These Are My Hands
full of scars
calloused
beaten and
still
unforgiven
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Unforgiven Hunt
I shouldn't be telling you this
No one should be telling you this, but
Only a few people even know
About the time of the Unforgiven Hunt-
We are on the Unforgiven Hunt, so I should tell you
I can't even tell you
What the Hunt is about
And why it is called just that-
The Hunt
But I just told you
That the Hunt is called the Hunt
For a reason-
So now I should tell you the whole story
How we came to this point
Why our features stand out
In the whole world, all the countries
First, we were like all the others
Down-to-earth, forgiving, out loud
Sharing all our secrets
But now the Hunt people regret
That we came this far
We came this far, we broke our friendship apart
Now we are on the Unforgiven Hunt
The time of the Hunt started at the time of the Hunt
No one really knows
When it was, what it was that unbalanced the scale
Of life and death-
But we are on the Unforgiven Hunt
We started the Unforgiven Hunt by saying,
"We have to increase our lifestyle, then we'll stop"
But over time, it grew to be our hobby
Beating other countries
In machines, in factories and greed
In food, in water and high standards
In shelter, in organizing, in need
We are still on the Unforgiven Hunt
Whose Country Is This?
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of snakes;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of many waters;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of thieves! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of people;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of oil;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of earthquakes!
Whose country is this?
it is a land full of lovers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of volcanoes!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful flowers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of hansome men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of beautiful women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of roses;
Whose country is this?
it is a land ruled only by men;
Whose country is this?
It is a land without rainfall;
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by a woman;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of corruption!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pirates! !
Whose country is this?
It is a land ruled by law;
Whose country is this?
It is a land controlled by rebels!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of ice;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of pregnant women;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah!
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of singers;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of troubles;
Whose country is this?
It is a land full of war! !
[...] Read more
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Who’ll Wear the Beaten Colours?
Who’ll wear the beaten colours—and cheer the beaten men?
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, till our time comes again?
Where sullen crowds are densest, and fickle as the sea,
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, and wear them home with me?
We closed the bars and gambling dens and voted straight and clean,
Our women walked while motor cars were whirling round the scene,
The Potts Point Vote was one for Greed and Ease and Luxury
With all to hold, and coward gold, and beaten folk are we.
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, with hands and pockets clean?
(I wore the beaten colours since I was seventeen)
I wore them up, and wore them down, Outback and across the sea—
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, and wear them home with me?
We wore them back from Ladysmith to where the peace was signed,
And wore them through the London streets where Jingoes howled behind.
We wore them to the Queen’s Hall, while England yelled “Pro-Boers!”
And sat them over victory while London banged the doors.1
We wore them from Port Arthur round till all sunk in the sea—
(Who’ll wear the white man’s colours, and wear them home with me?)
I’ve worn them through with gentlemen, with work-slaves and alone—
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, boys, and wear them on his own?
There’s one would look with startled eyes and shrink while I caressed,
Came I not with the colours of the conquered on my breast.
And twenty thousand Bushmen would stand with hands behind
And scorn in all their faces for the coward of his kind.
Who’ll wear the beaten colours and raise the voice they drowned—
It may be when we march again, they’ll bear some other sound—
Who’ll pin the beaten colours on and drive the beaten pen—
It may be other steel and ink when we march out again.
poem by Henry Lawson
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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 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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Beaten To The Punch
You say that you can and then you run to get your mummy
And youre almost beaten to the punch
Looking for the man who sold you the dummy
And youre almost beaten to the punch
Laughing at the older guys who say its just as well
Saved by the wedding bell
Almost beaten to the punch
Youre looking for somebody new that you can knock around
You are almost beaten to the punch
If youve got a head for figures then youd better count me out
You were almost beaten to the punch
You pulled the piece but you soon called it love
You go hand in glove
Almost beaten to the punch
Your body speaks much louder than your voice
You let it do the talking so I dont have any choice
Now you find the younger guys are putting up resistance
And youre almost beaten to the punch
You better get out now because youll never go the distance
And youre almost beaten to the punch
Youll find a girl and youll promise her anything
Even a wedding ring
Almost beaten to the punch
song performed by Elvis Costello
Added by Lucian Velea
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St. Dorothy
IT HATH been seen and yet it shall be seen
That out of tender mouths God’s praise hath been
Made perfect, and with wood and simple string
He hath played music sweet as shawm-playing
To please himself with softness of all sound;
And no small thing but hath been sometime found
Full sweet of use, and no such humbleness
But God hath bruised withal the sentences
And evidence of wise men witnessing;
No leaf that is so soft a hidden thing
It never shall get sight of the great sun;
The strength of ten has been the strength of one,
And lowliness has waxed imperious.
There was in Rome a man Theophilus
Of right great blood and gracious ways, that had
All noble fashions to make people glad
And a soft life of pleasurable days;
He was a goodly man for one to praise,
Flawless and whole upward from foot to head;
His arms were a red hawk that alway fed
On a small bird with feathers gnawed upon,
Beaten and plucked about the bosom-bone
Whereby a small round fleck like fire there was:
They called it in their tongue lampadias;
This was the banner of the lordly man.
In many straits of sea and reaches wan
Full of quick wind, and many a shaken firth,
It had seen fighting days of either earth,
Westward or east of waters Gaditane
(This was the place of sea-rocks under Spain
Called after the great praise of Hercules)
And north beyond the washing Pontic seas,
Far windy Russian places fabulous,
And salt fierce tides of storm-swoln Bosphorus.
Now as this lord came straying in Rome town
He saw a little lattice open down
And after it a press of maidens’ heads
That sat upon their cold small quiet beds
Talking, and played upon short-stringèd lutes;
And other some ground perfume out of roots
Gathered by marvellous moons in Asia;
Saffron and aloes and wild cassia,
Coloured all through and smelling of the sun;
And over all these was a certain one
Clothed softly, with sweet herbs about her hair
And bosom flowerful; her face more fair
Than sudden-singing April in soft lands:
Eyed like a gracious bird, and in both hands
[...] Read more
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Night Train
Im riding the night train
The smile is still burning
Dancing my way
?
A crown for the clown, I smile, and I run
For years now Im driven
A smile, unforgiven
Im dancing with strangers
?
Awaiting your big smile,
Im rushing downtown while youre gone
For years now Im driven, a smile unforgiven, the one
Im riding the night train
The windows a mirror
Im dancing with strangers
Im waiting...for you
Awaiting your big smile,
Im rushing downtown while youre gone
For years now Im driven, a smile unforgiven, the one
A crown for the clown, a smiling crowd, and youre gone
For years now Im driven, a smile unforgiven, the one
song performed by Yello
Added by Lucian Velea
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Pretty Vision
I saw a vision
Little boy
You covered up your own insights
But I may have held your hand
Or seen the ghost you tried to fight
Oh a vision
Little boy
You strayed down to find the clowns
Oh and when I wrote these lines for you
Not, not one of them was found
Blame the circus and the clowns
Before you blame yourself
Cause when your greatest needs go unforgiven
And your gifts go unreceived
Little boy
Man of need
Who could know that the road would fall
Not me not one of us
That surrounds your golden walls
So now blame the circus and the clowns
Before you blame yourself
Cause all your greatest needs go unforgiven
All your gifts go unreceived
Who could know of the fall
Who could slow the speed
Who could hold your hand
We all laughed and thought you were so free
Vision boy
Man of need
Oh do the monkeys get you down
Oh they promise you the dance of life
Complete with laughters crown
Little boy
Man of need
Did you find the freak show and a crowd
I said cut the canvas on the tent
Oh we were all innocent
Blame the circus and the clowns
Before you blame yourself
When your greatest needs go unforgiven
And your gifts go unreceived
Oh your greatest needs go unforgiven
And your gifts they go unreceived
Little boy
Man of need
song performed by Indigo Girls
Added by Lucian Velea
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Night Train
Im riding the night train
The smile is still burning
Dancing my way
?
A crown for the clown, I smile, and I run
For years now Im driven
A smile, unforgiven
Im dancing with strangers
?
Awaiting your big smile,
Im rushing downtown while youre gone
For years now Im driven, a smile unforgiven, the one
Im riding the night train
The windows a mirror
Im dancing with strangers
Im waiting...for you
Awaiting your big smile,
Im rushing downtown while youre gone
For years now Im driven, a smile unforgiven, the one
A crown for the clown, a smiling crowd, and youre gone
For years now Im driven, a smile unforgiven, the one
song performed by Yello
Added by Lucian Velea
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Crazy-mazy Lee! Buzzy-fuzzy Bee Lost in Marathon Battle!
Flash it back, flash it back! Many moons ago - Sun is the god,
Stars are angels yet the moon is the lord;
Nature is the empire of plants and flowers.....
Trees and fruits danced in nature’s showers!
Belting along, bucketing along in a long race,
Hurrying up and zipping up with a weather beaten face.
Oho! Things connected to original universe are supreme,
Yahoo! Flowing brooks, waves in the sea instilled hope in him,
Nature comforted primitive clan;
The same cosmos is he! Yet destroyed by the advanced man.
Belting along, bucketing along in a long race,
Hurrying up and zipping up with a weather beaten face.
Oops! Sunday changed to Monday,
Monday to Saturday – human live changes every day;
Bingo! Hamlets changed to Towns in the same way!
Towns to cities, everything changes for a new-way;
Belting along, bucketing along in a long race,
Hurrying up and zipping up with a weather beaten face.
By Jove! There is no time to appreciate the god's creation
And comprehend sky’s commotion in the life of apprehension.
Holystone! Holy Man trapped in artificiality, lost his future!
Far away from nature, is this human creature!
Belting along, bucketing along in a long race,
Hurrying up and zipping up with a weather beaten face.
Traveling to the east, flying to the west,
sailing on the water and locomotion on the motor,
Worst at best, he is Bugging the nature for his best,
Man stop hurting nature and Quit harming nature!
Belting along, bucketing along in a long race,
Hurrying up and zipping up with a weather beaten face.
In the world, where east meets west,
You and I are told work without rest,
A poor life disc if full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare......
Belting along, bucketing along in a long race,
Hurrying up and zipping up with a weather beaten face.
Eating fast food in hurry-bury!
Dating and rating with money in a scurry
Leaves you and me in a worry,
Pushes hin in to a corner, what a sad story!
Belting along, bucketing along in a long race,
Hurrying up and zipping up with a weather beaten face.
Lo! Get spirit from Dazzling sun! soon,
[...] Read more
poem by Harindhar Reddy
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Three Women
My love is young, so young;
Young is her cheek, and her throat,
And life is a song to be sung
With love the word for each note.
Young is her cheek and her throat;
Her eyes have the smile o' May.
And love is the word for each note
In the song of my life to-day.
Her eyes have the smile o' May;
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
And the song of my life to-day
Is love, beautiful love.
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
Ah, would it but fly to my breast
Where love, beautiful love,
Has made it a downy nest.
Ah, would she but fly to my breast,
My love who is young, so young;
I have made her a downy nest
And life is a song to be sung.
1
I.
A dull little station, a man with the eye
Of a dreamer; a bevy of girls moving by;
A swift moving train and a hot Summer sun,
The curtain goes up, and our play is begun.
The drama of passion, of sorrow, of strife,
Which always is billed for the theatre Life.
It runs on forever, from year unto year,
With scarcely a change when new actors appear.
It is old as the world is-far older in truth,
For the world is a crude little planet of youth.
And back in the eras before it was formed,
The passions of hearts through the Universe stormed.
Maurice Somerville passed the cluster of girls
Who twisted their ribbons and fluttered their curls
In vain to attract him; his mind it was plain
Was wholly intent on the incoming train.
That great one eyed monster puffed out its black breath,
Shrieked, snorted and hissed, like a thing bent on death,
[...] Read more
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Scars
Now I see that you are pushing me away,
The scars remain as my pain,
I can see that my veins are full of scars,
Scars of remaining past,
Scars from all those cutting,
Scars from all the pain I went through,
Love is vain,
The rain might pour down,
But nothing has stop me from seeing the scars I have left behind,
Nothing can’t stop me from seeing the remaining scars,
All my scars, all my memories remain as my pain.
poem by Jennifer Rondeau
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The Four Seasons : Autumn
Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,
While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,
Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more,
Well pleased, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost
Nitrous prepared; the various blossom'd Spring
Put in white promise forth; and Summer-suns
Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view,
Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.
Onslow! the Muse, ambitious of thy name,
To grace, inspire, and dignify her song,
Would from the public voice thy gentle ear
A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows,
The patriot virtues that distend thy thought,
Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow;
While listening senates hang upon thy tongue,
Devolving through the maze of eloquence
A roll of periods, sweeter than her song.
But she too pants for public virtue, she,
Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will,
Whene'er her country rushes on her heart,
Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries
To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame.
When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days,
And Libra weighs in equal scales the year;
From Heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook
Of parting Summer, a serener blue,
With golden light enliven'd, wide invests
The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise,
Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft through lucid clouds
A pleasing calm; while broad, and brown, below
Extensive harvests hang the heavy head.
Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a gale
Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain:
A calm of plenty! till the ruffled air
Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow.
Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky;
The clouds fly different; and the sudden sun
By fits effulgent gilds the illumined field,
And black by fits the shadows sweep along.
A gaily chequer'd heart-expanding view,
Far as the circling eye can shoot around,
Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn.
These are thy blessings, Industry! rough power!
Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain;
Yet the kind source of every gentle art,
And all the soft civility of life:
Raiser of human kind! by Nature cast,
Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods
And wilds, to rude inclement elements;
With various seeds of art deep in the mind
[...] Read more
poem by James Thomson
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Star Song
You got your tongue pierced once,
and you say you've got another,
that you can't show anyone,
unless it's under covers,
but you're running around showing everyone your new tattoo.
You got an A in class,
and you hoped no one would notice,
you're the smartest kid in school,
and it makes you self-conscious,
and your loser boyfriend is smoking out in the boys room.
I wish someone would tell you,
you're a star the way you are,
you know you're not fooling anyone.
No, you've got the eyes of an angel,
don't try to change, yeah,
everybody's got their scars.
(everybody's got their scars)
No matter what they tell you,
you're beautiful the way you are.
I bet your mom was so happy,
you became a cheerleader,
home coming queen,
just like your older sister,
'till you dyed your hair pink
and they said what were you drinking,
and it never did sink in,
it don't matter what they think.
Cause you're a star the way you are,
you know you're not fooling anyone.
No, you've got the eyes of an angel,
don't try to change, yeah,
everybody's got their scars,
(everybody's got their scars)
never mind how ugly they are.
(never mind how ugly they are)
No matter what they tell you,
you're beautiful the way you are.
Oh the way you are,
(oh the way you are)
oh the way you are,
(oh the way you are)
oh the way you are,
yeah.
You're a star the way you are,
You know you're not fooling anyone.
No, you've got the eyes of an angel,
don't try to change, yeah,
everybody's got their scars.
(everybody's got their scars)
No matter what they tell you
[...] Read more
song performed by Bowling For Soup
Added by Lucian Velea
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Holding An Amazing Love
Another guy in line on highway 9 in a rush
Clockin in and out again, I guess Im just
An average man, but these calloused hands
Are holding an amazing love
I have seen treasured dreams turn to dust
That fade away like yesterday that Ill never touch
But fortunes been kind cuz these arms of mine
Are holding an amazing love
So just hold me closer and tell me you love
And that everythings alright
For the weight of the world rolls off my shoulders
Whenever I look in your eyes
Just another guy rolling in the drive in a rush
Standin at the door, is what hes livin for and needs so much
Just an average man, but these calloused hands
Are holding an amazing love
Im just an average man, but these calloused hands
Are holding an amazing love
song performed by John Michael Montgomery
Added by Lucian Velea
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Holdin' An Amazing Love
Another guy in line on Highway Nine in a rush
Clocking in and out again I guess I'm just
An average man but these calloused hands
Are holding an amazing love
I have seen treasured dreams turn to dust
That fade away like yesterday that I'll never touch
But fortune's been kind 'cause these arms of mine
Are holding an amazing love
So just hold me closer
And tell me you love me
And that everything is alright
Oh the weight of the world
Rolls off my shoulders
Whenever I look in your eyes
Just another guy pulling in the drive in a rush
Standing at the door's what he's living for and needs so much
Just an average man but these calloused hands
Are holding an amazing love
I'm just an average man but these calloused hands
Are holding an amazing love
song performed by John Michael Montgomery
Added by Lucian Velea
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All That You Are
Repeating in my head
Betrayal
Repeating in my head
Insecurities
Repeating in my head
Diffidence
It's not your fault
The well of thought and trust has run dry
Don't be afraid to let go
Don't be afraid to start over when it's over
Let go
Let go
Let go
Let go
Let go of feelings
Let go of compromise
Hollow trunk for shelter
So dark and cold inside
I always seem to find myself alone
Jaded shell of being
Porous as a stone
Calloused
Rigid
Empty
Because of you
Let go of trusting
Lost thought for family
Let go of living
No more concerns of demise
I never seem to find rhythm for life's harmony
Contorted
Twisted broken
Without a reason
Calloused
Rigid
Empty
Because of you
It's all me
All you are
Without me
There's nothing else
There's no one
Brainwash
All you are
Without me
You're by yourself
There's no one
Hope is out of season
Lost sight
No hint of light
[...] Read more
song performed by Mudvayne
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Voice
Between the open heart and the whisper goodbye,
Theres a perfect teardrop in your eye.
Between the lovers moon and the trembling sky,
Theres a broken dream in your mind.
And the voice is carrying the love you have lost,
And the change of heart in someone you trust.
Yea the voice is carrying the love and the scars.
Hear the lonely voice in the dark.
Between the careful touch and the breakaway kiss,
Theres a beauty you cant resist.
Mmm, between the fall apart and the moment of bliss,
There must be something more than this.
And the voice is carrying the love you have lost.
Love you have lost.
And the change of heart in someone you trust.
Yea the voice is carrying the love and the scars.
Love and the scars.
Hear the lonely voice in the dark.
In the dark.
Hear the lonely voice.
Hear the lonely voice.
And the voice is carrying the love you have lost.
Love you have lost.
And the change of heart in someone you trust.
Yea the voice is carrying the love and the scars.
Love and the scars.
Hear the lonely voice in the dark.
Oh, yea, the voice is carrying the love you have lost.
Love you have lost.
And the change of heart in someone you trust.
Yea the voice is carrying the love and the scars.
Love and the scars.
Hear the lonely voice in the dark. in the dark.
Lonely voice. lonely voice in the dark.
Hear the lonely voice.
Hear the lonely voice in the dark...
song performed by Roxette
Added by Lucian Velea
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V. Count Guido Franceschini
Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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