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California Dremaing

All the leaves are brown
And the sky is grey
I went for a walk
On a winters day
Id be safe and warm
If I was in l.a.
California dreamin
On such a winters day
I stopped into a church (stopped into a church)
I passed along the way (passed along the way)
You know, I got down on my knees (got down on my knees)
And I pretend to pray (I pretend to pray)
Oh, the preacher likes the cold (preacher likes the cold)
He knows Im gonna stay (knows Im gonna stay)
Oh, california dreamin (california dreamin)
On such a winters day
All the leaves are brown (the leaves are brown)
And the sky is grey (and the sky is grey)
I went for a walk (I went for a walk)
On a winters day (on a winters day)
If I didnt tell her (if I didnt tell her)
I could leave today (I could leave today)
Oh, california dreamin (california dreamin)
On such a winters day (california dreamin)
On such a winters day (california dreamin)
On such a winters day (california dreamin)
On such a winters day

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Kalifornia

California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Down by law, right from the core
Down by law, right from the core
Down-down by-by law-law, right-right from-from the-the core-core
(? ? ? ? )
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
Druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy
California is druggy, druggy, druggy, druggy

[...] Read more

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California Dreamin

Written by john and michelle phillips, 1966
Found on america in concert (95), heard, and highway.
All the leaves are brown
And the sky is grey
I went for a walk
On a winters day
Id be safe and warm
If I was in l.a.
California dreamin
On such a winters day
I stopped into a church (stopped into a church)
I passed along the way (passed along the way)
You know, I got down on my knees (got down on my knees)
And I pretend to pray (I pretend to pray)
Oh, the preacher likes the cold (preacher likes the cold)
He knows Im gonna stay (knows Im gonna stay)
Oh, california dreamin (california dreamin)
On such a winters day
All the leaves are brown (the leaves are brown)
And the sky is grey (and the sky is grey)
I went for a walk (I went for a walk)
On a winters day (on a winters day)
If I didnt tell her (if I didnt tell her)
I could leave today (I could leave today)
Oh, california dreamin (california dreamin)
On such a winters day (california dreamin)
On such a winters day (california dreamin)
On such a winters day (california dreamin)
On such a winters day

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California Dreamin'

All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray
I've been for a walk on a winter's day
I'd be safe and warm if I was in L.A.
California dreamin' on such a winter's day

Stopped in to a church I passed along the way
Well I got down on my knees and I pretend to pray
You know the preacher liked the cold
He knows I'm gonna stay
California dreamin' on such a winter's day

California dreamin' on such a winter's...
California dreamin' on such a winter's...
California dreamin' on such a winter's day...

All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray
I've been for a walk on a winter's day
If I didn't tell her I could leave today
California dreamin' on such a winter's day

California dreamin' on such a winter's...
California dreamin' on such a winter's...
California dreamin' on such a winter's day...

On such a winter's day...

California dreamin' on such a winter's...
California dreamin' on such a winter's...
California dreamin' on such a winter's day...

California dreamin' on such a winter's day...

song performed by DJ Sammy from HeavenReport problemRelated quotes
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California Dreamin'

All the leaves are brown
All the leaves are brown
And the sky is grey
And the sky is grey
I've been for a walk
I've been for a walk
On a winter's day
On a winter's day
I'd be safe and warm
I'd be safe and warm
If I was in l.a.
If I was in l.a.
California dreamin'
California dreamin'
On such a winter's day
Stopped into a church
I passed along the way
Well, I got down on my knees
Got down on my knees
And I pretend to pray
I pretend to pray
You know the preacher likes the cold
Preacher likes the cold
He knows I'm gonna stay
Knows I'm gonna stay
California dreamin'
California dreamin'
On such a winter's day
All the leaves are brown
All the leaves are brown
And the sky is grey
And the sky is grey
I've been for a walk
I've been for a walk
On a winter's day
On a winter's day
If I didn't tell her
If I didn't tell her
I could leave today
I could leave today
California dreamin'
California dreamin'
On such a winter's day
California dreaming'
On such a winter's day
California dreaming'
On such a winter's day

song performed by CarpentersReport problemRelated quotes
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.


II.

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California Dreamin'

All the leaves are brown
and the sky is grey
I've been for a walk
on a winter's day
I'd be safe and warm
if I was in L.A.
California dreamin'
(California dreamin'
on such a winter's day)
Stopped into a church
I passed along the way
Well, I got down on my knees
(got down on my knees)
and I pretend to pray
(I pretend to pray)
You know the preacher likes the cold
(preacher likes the cold)
He knows I'm gonna stay
(knows I'm gonna stay)
California dreamin'
(California dreamin'
on such a winter's day)
(Solo de Guitarra)
Oo-oo-oo
All the leaves are brown
(all the leaves are brown)
and the sky is grey
(and the sky is grey)
I've been for a walk
(I've been for a walk)
on a winter's day
(on a winter's day)
I'd be safe and warm
(I'd be safe and warm)
if I was in L.A.
(if I was in L.A.)
California dreamin'
(California dreamin'
on such a winter's day)
California dreamin'...
From: Sergi Barba, Murcia, Espanya

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Nestling

When to summon the sky
Little nestling?
When to summon the sky?

And suffer the risk - abscond in dread -
The knowledge of sort that you'll be dead
Upon a calamitous fall;

Or taken in flight - a hawkish pounce -
Demolished as prey; your fate pronounce
You gone, and to never recall.

O when to summon the sky
Little nestling?
When to summon the sky?

Aborting a den with
Feathered bed,
Unwavering mother who
Saw you fed -
Surrendering all so
You may spread
Your reach of tentative wings!

‘Tis only instinct -
E'er the reason -
Forging life:
The Nesting Season
And the trials it brings.

So up and summon the sky
Little nestling,
Up! and summon the sky!

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011


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VII. Pompilia

I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.

All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.

Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—

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poem by from The Ring and the BookReport problemRelated quotes
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Roan Stallion

The dog barked; then the woman stood in the doorway, and hearing
iron strike stone down the steep road
Covered her head with a black shawl and entered the light rain;
she stood at the turn of the road.
A nobly formed woman; erect and strong as a new tower; the
features stolid and dark
But sculptured into a strong grace; straight nose with a high bridge,
firm and wide eyes, full chin,
Red lips; she was only a fourth part Indian; a Scottish sailor had
planted her in young native earth,
Spanish and Indian, twenty-one years before. He had named her
California when she was born;
That was her name; and had gone north.
She heard the hooves and
wheels come nearer, up the steep road.
The buckskin mare, leaning against the breastpiece, plodded into
sight round the wet bank.
The pale face of the driver followed; the burnt-out eyes; they had
fortune in them. He sat twisted
On the seat of the old buggy, leading a second horse by a long
halter, a roan, a big one,
That stepped daintily; by the swell of the neck, a stallion. 'What
have you got, Johnny?' 'Maskerel's stallion.
Mine now. I won him last night, I had very good luck.' He was
quite drunk, 'They bring their mares up here now.
I keep this fellow. I got money besides, but I'll not show you.'
'Did you buy something, Johnny,
For our Christine? Christmas comes in two days, Johnny.' 'By
God, forgot,' he answered laughing.
'Don't tell Christine it's Christmas; after while I get her something,
maybe.' But California:
'I shared your luck when you lost: you lost me once, Johnny, remember?
Tom Dell had me two nights
Here in the house: other times we've gone hungry: now that
you've won, Christine will have her Christmas.
We share your luck, Johnny. You give me money, I go down to
Monterey to-morrow,
Buy presents for Christine, come back in the evening. Next day
Christmas.' 'You have wet ride,' he answered
Giggling. 'Here money. Five dollar; ten; twelve dollar. You
buy two bottles of rye whiskey for Johnny.'
A11 right. I go to-morrow.'
He was an outcast Hollander; not
old, but shriveled with bad living.
The child Christine inherited from his race blue eyes, from his
life a wizened forehead; she watched
From the house-door her father lurch out of the buggy and lead
with due respect the stallion
To the new corral, the strong one; leaving the wearily breathing
buckskin mare to his wife to unharness.

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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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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

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California

Blonde haired baby standing by the road
A pistol in her hand and talking on the phone
Said go to california (go to california)
Go to california (go to california)
Sidewalk gazing diamonds in the sky
Silent movie gods are flashing in your eye
Said go to california (go to california)
Go to california (go to california)
Get up get out
Get inside the outside
Get up get out get in
Get up get out
Get inside the outside
Get up get out get in
Lon chaney calling
Spelling out your name
Where everybody's different
But they're all the same
Yeah go to california (go to california)
Go to california (go to california)
You are perfect you are insane
We love to watch you break from the pain
Yeah go to california (go to california)
Go to california (go to california)
Get up get out
Get inside the outside
Get up get out get in
Get up get out
Get inside the outside
Get up get out get in
Bump and grind
Bump and grind
Bump and grind
Bump and grind
Bump and grind
Bump and grind
Hit the lights and
Strip down on the floor
Everybody hates you
But they want some more
Yeah go to california (go to california)
Go to california (go to california)
Get up get out
Get inside the outside
Get up get out get in
Get up get out
Get inside the outside
Get up get out get in
Bump and grind
Bump and grind

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(Go To) California

Blonde haired baby standing by the road
A pistol in her hand and talking on the phone
Said go to California (go to California)
Go to California (go to California)
Sidewalk gazing diamonds in the sky
Silent movie Gods are flashing in your eye
Said go to California (go to California)
Go to California (go to California)
Get up get out
Get inside the outside
Get up get out get in
Get up get out
Get inside the outside
Get up get out get in
Lon Chaney calling
Spelling out your name
Where everybody's different
But they're all the same
Yeah go to California (go to California)
Go to California (go to California)
You are perfect you are insane
We love to watch you break from the pain
Yeah go to California (go to California)
Go to California (go to California)
Get up get out
Get inside the outside
Get up get out get in
Get up get out
Get inside the outside
Get up get out get in
Bump and grind
Bump and grind
Bump and grind
Bump and grind
Bump and grind
Bump and grind
Hit the lights and
Strip down on the floor
Everybody hates you
But they want some more
Yeah go to California (go to California)
Go to California (go to California)
Get up get out
Get inside the outside
Get up get out get in
Get up get out
Get inside the outside
Get up get out get in
Bump and grind
Bump and grind

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I'm Still Dreamin'

I know people who lose their lovers
Turn around and they find another
Fall in love and then they break up
But I don't know if I want to wake up
'Cause I'm still dreamin'
I'm still dreamin', baby
I'm still dreamin'
Whoa, about you
Other women walk right up to me
I hear them talking but it goes right through me
I know its love that's on the line
But they don't know what's on my mind
Cause I'm still dreamin'
I'm still dreamin', baby
I'm still dreamin'
Whoa, about you
It's like a voice that's always calling
It's like a feeling that I'm always falling
I close my eyes and all I see is you, you, you
Cause I'm still dreamin'
I'm still dreamin', baby
I'm still dreamin'
Whoa, about you
(Key Change)
I'm still dreamin'
I'm still dreamin', baby
I'm still dreamin'
I'm still dreamin', baby
Dreamin about you baby
I'm still dreamin'
Keep on dreamin about you baby
I'm still dreamin'
I'm still dreamin', baby

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Rosalind and Helen: a Modern Eclogue

ROSALIND, HELEN, and her Child.

SCENE. The Shore of the Lake of Como.

HELEN
Come hither, my sweet Rosalind.
'T is long since thou and I have met;
And yet methinks it were unkind
Those moments to forget.
Come, sit by me. I see thee stand
By this lone lake, in this far land,
Thy loose hair in the light wind flying,
Thy sweet voice to each tone of even
United, and thine eyes replying
To the hues of yon fair heaven.
Come, gentle friend! wilt sit by me?
And be as thou wert wont to be
Ere we were disunited?
None doth behold us now; the power
That led us forth at this lone hour
Will be but ill requited
If thou depart in scorn. Oh, come,
And talk of our abandoned home!
Remember, this is Italy,
And we are exiles. Talk with me
Of that our land, whose wilds and floods,
Barren and dark although they be,
Were dearer than these chestnut woods;
Those heathy paths, that inland stream,
And the blue mountains, shapes which seem
Like wrecks of childhood's sunny dream;
Which that we have abandoned now,
Weighs on the heart like that remorse
Which altered friendship leaves. I seek
No more our youthful intercourse.
That cannot be! Rosalind, speak,
Speak to me! Leave me not! When morn did come,
When evening fell upon our common home,
When for one hour we parted,--do not frown;
I would not chide thee, though thy faith is broken;
But turn to me. Oh! by this cherished token
Of woven hair, which thou wilt not disown,
Turn, as 't were but the memory of me,
And not my scornèd self who prayed to thee!

ROSALIND
Is it a dream, or do I see
And hear frail Helen? I would flee
Thy tainting touch; but former years
Arise, and bring forbidden tears;

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Tannhauser

The Landgrave Hermann held a gathering
Of minstrels, minnesingers, troubadours,
At Wartburg in his palace, and the knight,
Sir Tannhauser of France, the greatest bard,
Inspired with heavenly visions, and endowed
With apprehension and rare utterance
Of noble music, fared in thoughtful wise
Across the Horsel meadows. Full of light,
And large repose, the peaceful valley lay,
In the late splendor of the afternoon,
And level sunbeams lit the serious face
Of the young knight, who journeyed to the west,
Towards the precipitous and rugged cliffs,
Scarred, grim, and torn with savage rifts and chasms,
That in the distance loomed as soft and fair
And purple as their shadows on the grass.
The tinkling chimes ran out athwart the air,
Proclaiming sunset, ushering evening in,
Although the sky yet glowed with yellow light.
The ploughboy, ere he led his cattle home,
In the near meadow, reverently knelt,
And doffed his cap, and duly crossed his breast,
Whispering his 'Ave Mary,' as he heard
The pealing vesper-bell. But still the knight,
Unmindful of the sacred hour announced,
Disdainful or unconscious, held his course.
'Would that I also, like yon stupid wight,
Could kneel and hail the Virgin and believe!'
He murmured bitterly beneath his breath.
'Were I a pagan, riding to contend
For the Olympic wreath, O with what zeal,
What fire of inspiration, would I sing
The praises of the gods! How may my lyre
Glorify these whose very life I doubt?
The world is governed by one cruel God,
Who brings a sword, not peace. A pallid Christ,
Unnatural, perfect, and a virgin cold,
They give us for a heaven of living gods,
Beautiful, loving, whose mere names were song;
A creed of suffering and despair, walled in
On every side by brazen boundaries,
That limit the soul's vision and her hope
To a red hell or and unpeopled heaven.
Yea, I am lost already,-even now
Am doomed to flaming torture for my thoughts.
O gods! O gods! where shall my soul find peace?'
He raised his wan face to the faded skies,
Now shadowing into twilight; no response
Came from their sunless heights; no miracle,
As in the ancient days of answering gods.

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The Ballad of the White Horse

DEDICATION

Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?

Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?

In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
What shape shall man discern?
These lords may light the mystery
Of mastery or victory,
And these ride high in history,
But these shall not return.

Gored on the Norman gonfalon
The Golden Dragon died:
We shall not wake with ballad strings
The good time of the smaller things,
We shall not see the holy kings
Ride down by Severn side.

Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
As the broidery of Bayeux
The England of that dawn remains,
And this of Alfred and the Danes
Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
Too English to be true.

Of a good king on an island
That ruled once on a time;
And as he walked by an apple tree
There came green devils out of the sea
With sea-plants trailing heavily
And tracks of opal slime.

Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
His days as our days ran,
He also looked forth for an hour
On peopled plains and skies that lower,
From those few windows in the tower
That is the head of a man.

But who shall look from Alfred's hood

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Dreamin

Four oclock Ive been walkin all night
Its the time I always think of you
If you could only see through my eyes
Then youd know just what Im going through
Here am I Im taking a chance
In running around with stars in my eyes
Here am I Im looking for you
Wondering why do I feel so blue
Im dreamin dreamin of me and you
Im dreamin dreamin will see me through
Never letting chances pass me by
Im gonna dream you right into my life
Yeah dream you right into my life
(dreamin dreamin will see me through)
Woman youd better believe im
(dreamin you into my life)
Five oclock still walking around
I call you up but you just bring me down
I guess youd say Im getting nowhere
But in my dreams you always come around
Here am I Im takin a chance
Im walking on air flyin so high
Here am I Im facing the truth
Theres no other way Ill ever make you mine
Im dreamin
Dreamin of me and you
Dreamin dreamin will see me through
Never letting chances pass me by
Im gonna dream you right into my life
(dreamin dreamin will see me through)
Woman youd better believe that Ill be
(dreamin you into my life)
Woman youve got to believe me woman
Oh woman youve got to believe me woman
Ill be (dreamin you into my life)
Youve got to believe me woman
Woman oh woman youve got to believe me Ill be forever
(dreamin you into my life) oh woman you got to believe me

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California Dreamin

[Inspired by Jose Feliciano's 1968 cover of The Mamas And The Papas hit of 1966]
All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray.
I've been for a walk on a winter's day.
I'd be safe and warm if I was in L.A.;
California dreamin' on such a winter's day.
Stopped in to a church I passed along the way.
Well I got down on my knees and I pretend to pray.
You know the preacher liked the cold;
He knows I'm gonna stay.
California dreamin' on such a winter's day.
All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray.
I've been for a walk on a winter's day.
If I didn't tell her I could leave today;
California dreamin' on such a winter's day.
California dreamin' on such a winter's day.
California dreamin' on such a winter's day.

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Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Fifth Book

AURORA LEIGH, be humble. Shall I hope
To speak my poems in mysterious tune
With man and nature,–with the lava-lymph
That trickles from successive galaxies
Still drop by drop adown the finger of God,
In still new worlds?–with summer-days in this,
That scarce dare breathe, they are so beautiful?–
With spring's delicious trouble in the ground
Tormented by the quickened blood of roots.
And softly pricked by golden crocus-sheaves
In token of the harvest-time of flowers?–
With winters and with autumns,–and beyond,
With the human heart's large seasons,–when it hopes
And fears, joys, grieves, and loves?–with all that strain
Of sexual passion, which devours the flesh
In a sacrament of souls? with mother's breasts,
Which, round the new made creatures hanging there,
Throb luminous and harmonious like pure spheres?–
With multitudinous life, and finally
With the great out-goings of ecstatic souls,
Who, in a rush of too long prisoned flame,
Their radiant faces upward, burn away
This dark of the body, issuing on a world
Beyond our mortal?–can I speak my verse
So plainly in tune to these things and the rest,
That men shall feel it catch them on the quick,
As having the same warrant over them
To hold and move them, if they will or no,
Alike imperious as the primal rhythm
Of that theurgic nature? I must fail,
Who fail at the beginning to hold and move
One man,–and he my cousin, and he my friend,
And he born tender, made intelligent,
Inclined to ponder the precipitous sides
Of difficult questions; yet, obtuse to me,–
Of me, incurious! likes me very well,
And wishes me a paradise of good,
Good looks, good means, and good digestion!–ay,
But otherwise evades me, puts me off
With kindness, with a tolerant gentleness,–
Too light a book for a grave man's reading! Go,
Aurora Leigh: be humble.
There it is;
We women are too apt to look to one,
Which proves a certain impotence in art.
We strain our natures at doing something great,
Far less because it's something great to do,
Than, haply, that we, so, commend ourselves
As being not small, and more appreciable
To some one friend. We must have mediators

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