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An old bearded dude from Havana,
Tried unsuccessfully to smoke a banana.
So he switched to cigars,
Amidst hardy, har, hars,
Of the prime minister in the cabana.

limerick by Juan Olivarez (16 April 2011)
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Tiriel

1

And Aged Tiriel. stood before the Gates of his beautiful palace
With Myratana. once the Queen of all the western plains
But now his eyes were darkned. & his wife fading in death
They stood before their once delightful palace. & thus the Voice
Of aged Tiriel. arose. that his sons might hear in their gates
Accursed race of Tiriel. behold your father
Come forth & look on her that bore you. come you accursed sons.
In my weak arms. I here have borne your dying mother
Come forth sons of the Curse come forth. see the death of Myratana
His sons ran from their gates. & saw their aged parents stand
And thus the eldest son of Tiriel raisd his mighty voice
Old man unworthy to be calld. the father of Tiriels race
For evry one of those thy wrinkles. each of those grey hairs
Are cruel as death. & as obdurate as the devouring pit
Why should thy sons care for thy curses thou accursed man
Were we not slaves till we rebeld. Who cares for Tiriels curse
His blessing was a cruel curse. His curse may be a blessing
He ceast the aged man raisd up his right hand to the heavens
His left supported Myratana shrinking in pangs of death
The orbs of his large eyes he opend. & thus his voice went forth
Serpents not sons. wreathing around the bones of Tiriel
Ye worms of death feasting upon your aged parents flesh
Listen & hear your mothers groans. No more accursed Sons
She bears. she groans not at the birth of Heuxos or Yuva
These are the groans of death ye serpents These are the groans of death
Nourishd with milk ye serpents. nourishd with mothers tears & cares
Look at my eyes blind as the orbless scull among the stones
Look at my bald head. Hark listen ye serpents listen
What Myratana. What my wife. O Soul O Spirit O fire
What Myratana. art thou dead. Look here ye serpents look
The serpents sprung from her own bowels have draind her dry as this[.]
Curse on your ruthless heads. for I will bury her even here
So saying he began to dig a grave with his aged hands
But Heuxos calld a son of Zazel. to dig their mother a grave
Old cruelty desist & let us dig a grave for thee
Thou hast refusd our charity thou hast refusd our food
Thou hast refusd our clothes our beds our houses for thy dwelling
Chusing to wander like a Son of Zazel in the rocks
Why dost thou curse. is not the curse now come upon your head
Was it not you enslavd the sons of Zazel. & they have cursd
And now you feel it. Dig a grave & let us bury our mother
There take the body. cursed sons. & may the heavens rain wrath
As thick as northern fogs. around your gates. to choke you up
That you may lie as now your mother lies. like dogs. cast out
The stink. of your dead carcases. annoying man & beast
Till your white bones are bleachd with age for a memorial.
No your remembrance shall perish. for when your carcases
Lie stinking on the earth. the buriers shall arise from the east

[...] Read more

poem by William Blake (1789)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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June

'Glemt er nu Vaarens Kamp og Vinter-Sorgen,
Til Glæde sig forvandler hvert et Suk.
Skjøn som en Brud, den anden Bryllups-Morgen,
Ei længer Barn, og dog saa ung og smuk,
Den skjønne Junimaaned til os kommer;
Det er Skærsommer! -

*
De høie Popler hæve sig saa slanke,
I Hyldetræet qviddrer Fuglen smukt.
Paa Gjærdet groer den grønne Humle-Ranke,
Og Æble-Blomstret former sig til Frugt.
Den varme Sommerluft fra Skyen strømmer,
Sødt Hjertet drømmer!

Paa Engen slaae de Græs; hør, Leen klinger.
Paa Himlen smukke Sommerskyer staae.
Og Kløvermarken Røgelse os svinger,
Mens høit i Choret alle Lærker slaae.
- Med Vandringsstav hist Ungersvenden kommer
Hjem i Skærsommer.

Ungersvenden.
Alt jeg Kirketaarnet øiner,
Spiret kneiser stolt derpaa.
Og hvor Marken hist sig høiner,
End de fire Pile staae.
Her er Skoven. Store Rødder
Før af Træerne der laae.
Her, som Dreng, jeg plukked' Nødder,
Og trak Jordbær paa et Straa!
- Barndoms Minder mig besjæle!
Jeg vil flyve, jeg vil dvæle!
Grønne Skov, min Barndoms Ven,
Kan Du kjende mig igjen?
Grønne Hæk, du brune Stamme,
Jeg, som før, er end den samme,
Har vel seet og hørt lidt meer,
Ellers Du den Samme seer! -
Her er Pladsen end med Vedet,
Godt jeg kjender Parken der!
Her er Stenten tæt ved Ledet,
Gud, hvor lille den dog er!
Alt jeg kjender her saa godt,
Men det er saa nært, saa smaat -
Det var stort, da jeg var liden,
Jeg er bleven større siden! -
- Lille Fugl paa grønne Qvist,
Saae Du mig derude hist,

[...] Read more

poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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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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Nunca Te Hare Llorar

Nunca te harllorar
Spoken:
Mi vida, yo sque te han herido
Sque en este momento sietes que no podras volver a amar
An asdame una oportunidad
De mostrarte que te amo
Cuando vi
Tu sonrisa supe que
Estara junto a ti,
Juntos por siempre
Ooh cuando me acerqu
A salir yo te invit
Me dijiste que jams
Volveras a amar
l te hizo dao y tambin te enga
Pero deja mostrarte que ese no soy yo
Es difcil volver a confiar
Hazlo y te enseara amar
Coro:
Nunca te harllorar
Nunca te he de engaar
Prefiero morir que vivir sin ti
Te darmi ser
Siempre serfiel
[2x]
Corazn
Todo se ve un poco mejor
Podras quererme
Como yo te quiero a ti [nana, nena]
Se que sientes [sientes] un gran temor [gran temor]
De mostrar tus sentimientos [sentimientos]
El dolor y sufrimiento [sufrimiento]
Marcaron tu corazn
[marcaron tu corazn]
l te hizo dao [dao]
Y tambin te enga [te enga]
Pero deja mostrarte [mostrarte] que ese no soy yo [no soy yo]
Es difcil volver a confiar [a confiar]
Hazlo y te enseara amar
Yo te harfeliz
Coro -repite [x2]
Yo no te harllorar [no te harllorar]
[nunca] no, no
Nena no te harllorar [nunca..]
Jams llorar [..te harllorar]
Oh no, no, no [mi amor] har
[nena yo...] no te harllorar [nunca]
[he de...] nena no te harllorar [nunca]
Jams llorar [ahhh...]
Nunca te harllorar [no te harllorar]

[...] Read more

song performed by Backstreet Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Nunca Te Hare Llorar (Spanish Version)

nunca te harllorar"
Spoken:
Mi vida, yo sque te han herido
Sque en este momento sietes que no podras volver a amar
An asdame una oportunidad
De mostrarte que te amo
Cuando vi
Tu sonrisa supe que
Estara junto a ti,
Juntos por siempre
Ooh cuando me acerqu
A salir yo te invit
Me dijiste que jams
Volveras a amar
l te hizo dao y tambin te enga
Pero deja mostrarte que ese no soy yo
Es difcil volver a confiar
Hazlo y te enseara amar
Coro:
Nunca te harllorar
Nunca te he de engaar
Prefiero morir que vivir sin ti
Te darmi ser
Siempre serfiel
[2x]
Corazn
Todo se ve un poco mejor
Podras quererme
Como yo te quiero a ti [nana, nena]
Se que sientes [sientes] un gran temor [gran temor]
De mostrar tus sentimientos [sentimientos]
El dolor y sufrimiento [sufrimiento]
Marcaron tu corazn
[marcaron tu corazn]
l te hizo dao [dao]
Y tambin te enga [te enga]
Pero deja mostrarte [mostrarte] que ese no soy yo [no soy yo]
Es difcil volver a confiar [a confiar]
Hazlo y te enseara amar
Yo te harfeliz
Coro -repite [x2]
Yo no te harllorar [no te harllorar]
[nunca] no, no
Nena no te harllorar [nunca..]
Jams llorar [..te harllorar]
Oh no, no, no [mi amor] har
[nena yo...] no te harllorar [nunca]
[he de...] nena no te harllorar [nunca]
Jams llorar [ahhh...]
Nunca te harllorar [no te harllorar]

[...] Read more

song performed by Backstreet Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Februar

'- Mark og Enge dækkes af den hvide Snee,
Paa de døde Blomster vil ei Livet see;
Dog, mens Vinterkulden trykker Jordens Kyst,
Anelse og Længsel fylder hvert et Bryst -!'

*
Maanen, som en Havfrue, fra den fjerne Old,
Svømmer hen ad Himlen, deilig, men saa kold.
Skoven staaer med Riimfrost, glimrende og hvid,
Drømmer vist i Natten om sin Sommertid,
Om de grønne Blade med den friske Duft,
Om de smukke Blomster og den varme Luft.
Ja, hvert Træ i Skoven har sin Sommer-Drøm,
Der, som Digter-Hjertets, døer i Tidens Strøm.
Mark og Enge dækkes af den hvide Snee,
Paa de døde Blomster vil ei Livet see;
Dog, mens Vinterkulden trykker Jordens Kyst,
Anelse og Længsel fylder hvert et Bryst.

Som et Skyggebilled', sat mod Luftens Blaa,
Staaer hist Herregaarden, der er Taarne paa!
Alt er gothisk gammelt, hvilket Malerie!
Ret som Riddertiden slumrede deri.
Under Vindebroen, ved de frosne Rør,
Er' i Muren Huller; der var Fængsler før.
Vaabenet med Indskrift over Porten staaer,
Og om Vindueskarmen kunstigt Løvværk gaaer.
Mellem to Karnapper groer en mægtig Lind,
Der, ad Vindeltrappen, vil vi træde ind.
Hvilke gamle Døre! og hvor de er' smaae!
Ovenover stolte Hjortetakker staae.

Gjennem hele Fløien strækker sig en Gang,
Maaneskinnet gjør den mere dyb og lang.
Riddersmænd og Fruer, mens vi gaae forbi,
See, som bundne Aander, fra hvert Malerie.
Hvem er vel hin Ridder med det mørke Blik?
Engang stolt og modig, han i Livet gik;
Mægtigt svulmed' Hjertet, Jorden har ham gjemt,
Ei hans Slægt man kjender, her hans Navn er glemt!
Hvilken deilig Qvinde! Liv og Aand man seer.
Og af disse Former er nu intet meer?
Intet meer, undtagen dette Farvespil,
Som hver Livets Sommer meer henbleges vil!
Dette Smiil om Munden, dette Tanke-Blik,
Denne Sundheds-Farve hendes Kinder fik;
Alt er Støv og Aske, Alt i Jorden gjemt,
Og, som Hjertets Drømme, Sorg og - Glæde, glemt!

Tys! fra Salen klinger Toners Harmonie,

[...] Read more

poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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Havana Moon

Chant...
Me all alone
Jug of rum
Me stand and wait for the boat to come
Is lonely night is quiet the dark
The boat she late its 12 o clock
Me watches the tide easin in
Is low the moon and high the wind
Havana moon
Havana moon
Me all alone
Me open the rum
Is long the wait for the boat to come
American girl come back to me
Sail way across the sea
We dock in new york the buildings high
We find a home up in the sky
Havana moon...
Havana moon...
Me still alone me drinkin the rum
Begin to think that the boat no come
American girl she tell a lie
She say till then, but she mean goodbye
Havana moon...
Havana moon...
Me lay down alone, no good the rum
Me fall asleep and the boat she come
The girl she look till come the dawn
She weep and she cry
Return for home
The whistle blow me open my eyes
Bright the sun blue the sky
Me grab me shoes, me jump and me run
Me see the boat head for horizon
Havana moon is gone da rum
The boat she sail me love she gone
Havana moon...
Havana moon...

song performed by Santana
Added by Lucian Velea
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Havana Gang Brawl

Well the cops are at the door
And you know that they want more
They've got spears, made for arms
Tried to lure you with their charms
You can hear the guns outside
Watching riots with their eyes
As you move from wall to wall
Hear the siren from the gang brawl
Line the locals one by one
Filling bullets with their guns
Are you red, or if you're blue
Cause tonight their gonna find the truth
Take no prisoners today
For the future will be laid
One big city, one big town
Everyone with the same crown
Havana Gang Brawl
Havana Gang Brawl
Havana Gang Brawl
Oh where will you sleep tonight?
Oh where will you sleep tonight?
A doomed old day for engagements
They have torn up your arrangements
All the mothers, buying razors
For the future will be dangerous
You try desperately to leave
But all the trains are dry for steam
All the taxis on their sides
All the planes are burning bright
Havana Gang Brawl
Havana Gang Brawl
Havana Gang Brawl
Oh where will you sleep tonight?
Oh where will you sleep tonight?
Only one option left
To survive or you'll be dead
Do you hide now from the sin
Or do your blazing guns begin?
All the shops are up for sale
You might make it out on bail
All the fathers shine today
Making sure that son's ok
Havana Gang Brawl
Havana Gang Brawl
Havana Gang Brawl
Oh where will you sleep tonight?
Oh where will you sleep tonight?
Oh where will you sleep tonight?
Oh where will you sleep tonight?

song performed by Zutons
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Tra La La Song

Tra-la-la, la-la-la-la
Tra-la-la, la-la-la-la
Tra-la-la, la-la-la-la
Tra-la-la, la-la-la-la
One banana, two banana
Three banana, four
Four bananas make a bunch
And so do many more
Over hill and highway
The banana buggies go
Comin' on to bring you
The Banana Splits Show
Makin' up a mess of fun
Makin' up a mess of fun
Lots of fun for everyone
Tra-la-la, la-la-la-la
Tra-la-la, la-la-la-la
Tra-la-la, la-la-la-la
Tra-la-la, la-la-la-la
Four banana, three banana
Two banana, one
All bananas playing in the bright warm sun
Flippin' like a pancake, poppin' like a cork
Fleagle, Bingo, Drooper an' Snork
Makin' up a mess of fun
Makin' up a mess of fun
Lots of fun for everyone
Tra-la-la, la-la-la-la
Tra-la-la, la-la-la-la
Tra-la-la, la-la-la-la
Tra-la-la, la-la-la-la
Two banana, four banana
One banana, three
Swingin' like a bunch of monkeys
Hangin' from a tree
Hey there everybody
Won't you come along and see
How much like banana splits
Everyone can be
Makin' up a mess of fun
Makin' up a mess of fun
Lots of fun for everyone
Tra-la-la, la-la-la-la
Tra-la-la, la-la-la-la
Tra-la-la, la-la-la-la
Tra-la-la, la-la-la-la

song performed by Liz Phair
Added by Lucian Velea
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December

'Hver sorgfuld Sjæl, bliv karsk og glad,
Ryst af din tunge Smerte,
Et Barn er født i Davids Stad,
Til Trøst for hvert et Hierte.'

*
(Juleaften).

Ungersve nden.
Dybt i mit Hjerte, hvor hun boer,
Et mægtigt Juletræ der groer,
Og det for hende ene.

Med Tankens Stjernelys det staaer,
Og Troskabs-Fuglen lifligt slaaer,
Bag Haabets grønne Grene.

Alt, hvad jeg har paa Jorden her,
Det finder hun paa Træet der,
Alt er for hende ene.

Jeg skal i Aften hende see,
Der leges Juul, hvo veed, maaskee
Hvad Himlen der mig bygger,

See hendes Sødskende, de Smaae,
Alt lyttende ved Døren staae,
Mens deres Træ hun smykker.

Børnene i Kammeret.
Waldemar.
Saae Du det store Træ, der kom igaar?
Jeg veed, nu er det plantet op derinde.
Og veed Du hvad? Det midt i Salen staaer,
Saa meget Stads paa Grenene de binde.
Jeg troer jeg faaer en nydelig Husar,
Og saa et Buur til begge mine Skader.

Jonna.
Men Jesu-Barnet aldrig seet jeg har,
Han kommer jo deroppe fra Gud Fader,
Og bringer os den hele Stads hvert Aar,
Hvor kan han komme ned og det saa stille?
Mon ogsaa Broder Viggo noget faaer,
Mon Jesu-Barnet veed, vi har den Lille?

Louise.
Det kan Du sagtens troe, til lille Broer
Han ogsaa noget deiligt Stads vil sende,
Han kom jo ned fra Himlen, sagde Mo'er,

[...] Read more

poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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I Switched You

I was alone in my big bed those lonely nights I tried to reach you
Your putting me on
Messed with my head but have you heard Im going to teach you
You will find out that you miss my lovin ways
But dont you know I switched you-switched you
I switched you
I switched you
I switched you
I hear that sound
That clickety-clack
That train returning who bewtiched me
Now youre around you want to come right back
Forget about the way you ditched me
Now you found out that you miss my lovin ways
But dont you know I switched you-switched you
Now you found out that you miss my lovin ways
But dont you know I switched you-switched you
Messed my head messed my head
Why you going putting me why you going putting me why you going putting me on?
T-t-t-tell me why

song performed by Frank Black
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Brus Book XI

[Criticism of the compact about Stirling Castle]

And quhen this connand thus wes mad
Schir Philip intill Ingland raid
And tauld the king all haile his tale,
How he a tuelf moneth all hale
5 Had as it writyn wes in thar taile
To reskew Strevillyne with bataill.
And quhen he hard Schyr Philip say
That Scottismen had set a day
To fecht and that sic space he had
10 To purvay him he wes rycht glaid,
And said it wes gret sukudry
That set thaim apon sic foly,
For he thocht to be or that day
Sa purvayit and in sic aray
15 That thar suld nane strenth him withstand,
And quhen the lordis off Ingland
Herd that this day wes set planly
Thai jugyt all to gret foly,
And thoucht to haiff all thar liking
20 Giff men abaid thaim in fechting,
Bot oft faillys the fulis thocht
And yeit wys mennys ay cummys nocht
To sic end as thai wene allwayis.
A litill stane oft, as men sayis,
25 May ger weltyr a mekill wayn,
Na mannys mycht may stand agayn
The grace off God that all thing steris,
He wate quhat till all thing afferis
And disponys at his liking
30 Efter his ordynance all thing.

[King Robert criticises his brother]

Quhen Schyr Edward, as I you say,
Had gevyn sa outrageous a day
To yeld or reskew Strevillyne,
Rycht to the king he went him syne
35 And tauld quhat tretys he had mad
And quhat day he thaim gevyn had.
The king said quhen he hard the day,
'That wes unwisly doyn, perfay.
Ik herd never quhar sa lang warnyng
40 Wes gevyn to sa mychty a king
As is the king off Ingland,
For he has now intill hand
Ingland, Ireland and Walis alsua
And Aquitayngne yeit with all tha,
45 And off Scotland yeit a party

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poem by John Barbour
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Rest Of My Life

Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life you can find me postin on my porch
Tokin my pipe-Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life see some people gave in but I aint
Given up the fight Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life find me old postin on my porch
Tokin on my pipe Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life see Im in love with mary jane im
Gonna make her my wife
Sometimes I wanna get high travel up away to the beautiful skies
Float away and hope to never come down hope to see the day that I never come down
But what goes up is always bound to fall
Ill Im trying to say is that I live my life raw
Im gonna smoke week the rest of my life and give all I got till the day that I die.
Ya!
Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life you can find me postin on my porch tokin my
Pipe-Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life see some people gave in but I aint given up
The fight Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life find me old postin on my porch tokin on
My pipe Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life see Im in love with mary jane Im gonna
Make her my wife
When I look in the mirror I feel so low
I see my eyes and I feel the glow
I know I can make do lets bless the sole
Show my love and let myself go wow
Everybody knows that I spit these flows and I drink my beer smoke my weed
But my heads in the clear
Show your love respect the one your dreaming of.
Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life you can find me postin on my porch tokin my
Pipe-Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life see some people gave in but I aint given up
The fight Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life find me old postin on my porch tokin on
My pipe Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life see Im in love with mary jane Im gonna
Make her my wife
Let us plant trees that bear positive fruits that enlighten our minds to the deepest roots all
The way to the core where the soul can stay true where I can walk free with a joint in my hand
And I can plant plants right upon my land help em understand these are natures laws my creator
Had visions in the things he saw yeah he saw yeah my creator had visions in the things he
Saw yeah
Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life you can find me postin on my porch tokin my
Pipe-Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life see some people gave in but I aint given up
The fight Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life find me old postin on my porch tokin on
My pipe Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life see Im in love with mary jane Im gonna
Make her my wife
Now when the love is lost and your spirits are low
The worlds closing in around you got no place to go
Done all that you could to ease and please another soul
And in the end youre in the cold, another sad story told
Thats why I make my own decisions on how Im liven
Try to get by with the knowledge that Im given
Cant make me believe cause a tree is a tree
And when my soul bleeds, the color that Im spillin is green
Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life you can find me postin on my porch tokin my
Pipe-Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life see some people gave in but I aint given up
The fight Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life find me old postin on my porch tokin on
My pipe Im gonna smoke weed for the rest of my life see Im in love with mary jane Im gonna

[...] Read more

song performed by Kottonmouth Kings
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hej Gamle Man

Han str ptorget varje dag
En vnlig gammal man
Hans hr r lite grnat
Under mssans rda band
Med blanka knappor I sin rock
Och bssan I sin hand
Han vet nog ganska vl
Vad vi vill frga om ibland
Hej gamla man!
Kan du visa oss den vg som vi ska gfr at fkomma dit som vi vill n
Hej gamla man!
Kanske r det vi som gr ngot fel nddu har ju allt som vi har svrt att f
Han verkar kanske trtt ibland
Vem skulle vl rmed
Att lysa upp en vg fr ngon
Som aldrig kunnat se
Men trots att han har stott dr nu
I alla dessa r
Sverkar det phonom som har kommit dit igr
Hej gamle man!
Kan du visa oss den vg som vi ska gfr at fkomma dit som vi vill n
Hej gamle man!
Kanske r det vi som gr ngot fel nddu har ju allt som vi har svrt att f
Hej gamla man!
Kan du visa oss den vg som vi ska gfr at fkomma dit som vi vill n
Hej gamla man!
Kanske r det vi som gr ngot fel nddu har ju allt som vi har svrt att f

song performed by ABBA
Added by Lucian Velea
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Henriette Wulff

I det brændende Skib, paa det rullende Hav,
I Rædsler, som ei vi udholde at høre,
Har du lidt, har du endt, har Du fundet din Grav,
Dødsmaaden og Kampen naae aldrig vort Øre!

Du dristige, kraftfulde Sjæl, Du dig holdt
I et skrøbeligt Legem; høit stod Du i Vrimlen,
Og aldrig dit ildfulde Hjerte blev koldt;
Her Faa kun forstod Dig, men Flere i Himlen!

Du var mig en Søster deeltagende stærk,
Min Sjæl holdt Du oppe, naar Verden mig traadte,
Du kjendte, forstod mig, og det er dit Værk,
At tit jeg ei sank, naar synke jeg maatte.

Det falske, det Tomme, det Bjældeklangs Smaa
Har Hobens Beskyttelse, bæres af Strømmen,
Dens Løb ei forandres —, Skumbølgerne gaae,
Og Jordlivet gaaer,- det er endt snart, som Drømmen.

Farvel min Veninde fra Barndommens Aar!
Du var mig meer god, end jeg det fortjente,
Nu har du stridt ud — ; hos en Broder Du staaer,
Med hvem alt paa Jorden Dig Længsel foreente.

Din Kiste blev Havet, det rullende Hav,
Og Indskriften over Dig staaer i vort Hjerte,
Din Sjæl er i Himlen, der Herren Dig gav
Lyksalighed tifold for Dødsstundens Smerte.

I det brændende Skib paa det rullende Hav,
I Rædsler, som ei vi udholde at høre,
Har Du lidt, har Du endt, har Du fundet din Grav,
Dødsmaaden og Kampen naae aldrig vort Øre!

poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Added by Poetry Lover
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Maa

Maa to meri jaan hai.
dundle andhere me bhi vo, meri pehchan hai
Sehti rahi jo hr pal,
Marti rahi har pal jiske liye vo,
Kuch or nahi bs vo meri muskaan hai,
Har gaya har lamha jiske samne,
Jhuk gaya har dard jiske samne
Vo koi or nahi meri maa mera bhagwan hai.muskurati rahi har dard me vo tumhe hsane k liye,
khud jalti hai vo har pal, sirf tumhe roshni dikhane k liye, rehti hai andhero me tumhe chand dikhane k liye,
Aaj bhi intzaar krti hai vo tumhe chamkta dekhne k liye,
Tadapti hai vo bs ek bar tumhe seene se lagane k liye.
Dedo use itni khushi ki gham bhi na use chu paye is zamane me...
Bna do uske har aasun ko moti,
Chamka to uski zindagi kuch is kadar,
Ki heera bhi feeka parh jaye is zamane me,
Bs ye hi jaan lo, maa hi sabkuch hai,
Har zamane me...

poem by Neha Poemlover
Added by Poetry Lover
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Manden fra Paradiis

Der var engang en Enke -
Dog nei! jeg maa mig først betænke;
Hun havde været det, men var nu gift paany,
Med Een fra Thy;
(Det maae vi ikke glemme).

— En Aftenstund, da Manden ei var hjemme,
Sad hun med Haanden under Kind,
Selv Theemaskinen var en Smule sovet ind,
(Den ellers sang en Tone, reen og klar,
Og førte tidt ved Bordet den bedste Passiar).
Fra Jordens Taageland,
Fløi Tankerne til hendes første Mand;
Hun kunde ei den søde Sjæl forglemme,
Og ak! den anden var jo ikke hjemme,
— „Du har det godt!" udbrød hun, „fri for Nød
Du sidder i det abrahamske Skjød,
Og seer til os, der i den snevre Stue
Maa plages slemt af Hoste og af Snue!"

Hun taug og faldt igjen i Tanker,
Da hører hun, hvor det paa Døren banker;
Hun skotter hen til Krogen;
„Uh! er der Nogen?"
(Thi hun var bange for — ja det var hele Tingen -
At see en Aand i den, der havde før slet ingen).
Nu banker det igjen, og saa gaaer Døren op — -
Men det er ingen Aand, nei Een med Kjød og Krop!
Det er en Haandværkssvend, der nu har sprængt sit Buur,
Og gaaer fra By til By og seer paa Guds Natur;
Han gjør Visitter kun, for ei at smægte,
Sligt kalder man: at fægte.

Han var, det saae hun nok, en sælle Een,
Der gik i dette Liv paa sine egne Been;
Og som han sagde det, der noget laae i Tonen,
Der rørte Konen.
Hun spurgte ham, hvorfra han kom, hvorhen han gik;
Og Svaret, som hun fik,
Det var: han drog paa Bursche-Viis,
Nu gjennem Tydskland til Paris. -
Da blev hun i sit Hjerte glad,
Hun dækked' op med Øl og Mad,
Og sagde: „Sæt sig dog, og spiis!
Hvad, reiser han til Paradiis?
O, Herre Gud! i dette Land
Der har jeg jo min første Mand;
Hils ham fra mig og fra vor Datter,
Og hils ham ogsaa lidt fra Fatter!"

[...] Read more

poem by Hans Christian Andersen
Added by Poetry Lover
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Gods Great Banana Skin

Go down my road running just as fast as I can
Nobody knows which is the better way
But when that man in the sky points his finger at you
Dont you ever think no-ones better than you
Gods great banana skin
Dont you laugh at nobody
Youll let the bad luck in
Gods great banana skin
Its the way that it gets you
With every day good luck comes in the strangest of ways
Just keep your head down dont listen what your ego will say
cos when that man in the sky points his finger at you
Dont you ever think no-ones better than you
Gods great banana skin
Dont you laugh at nobody
Youll let the bad luck in
Gods great banana skin
Its the way that it gets you
Gods great banana skin
Gods great banana skin
When that man in the sky points his finger at you
Dont you ever think no-ones better than you
Dont you ever think no-ones better than you
Gods great banana skin
Gonna get you
Gods great banana skin

song performed by Chris Rea
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Avowyng of Arthur

He that made us on the mulde,
And fair fourmet the folde,
Atte His will, as He wold,
The see and the sande,
Giffe hom joy that will here
Of dughti men and of dere,
Of haldurs that before us were,
That lifd in this londe.
One was Arther the Kinge,
Wythowtun any letting;
Wyth him was mony lordinge
Hardi of honde.
Wice and war ofte thay were,
Bold undur banere,
And wighte weppuns wold were,
And stifly wold stond.

This is no fantum ne no fabull;
Ye wote wele of the Rowun Tabull,
Of prest men and priveabull,
Was holdun in prise:
Chevetan of chivalry,
Kyndenesse and curtesy,
Hunting full warly,
As wayt men and wise.
To the forest thay fare
To hunte atte buk and atte bare,
To the herte and to the hare,
That bredus in the rise.
The King atte Carlele he lay;
The hunter cummys on a day -
Sayd, 'Sir, ther walkes in my way
A well grim gryse.
'He is a balefull bare -
Seche on segh I nevyr are:
He hase wroghte me mycull care
And hurte of my howundes,
Slayn hom downe slely
Wyth feghting full furcely.
Wasse ther none so hardi
Durste bide in his bandus.
On him spild I my spere
And mycull of my nothir gere.
Ther moue no dintus him dere,
Ne wurche him no wowundes.
He is masly made -
All offellus that he bade.
Ther is no bulle so brade
That in frith foundes.

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
Added by Poetry Lover
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Recollection of the Arabian Nights

WHEN the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free
In the silken sail of infancy,
The tide of time flow'd back with me,
The forward-flowing tide of time;
And many a sheeny summer-morn,
Adown the Tigris I was borne,
By Bagdat's shrines of fretted gold,
High-walled gardens green and old;
True Mussulman was I and sworn,
For it was in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Anight my shallop, rustling thro'
The low and bloomed foliage, drove
The fragrant, glistening deeps, and clove
The citron-shadows in the blue:
By garden porches on the brim,
The costly doors flung open wide,
Gold glittering thro' lamplight dim,
And broider'd sofas on each side:
In sooth it was a goodly time,
For it was in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Often where clear-stemm'd platans guard
The outlet, did I turn away
The boat-head down a broad canal
From the main river sluiced, where all
The sloping of the moon-lit sward
Was damask-work, and deep inlay
Of braided blooms unmown, which crept
Adown to where the water slept.
A goodly place, a goodly time,
For it was in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

A motion from the river won
Ridged the smooth level, bearing on
My shallop thro' the star-strown calm,
Until another night in night
I enter'd, from the clearer light,
Imbower'd vaults of pillar'd palm,
Imprisoning sweets, which, as they clomb
Heavenward, were stay'd beneath the dome
Of hollow boughs.--A goodly time,
For it was in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Still onward; and the clear canal
Is rounded to as clear a lake.

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poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Added by Poetry Lover
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