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There once was an old monk of Basing,
Whose salads were something amazing;
But he told his confessor
That Nebuchadnezzar
Had given him hints upon grazing.

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Seasonable Retour-Knell

SEASONABLE RETOUR KNELL
Variations on a theme...
SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS

Author notes

A mirrored Retourne may not only be read either from first line to last or from last to first as seen in the mirrors, but also by inverting the first and second phrase of each line, either rhyming AAAA or ABAB for each verse. thus the number of variations could be multiplied several times.- two variations on the theme have been included here but could have been extended as in SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS robi03_0069_robi03_0000

In respect of SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS
This composition has sought to explore linguistic potential. Notes and the initial version are placed before rather than after the poem.
Six variations on a theme have been selected out of a significant number of mathematical possibilities using THE SAME TEXT and a reverse mirror for each version. Mirrors repeat the seasons with the lines in reverse order.

For the second roll the first four syllables of each line are reversed, and sense is retained both in the normal order of seasons and the reversed order as well... The 3rd and 4th variations offer ABAB rhyme schemes retaining the original text. The 5th and 6th variations modify the text into rhyming couplets.

Given the linguistical structure of this symphonic composition the score could be read in inversing each and every line and each and every hemistitch. There are minor punctuation differences between versions.

One could probably attain sonnet status for each of the four seasons and through partioning in 3 groups of 4 syllables extend the possibilites ad vitam.

Seasonable Round Robin Roll Reversals
robi03_0069_robi03_0000 QXX_DNZ
Seasonable Retour-Knell
robi03_0070_robi03_0069 QXX_NXX
26 March 1975 rewritten 20070123
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllllll
For previous version see below
_______________________________________
SPRING SUMMER


Life is at ease Young lovers long
Land under plough; To hold their dear;
Whispering trees, Dewdrops among,
Answering cow. Bold, know no fear.

Blossom, the bees, Life full of song,
Burgeoning bough; Cloudless and clear;
Soft-scented breeze, Days fair and long,
Spring warms life now. Summer sends cheer.


AUTUMN WINTER


Each leaf decays, Harvested sheaves
Each life must bow; And honeyed hives;
Our salad days Trees stripped of leaves,
Are ending now. Jack Frost has knives.

Fruit heavy lays Time, Prince of thieves,
Bending the bough, - Onward he drives,

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There once was an old monk of Basing,
Whose salads were something amazing;
But he told his confessor
That Nebuchadnezzar
Had given him hints upon grazing.

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Healthy Back Bag

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altieri bags

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The Ride to Melrose, from The Lay of the Last Minstrel.

CANTO I.XIX.
The Lady sought the lofty hall,
Where many a bold retainer lay,
And with jocund din among them all,
Her son pursued his infant play.
A fancied moss-trooper, the boy
The truncheon of a spear bestrode,
And round the hall right merrily
In mimic foray rode.
Even bearded knights, in arms grown old,
Share in his frolic gambols bore,
Albeit their hearts of rugged mould
Were stubborn as the steel they wore.
For the gray warriors prophesied
How the brave boy, in future war,
Should tame the Unicorn's pride,
Exalt the Crescent and the Star.XX.

The Ladye forgot her purpose high
One moment and no more;
One moment gazed with a mother's eye,
As she paused at the arched door:
Then from amid the armed train,
She called to her William of Deloraine.XXI.

A stark moss-trooping Scott was he
As e'er couch'd Border lance by knee:
Through Solway sands, through Tarras moss,
Blindfold he knew the paths to cross;
By wily turns, by desperate bounds,
Had baffled Percy's best blood-hounds;
In Eske or Liddel, fords were none,
But he would ride them, one by one;
Alike to him was time or tide,
December's snow or July's pride;
Alike to him was tide or time,
Moonless midnight or matin prime:
Steady of heart and stout of hand
As ever drove prey from Cumberland;
Five times outlawed had he been
By England's King and Scotland's Queen.XXII.

'Sir William of Deloraine, good at need,
Mount thee on the wightest steed;
Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride,
Until thou come to fair Tweedside;
And in Melrose's holy pile
Seek thou the Monk of St. Mary's aisle.
Greet the father well from me;
Say that the fated hour is come,

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The Lay of the Last Minstrel: Canto II.

I.
If thou would'st view fair Melrose aright,
Go visit it by the pale moonlight;
For the gay beams of lightsome day
Gild, but to flout, the ruins grey.
When the broken arches are black in night,
And each shafted oriel glimmers white;
When the cold light's uncertain shower
Streams on the ruin'd central tower;
When buttress and buttress, alternately,
Seem framed of ebon and ivory;
When silver edges the imagery,
And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die;
When distant Tweed is heard to rave,
And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave,
Then go-but go alone the while-
Then view St. David's ruin'd pile;
And, home returning, soothly swear,
Was never scene so sad and fair!

II
Short halt did Deloraine make there;
Little reck'd he of the scene so fair;
With dagger's hilt, on the wicket strong,
He struck full loud, and struck full long.
The porter hurried to the gate-
'Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late?'
'From Branksome I,' the warrior cried;
And straight the wicket open'd wide:
For Branksome's Chiefs had in battle stood,
To fence the rights of fair Melrose;
And lands and livings, many a rood,
Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repose.

III
Bold Deloraine his errand said;
The porter bent his humble head;
With torch in hand, and feet unshod,
And noiseless step, the path he trod,
The arched cloister, far and wide,
Rang to the warrior's clanking stride,
Till, stooping low his lofty crest,
He enter'd the cell of the ancient priest,
And lifted his barred aventayle,
To hail the Monk of St Mary's aisle.

IV
'The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me,
Says, that the fated hour is come,
And that to-night I shall watch with thee,

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The Holy Grail

From noiseful arms, and acts of prowess done
In tournament or tilt, Sir Percivale,
Whom Arthur and his knighthood called The Pure,
Had passed into the silent life of prayer,
Praise, fast, and alms; and leaving for the cowl
The helmet in an abbey far away
From Camelot, there, and not long after, died.

And one, a fellow-monk among the rest,
Ambrosius, loved him much beyond the rest,
And honoured him, and wrought into his heart
A way by love that wakened love within,
To answer that which came: and as they sat
Beneath a world-old yew-tree, darkening half
The cloisters, on a gustful April morn
That puffed the swaying branches into smoke
Above them, ere the summer when he died
The monk Ambrosius questioned Percivale:

`O brother, I have seen this yew-tree smoke,
Spring after spring, for half a hundred years:
For never have I known the world without,
Nor ever strayed beyond the pale: but thee,
When first thou camest--such a courtesy
Spake through the limbs and in the voice--I knew
For one of those who eat in Arthur's hall;
For good ye are and bad, and like to coins,
Some true, some light, but every one of you
Stamped with the image of the King; and now
Tell me, what drove thee from the Table Round,
My brother? was it earthly passion crost?'

`Nay,' said the knight; `for no such passion mine.
But the sweet vision of the Holy Grail
Drove me from all vainglories, rivalries,
And earthly heats that spring and sparkle out
Among us in the jousts, while women watch
Who wins, who falls; and waste the spiritual strength
Within us, better offered up to Heaven.'

To whom the monk: `The Holy Grail!--I trust
We are green in Heaven's eyes; but here too much
We moulder--as to things without I mean--
Yet one of your own knights, a guest of ours,
Told us of this in our refectory,
But spake with such a sadness and so low
We heard not half of what he said. What is it?
The phantom of a cup that comes and goes?'

`Nay, monk! what phantom?' answered Percivale.

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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

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

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Golden Legend: II. A Farm In The Odenwald

A garden; morning;_ PRINCE HENRY _seated, with a
book_. ELSIE, _at a distance, gathering flowers._

_Prince Henry (reading)._ One morning, all alone,
Out of his convent of gray stone,
Into the forest older, darker, grayer,
His lips moving as if in prayer,
His head sunken upon his breast
As in a dream of rest,
Walked the Monk Felix. All about
The broad, sweet sunshine lay without,
Filling the summer air;
And within the woodlands as he trod,
The twilight was like the Truce of God
With worldly woe and care;
Under him lay the golden moss;
And above him the boughs of hemlock-tree
Waved, and made the sign of the cross,
And whispered their Benedicites;
And from the ground
Rose an odor sweet and fragrant
Of the wild flowers and the vagrant
Vines that wandered,
Seeking the sunshine, round and round.
These he heeded not, but pondered
On the volume in his hand,
A volume of Saint Augustine;
Wherein he read of the unseen
Splendors of God's great town
In the unknown land,
And, with his eyes cast down
In humility, he said:
'I believe, O God,
What herein I have read,
But alas! I do not understand!'

And lo! he heard
The sudden singing of a bird,
A snow-white bird, that from a cloud
Dropped down,
And among the branches brown
Sat singing
So sweet, and clear, and loud,
It seemed a thousand harp strings ringing.
And the Monk Felix closed his book,
And long, long,
With rapturous look,
He listened to the song,
And hardly breathed or stirred,
Until he saw, as in a vision,

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Ignoring Many Hints Of Trouble

Remember when the truth was spoken,
And...
The people who spoke it dismissed.

Remember when the truth was spoken,
And...
The people who spoke it dismissed.

Ignoring many hints of trouble,
Only makes those troubles double up!

With a change of leadership,
It is believed by many a return to greed and prosperity...
Is within their reach to have it repeated.
However...
It is not the current leadership,
That drove their lives into the pits.
Or purchased their persuasions with investments made...
In monopolized businesses.
No!
That monkey sits on the wrong shoulders.

Those known in positions of leadership,
Are just pawns used regurgitating rhetoric.
With hopes to keep following sheep distracted.

Remember when the truth was spoken,
And...
The people who spoke it dismissed.

Remember when the truth was spoken,
And...
The people who spoke it dismissed.

Ignoring many hints of trouble,
Only makes those troubles double up!

Remember when the truth was spoken,
And...
The people who spoke it dismissed.

Remember it?
Remember it?
Ignoring many hints of trouble,
Only makes those troubles double up!

Ignoring many hints will double troubles.
Ignoring many hints will double troubles, up!
Ignoring many hints will double troubles.
Ignoring many hints will double troubles, up!

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Truly Amazing

I see Amazing, and I feel it too.
I wish you could meet her.
She comes and goes,
but when you see her you'll know how.
Love, Truly Amazing
Love for the fallen
Truly Amazing
Heal the broken hearted
Truly Amazing
Love for the fallen
I know Amazing, and I feel her too.
I wish she could meet you,
but if you don't have the time
She might run off and hide away.
Love, Truly Amazing
Love for the fallen
Truly Amazing
Heal the broken hearted
Truly Amazing
Love for the fallen
Shine down your Love! Love! Love!
Bring down your Love! Love! Love!
Truly Amazing
Love for the fallen
Truly Amazing
Heal the broken hearted
Truly Amazing
Love for the fallen
Truly Amazing
Shine down your Love! Love! Love!
Truly Amazing
Bring down your Love! Love! Love!
Truly Amazing

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Charles Baudelaire

Le Mauvais Moine (The Bad Monk)

Les cloîtres anciens sur leurs grandes murailles
Etalaient en tableaux la sainte Vérité,
Dont l'effet réchauffant les pieuses entrailles,
Tempérait la froideur de leur austérité.


En ces temps où du Christ florissaient les semailles,
Plus d'un illustre moine, aujourd'hui peu cité,
Prenant pour atelier le champ des funérailles,
Glorifiait la Mort avec simplicité.

— Mon âme est un tombeau que, mauvais cénobite,
Depuis l'éternité je parcours et j'habite;
Rien n'embellit les murs de ce cloître odieux.

Ô moine fainéant! quand saurai-je donc faire
Du spectacle vivant de ma triste misère
Le travail de mes mains et l'amour de mes yeux?

The Bad Monk

Cloisters in former times portrayed on their high walls
The truths of Holy Writ with fitting pictures
Which gladdened pious hearts and lessened the coldness,
The austere appearance, of those monasteries.

In those days the sowing of Christ's Gospel flourished,
And more than one famed monk, seldom quoted today,
Taking his inspiration from the graveyard,
Glorified Death with naive simplicity.

— My soul is a tomb where, bad cenobite,
I wander and dwell eternally;
Nothing adorns the walls of that loathsome cloister.

O lazy monk! When shall I learn to make
Of the living spectacle of my bleak misery
The labor of my hands and the love of my eyes?


— Translated by William Aggeler

The Evil Monk

The walls of cloisters on their frescoed lath
Displayed, in pictures, sacred truths of old,
Whose sight would warm the entrails of one's faith
To temper their austerity and cold.

In times when every sowing flowered for Christ

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People Are So Ready to Rage

People are so ready to rage.
With open mouths they shout...
And a madness pours right out.

People are so ready to rage.
To say today they're crazy,
Would not today amaze!

Gone,
From them...
Is any sign that hints,
Of an innocence.

And gone,
Are ballooned parades...
People use to love,
And...
Celebrate.

People are so ready to rage.
With open mouths they shout...
And a madness pours right out.

People are so ready to rage.
To say today they're crazy,
Would not today amaze!

Gone,
From them...
Is any sign that hints,
Of an innocence.

And gone,
Are ballooned parades...
People use to love,
And...
Celebrate.

What their exercising is their right to bleed.
What their exercising is their right to bleed.
What their exercising is their right to bleed.
What their exercising is their right!
And...
Gone,
From them...
Is any sign that hints,
Of an...Innocence.

And gone...
Are ballooned parades,

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Fra Lippo Lippi

I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave!
You need not clap your torches to my face.
Zooks, what's to blame? you think you see a monk!
What, 'tis past midnight, and you go the rounds,
And here you catch me at an alley's end
Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar?
The Carmine's my cloister: hunt it up,
Do—harry out, if you must show your zeal,
Whatever rat, there, haps on his wrong hole,
And nip each softling of a wee white mouse,
Weke, weke, that's crept to keep him company!
Aha, you know your betters! Then, you'll take
Your hand away that's fiddling on my throat,
And please to know me likewise. Who am I?
Why, one, sir, who is lodging with a friend
Three streets off—he's a certain...how d'ye call?
Master—a...Cosimo of the Medici,
I' the house that caps the corner. Boh! you were best!
Remember and tell me, the day you're hanged,
How you affected such a gullet's gripe!
But you, sir, it concerns you that your knaves
Pick up a manner nor discredit you:
Zooks, are we pilchards, that they sweep the streets
And count fair prize what comes into this net?
He's Judas to a tittle, that man is!
Just such a face! Why, sir, you make amends.
Lord, I'm not angry! Bid your hangdogs go
Drink out this quarter-florin to the health
Of the munificent House that harbors me
(And many more beside, lads! more beside!)
And all's come square again. I'd like his face—
His, elbowing on his comrade in the door
With the pike and lantern—for the slave that holds
John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair
With one hand ("Look you, now," as who should say)
And his weapon in the other, yet unwiped!
It's not your chance to have a bit of chalk,
A wood-coal or the like? or you should see!
Yes, I'm the painter, since you style me so.
What, brother Lippo's doings, up and down,
You know them and they take you? like enough!
I saw the proper twinkle in your eye—
'Tell you, I liked your looks at very first.
Let's sit and set things straight now, hip to haunch.
Here's spring come, and the nights one makes up bands
To roam the town and sing out carnival,
And I've been three weeks shut within my mew,
A-painting for the great man, saints and saints
And saints again. I could not paint all night—
Ouf! I leaned out of window for fresh air.

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Amazin

[ll cool j]
Cmon, and you dont stop (here go another one)
Uhh, uhh, and you dont stop (here go another one)
Uhh, uhh, and you dont stop (here go another one)
(feel me baby, its on)
Uhh, I was launched off the block, straight to the top
To yachts with helicopters, Im so hot
Paparazzi, blinded by the rocks
My limousine roll up, the whole world shocked cause
You steppin out with an entrepeneur
I copped you more than what you bargained for
Roll the red carpet, enjoy the profits
First, lets make love in the walk-in closet
Daddy just made a nine digit deposit
Believe me sweetie, its not luck its logic
Im the captain of my destiny
Used to dream of the things I was blessed to see
The jewels and the papers, sports cars and such
Theres nothing in the world ll cant touch
You stood by my side and pushed me so much
Thats why you got them 10 karats, you know what?
[chorus: kandice love]
Its so amazing, amazing, amazing
Lifes given my baby, my baby, my baby
Maybe some day youll feel, how I feel, its crazy
To see my baby.. is so amazing
[ll] sing it baby
[kandice love]
Ive got riches wall to wall
Up the stairs and, down the hall of
All the things that we have done
You got more ideas for us to
Live our lives.. and explore..
There is no topping you, youre untoppable
[chorus]
[ll cool j - over chorus]
So what you sayin? uh-huh
Hehehe, I appreciate it
[kandice love]
Its so amazing, your love, to me
Its so amazing, amazing, to me
Its so amazing, your love, to me
Its so amazing, amazing, to me
Its alright..
Sometimes you work late at night (I know baby)
(I miss you too)
Just as long, as you dont defy my love
Then its on (I promise you baby)
(Ill always love you)
[ll cool j]

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Its Amazing

At a stand still, somebody, somebody put me here.
As I heal you, its not that much difference, well be there.
Cant you all see, what it says?
Its says okay now, okay now, now you go.
And I think i, Ill make it,
Because I love you, I love yes you know.
Its amazing, that were still here.
Its amazing, how?
I know you fear me now,
Why did you leave it in my hands?
I cant explain,
How can you leave me out,
How can you push me out,
How can you push me around again?
Its amazing, that were still here.
Its amazing, how?
Oh, amazing that were still here
Its amazing.
Its amazing, thats were still here.
Its amazing, how?
Its amazing that were still here.
Turn it into my direction,
Why did you leave it, leave it in my hands?
How can you put down, how can you put me out,
How can you push me around, push me around, amazing...
Its amazing...
(life, it gives, what you were living, and theres something telling me that I need to go...)

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She's Amazing

She came on scene
I felt like I was in a movie, She parted the room
The way that Moses did the Red Sea
And from across the room
I felt her body talking to me (yeah)
Cause thing about her, thing about her
Is she was amazing, So amazing
[Chorus:]
She's amazing
She's amazing
No man alive would ever dream of talking to her
She gave off a vibe like
Come Tom, I want to see ya
And for whatever reason, I was feeling lucky that day
Cause thing about her, thing about her
Is she was amazing, So amazing
[Chorus]
She's amazing in the daylight, She's amazing in the night,
Once you see her, She's the only thing on your mind
She's amazing, She's amazing, Every time she walks in to the room
She's a party girl, She's a party girl
Start dancing in the streets, Cause she's amazing
She's a party girl ...

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You're Amazing

Ain't no doubt about it, you're a masterpiece
You're amazing
Adrift at sea'til I saw your face
It's amazing
Anybodys guess - now it's guaranteed
Sent to seventh heaven in my hour of need
Baby baby baby you're amazing
Taken by surprise
Don't waste time tryin'to explain it
Can't believe my eyes
You changed my nights from black to blue
It's amazing
Ever since I fell in love with you
You're amazing
So far out of sight that it's like a dream
Beyond all imagining
But I believe
Baby baby baby you're amazing
Take me by surprise
Don't waste time, baby tryin'to explain it
Right before my eyes
Baby baby baby we ain't faking
We're in paradise
Baby doll, I'm not exaggering
I thought that I could see, but I was blind
I realized now I'm just wasting time
Baby baby baby you're amazing
Taken by surprise
Don't waste time, baby tryin'to explain it
Can't believe my eyes
I used to be weak but you made me strong
So amazing
It's gotta be right 'cos it sure ain't wrong
It's amazing
Baby you're the difference between day and night
I was in the dark 'til I saw the light
Dynamite!
Baby baby baby you're amazing
Took me by surprise
Don't waste time, baby tryin' to explain it
Right before my eyes
Baby baby baby we ain't faking
This is paradise
Baby doll, I'm not exaggering
Girl you're dynamite
Baby baby baby
Baby you're amazing
Took me by surprise
Baby you know how to drive me crazy
Make me realize

[...] Read more

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. The Sicilian's Tale; The Monk of Casal-Maggiore

Once on a time, some centuries ago,
In the hot sunshine two Franciscan friars
Wended their weary way, with footsteps slow
Back to their convent, whose white walls and spires
Gleamed on the hillside like a patch of snow;
Covered with dust they were, and torn by briers,
And bore like sumpter-mules upon their backs
The badge of poverty, their beggar's sacks.

The first was Brother Anthony, a spare
And silent man, with pallid cheeks and thin,
Much given to vigils, penance, fasting, prayer,
Solemn and gray, and worn with discipline,
As if his body but white ashes were,
Heaped on the living coals that glowed within;
A simple monk, like many of his day,
Whose instinct was to listen and obey.

A different man was Brother Timothy,
Of larger mould and of a coarser paste;
A rubicund and stalwart monk was he,
Broad in the shoulders, broader in the waist,
Who often filled the dull refectory
With noise by which the convent was disgraced,
But to the mass-book gave but little heed,
By reason he had never learned to read.

Now, as they passed the outskirts of a wood,
They saw, with mingled pleasure and surprise,
Fast tethered to a tree an ass, that stood
Lazily winking his large, limpid eyes.
The farmer Gilbert of that neighborhood
His owner was, who, looking for supplies
Of fagots, deeper in the wood had strayed,
Leaving his beast to ponder in the shade.

As soon as Brother Timothy espied
The patient animal, he said: 'Good-lack!
Thus for our needs doth Providence provide;
We'll lay our wallets on the creature's back.'
This being done, he leisurely untied
From head and neck the halter of the jack,
And put it round his own, and to the tree
Stood tethered fast as if the ass were he.

And, bursting forth into a merry laugh,
He cried to Brother Anthony: 'Away!
And drive the ass before you with your staff;
And when you reach the convent you may say
You left me at a farm, half tired and half

[...] Read more

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III. The Other Half-Rome

Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
From nobleness to nobleness, as she,
Over the rough way of the world, succumbs,
Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot,
The angels love to do their work betimes,
Staunch some wounds here nor leave so much for God.
Who knows? However it be, confessed, absolved,
She lies, with overplus of life beside
To speak and right herself from first to last,
Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave,
Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son
From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus,
And—with best smile of all reserved for him
Pardon that sire and husband from the heart.
A miracle, so tell your Molinists!

There she lies in the long white lazar-house.
Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt,
Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear
Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge
When the reluctant wicket opes at last,
Lets in, on now this and now that pretence,
Too many by half,—complain the men of art,—
For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first
Paid the due visit—justice must be done;
They took her witness, why the murder was.
Then the priests followed properly,—a soul
To shrive; 't was Brother Celestine's own right,
The same who noises thus her gifts abroad.
But many more, who found they were old friends,
Pushed in to have their stare and take their talk

[...] Read more

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The Confessor

I have heard the fame of her beauty
And I, of notes taken of her many virtues
Which has plaqued the walls of my heart
Whereon I became subject to her fair countenance
And at the wand of her beauty my obedience I tender
Alas, I am the confessed and the confessor of her beauty

She is the beat and men in dance revolves round about her
Like the stars revolves round about the moon light
Some said, she came from the province of the goddesses
Perchance a god in disguise mated her mother thus formed she
With an irresistible beauty to plaque the hearts of men with desire
Truly, she is a secret and lovely thing to look upon
And having the likeness of a goddess even the gods gave her gifts
Oh, she is a wonder to behold; a bright garland of blooming flowers
And a crown of gold upon the head of him whom she chose for a husband
Alas, I am the confessed and the confessor of her beauty

Her beauty radiates with disease, pestilence and sin
Fixing your eyes of desire on her irresistible beauty
Unleashes the contents of the Pandora box of her beauty and you're plaqued
She is truly a blessing and a curse of wakefulness to anyone at night
She plaques the hearts of men with an unending desire of her beauty
Just like Helen of Sparta plaqued the shores of Troy with thousands of war ships
Alas, I am the confessed and the confessor of her beauty

O' goddess Pandora from the province of the goddesses—first beauty of the universe
I am the seeker, the confessed and the confessor of your beauty
Thus upon me the plaques of your irresistible beauty hath descended
And in me you have blown the coal of desire of your beauty
Which only your consent to my desire can quench this coal.

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