Bus
Every day I get in the queue (too much, magic bus)
To get on the bus that takes me to you (too much, magic bus)
Im so nervous, I just sit and smile (too much, magic bus)
You house is only another mile (too much, magic bus)
Thank you, driver, for getting me here (too much, magic bus)
Youll be an inspector, have no fear (too much, magic bus)
I dont want to cause no fuss (too much, magic bus)
But can I buy your magic bus? (too much, magic bus)
Nooooooooo!
I dont care how much I pay (too much, magic bus)
I wanna drive my bus to my baby each day (too much, magic bus)
I want it, I want it, I want it, I want it ... (you cant have it!)
Thruppence and sixpence every day
Just to drive to my baby
Thruppence and sixpence each day
cause I drive my baby every way
Magic bus, magic bus, magic bus ...
I said, now Ive got my magic bus (too much, magic bus)
I said, now Ive got my magic bus (too much, magic bus)
I drive my baby every way (too much, magic bus)
Each time I go a different way (too much, magic bus)
I want it, I want it, I want it, I want it ...
Every day youll see the dust (too much, magic bus)
As I drive my baby in my magic bus (too much, magic bus)
song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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Rubber Ring
A sad fact widely known
The most impassionate song
To a lonely soul
Is so easily outgrown
But dont forget the songs
That made you smile
And the songs that made you cry
When you lay in awe
On the bedroom floor
And said : oh, oh, smother me mother...
No ...
Rubber ring, rubber ring, rubber ring, rubber ring
La ...
The passing of time
And all of its crimes
Is making me sad again
The passing of time
And all of its sickening crimes
Is making me sad again
But dont forget the songs
That made you cry
And the songs that saved your life
Yes, youre older now
And youre a clever swine
But they were the only ones who ever stood by you
The passing of time leaves empty lives
Waiting to be filled (the passing ...)
The passing of time
Leaves empty lives
Waiting to be filled
Im here with the cause
Im holding the torch
In the corner of your room
Can you hear me ?
And when youre dancing and laughing
And finally living
Hear my voice in your head
And think of me kindly
No ...
Rubber ring, rubber ring, rubber ring, rubber ring
La ...
No ...
Rubber ring, rubber ring, rubber ring, rubber ring
Do you
Love me like you used to ?
Oh ...
Rubber ring, rubber ring, rubber ring, rubber ring
La ...
Youre clever
Everybodys clever nowadays
[...] Read more
song performed by Smiths
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Rubber Band
Rubber band
Theres a rubber band that plays tunes out of tune
In the library garden sunday afternoon
While a little chappie waves a golden wand
Rubber band
In 1910 I was so handsome and so strong
My moustache was stiffly waxed and one foot long
And I loved a girl while you played teatime tunes
Dear rubber band, youre playing my tune out of tune
Oh
Rubber band
Wont you play a haunting theme again to me
While I eat my scones and drink my cup of tea
The sun is warm but its a lonely afternoon
Oh, play that theme
Rubber band
How I wish that I could join your rubber band
We could play in lively parks throughout the land
And one sunday afternoon, Id find my love
Rubber band,
In the 14-18 war I went to sea
Thought my sunday love was waiting home for me
And now shes married to the leader of the band, oh
Oh yeah... I hope you break your baton
song performed by David Bowie
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Bus to Nevermore
The snow lay deep on the countryside
When they left to catch the bus,
Heading out to Milwaukee, first
They left New York in their dust,
The guys were happy and laughing then
To be off on the winter tour,
The pickers picked and the jokers joked
On the bus to Nevermore.
They'd had a couple of hits or three
And they'd topped the charts with one,
The kids were mad for their rock 'n roll
At each auditorium,
The towns they travelled were tiny towns
But the audiences roared,
They rocked Kenosha, then headed out
On the bus to Nevermore.
The heater failed and the bus, it froze
And the smiles then died away,
They huddled up in the cold and dark
But they played each town by day,
They switched their buses, more than once
When the diesel ceased its roar,
But every bus in its turn was just
The bus to Nevermore.
The bus broke down on a lonely road
As the snow fell through the night,
The fields were a winter wonderland
But the cold began to bite,
By the time that a roving patrolman
Found the bus, they were more than sore,
The drummer suffered from frostbite
On the bus to Nevermore.
The tour was running in circles
From Wisconsin to Iowa,
To Minnesota and back again
But nobody seemed to care,
Except the fellows that rode the bus,
Each day they cursed and swore,
'This bus is part of the Devil's fleet!
The bus to Nevermore.'
Tired and dirty and cold they drove
To Appleton, Green Bay,
Then overnight they had huddled up
For the trip to Clear Lake,
They played the show in their crumpled clothes
[...] Read more
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Rubberband
Jumping into streams of nectar
Falling through these clouds of silver
Reaching for these angels faces
Waking up in fields of feathers
Its tied me up inside its tied me up inside
You spin me around you lift me right off the ground
You twist me around I feel like a rubber band
You spin me around then you wind me back up
Cause I'm your rubber band
Crashing onto cotton wool floors
Breaking my fall if I land short
Wrapped up in these arms of velvet
Drifting in sea of regret
Its tied me up inside its tied me up inside
I've got to pull myself together
Its tied me up inside Its tied me up inside
You spin me around you lift me right off the ground
You twist me around I feel like a rubber band
You spin me around then you wind me back up
Cause I'm your rubber band
I wish I knew what to say but words escape me today
I wish I knew what to say just take away the pain
Jumping into streams of nectar
I've got to pull it back together
Its tied me up inside its tied me up inside
Its tied me up inside its tied me up inside
You spin me around you lift me right off the ground
You twist me around I feel like a rubber band
You spin me around then you wind me back up
Cause I'm your rubber band
You spin me around you lift me right off the ground
You twist me around I feel like a rubber band
You spin me around then you wind me back up
Cause I'm your rubber band
song performed by Feeder
Added by Lucian Velea
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Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie
This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.
This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,--
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.
Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.
PART THE FIRST
I
In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting
Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway.
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighted the village street and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Where The Rubber Meets The Road
Somewhere some girl is crazy.
And some boys half out of his head.
Somewhere somebodys fearless.
And someone wont wind up dead.
Somewhere two hearts are pounding.
And they dont care whats correct.
Somewhere somebodys fallin in love.
Without a background check...
Son Im mr p.c.
Belive you me.
Im the ultimate king of correct.
And if you wanna make it.
You gotta make her take it.
As a sign a your deep respect.
If youre gonna do it.
You gotta see through it.
To the hevenly trust that is...
Then you can call her a slut.
And you can call her a slave.
If you remember to call her ms...
Where the rubber meets the road.
Welcome to protection mode.
Used to be sex was a fine hello.
Where the rubber meets the road.
Ya say girl, youre a beauty.
But Im no beast.
I got a little contract right here...
See, you can slam on the brakes.
Anytime you got the stick.
Even if were in 4th gear.
Cop in the front seat.
Lawyer in the back seat.
Gettin it on videotape.
Got a shrink in the bed, lord.
Sittin on the headboard.
Swearin that we both got raped.
Now the rubber meets the road.
Where the rubber meets the road.
Boy meets girl then watch it explode.
Yes means no means yes means no.
Where the rubber meets the road!
Somewhere some girl is crazy.
And some boys half out of his head.
Somewhere somebodys fearless.
And someone wont wind up dead.
Somewhere two hearts are pounding.
And they dont care whats correct.
Somewhere somebodys fallin in love.
Without a background check...
Somewhere somebodys fallin in love.
[...] Read more
song performed by Meat Loaf
Added by Lucian Velea
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University Of Central Florida Volleyball
universoty of fl youth summer camp
universtiy of cincinnati basketball camp
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unk loper youth basketball camps 2008
unk summer wrestling camp
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unknown camp sites
unl basketball camp
unl equestrian camp
unl football camp
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unl summer volleyball camps
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unlimited enthusiasm camp jump and yell
unlv band camp
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[...] Read more
poem by Caasder Fronds
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The Only Way To Control Things
The only way to control things is with an open hand.
Water on rock
a fist can't do anything to stop the rain
that keeps washing its bloody knuckles
by kissing the raw red buds
of the pain-killing poppies clean.
Anger grows ashamed of itself
in the presence of unopposable compassion
just as planets are humbled by their atmospheres.
The soft supple things of life insist
and the hard brittle ones comply.
Bullies are the broken toys of wimps.
Power limps.
But space is an open hand.
Mass may shape it
but it teaches matter how to move
just as the sky converts its openness
into a cloud and a bird
or the silence nurtures
the embryo of a blue word
in the empty womb of the dark mother
like the echo of something that can't be said.
The only way to control things is with an open hand.
Not a posture of giving.
Not a posture of receiving.
Not a posture of greeting or farewell.
Not hanging on or letting go
but the single bridge they both make
when they're both at peace with the flow.
It's not the branch it's not the trunk
it's not the root it's not the fruit
but the open handedness of its leaves
that is a tree's consummate passion.
Isis tattoos her star on their palms
like sailors and sails
to keep them from drowning
and into the valleys of their open hands
that lie at the foot of their crook-backed mountains
the aloof stars risk the intimacy of fireflies
and fate flows down like tributaries into the mindstream
as life roots its wildflowers on both shores
as if there were no sides to the flowing
of our binary lifelines.
The only way to control things is with an open hand.
You cannot bind the knower to the knowing
as if time had to know where eternity was going
before anything could change.
X marks the spot where all maps are born
[...] Read more
poem by Patrick White
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For The Band
Now for the question
That just won't go away
"So what are we
Gonna do today?"
Cuz it seems like
For the last four years
We've had far much
Less stuff to say
I know I always come out
Like a pessimist
But there is always something else
That's leading up to this
Chris used to come
To all the local shows
Back when the days were simpler
Do you remember?
[Chorus]
Those days are gone but Chris is not
And now he's got big hair
And in fact along with that
He's developed a severe disliking for
FOR THE BAND! (For the Band x3)
And I don't like, how it seems like
Anything and everything is always
For the band
FOR THE BAND! (For the Band x3)
I don't like, how it seems like
Anything and everything is always
For the band
So don't think I'm going to
Sit and complain
When there's so many
Good things left to say
But watch closely
As I refrain
From forgetting who I am along the way
[Chorus]
Those days are gone but Chris is not
And now he's got big hair
And in fact along with that
He's developed a severe disliking for
FOR THE BAND! (For the Band x3)
And I don't like, how it seems like
Anything and everything is always
For the band
FOR THE BAND! (For the Band x3)
I don't like, how it seems like
Anything and everything is always
For the band
She sat me down and said to me
[...] Read more
song performed by Relient K
Added by Lucian Velea
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That Music In The Band (Lyric) :
They play that music in the band.
Them boys in the band.
That sweet playing, honky tonk music.
We hear in the band.
We hear that music in the band.
We hear that music in the band.
That sweet talking, honky tonk music.
We hear in the band.
It keeps us moving around.
They keep us moving to the sound.
Them boys in the band.
They play that music in the band.
That sweet playing, honky tonk music.
We hear in the band.
We hear that music in the band.
We hear that music in the band.
That sweet talking, honky talk music.
We hear in the band.
It keeps us jumping around.
They keep our feet off the ground.
Them boys in the band.
They play that music in the band.
That sweet playing, honky tonk music.
We hear in the band.
We hear that music in the band.
We hear that music in the band.
That sweet talking, honky tonk music.
We hear in the band....
Honky Tonk Song Lyric By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1989.2009..
ALL rights reserved..
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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Shelter For A Rainy Day
Key:-a - anita r - ray
A: oh....
R: shelter on a rainy day
A: you may need me like I need you
A: I see the clouds gathing in the sky
When my worries, fill my mind
What to call us, begins to fade
I wanna be with you when its starts to rain
cause I can hide in your arms
So safe and one
With you as my protection
To help me through the storm
A: you give me shelter on a rainy day
You are all that Im needed
When clouds are turning grey
You give me shelter on a rainy day
My tears have lost they meaning
Love have washed them all away
A: youve washed my tears away yeah!
Yeah yeah
A: if inside your heart, it starts to rain
Just call me up, I ease the pain
You dont even need to be alone
When the wind, begins to mour
cause whenever you may need me, like I need you
Then let me be right by your side
If love will see it through
A: you give me shelter on a rainy day
You are all that Im needed
When clouds are turning grey
You give me shelter on a rainy day
My tears have lost they meaning
Love have washed them all away
A: you give me shelter on a rainy day
On a rainy day
You are all that Im needed
When clouds are turning grey
You give me shelter
You give me shelter on a rainy day
My tears have lost they meaning
Love have washed them all away
R: a shelter on a rainy day
A lucky warm place, for you and I to stay
Hum, what youre thinking
No tell me no lies cause your eyes are blinking
Theres a place girl, down deep in my heart
You know the feeling, a relationship to star
I send my love without delay
cause you know I got a shelter on a rain day
A: you give me shelter
[...] Read more
song performed by 2 Unlimited
Added by Lucian Velea
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The House Of Dust: Complete
I.
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
II.
[...] Read more
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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I'm Singing (A Song You Like) :
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing, I'm singing a song you like..
And if you want me, and need me real bad.
Just call me.
I'm there when you want.
Just call me.
I'm there when you need my love.
I'll give you, the things that you need.
I'll give you, the things that you want.
I'll give you, the love that you need from me..
Because I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing, I'm singing a song you like.
When I give you, the love that you need.
Return, your love to me.
Return, your love to me at once..
Because I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing, I'm singing a song you like.
And when you call me.
Please want me real bad.
I need you.
I need you real bad.
I love you.
I love you for what you are.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing, I'm singing a song you like..
Song-Lyric By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1988,2009..
ALL rights reserved..
See>>www.edwardspoetry.com
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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Courtship of Miles Standish, The
I
MILES STANDISH
In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Courtship of Miles Standish
I
MILES STANDISH
In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Using Boot Camp
twink boot camp
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[...] Read more
poem by Caasder Fronds
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