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To Sleep Or Not To Sleep

To sleep
perchance to...snore!

I can only dream
of peaceful sleep.

Like MacBeth
you've murdered sleep.

My sleep!
Ay, there's the rub!

I lie awake
misquoting Shakespeare

to myself.

poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Rub My Back

Track: Rub My Back
Artist: LL Cool J
Guest Artists:
Album: The DEFinition
------------------------------------------------------
Lyrics:
VERSE 1
Sippin something on the rocks
I got a shorty that makes the bed hop
I got plans to spoil you even though you saying stop
Ima drop that Phantom on you baby watch
Roberto Cavali and the Denali am I hot
Malibu beaches and Hydrofoil yachts
Badest Mercedes Lorenzos and silver fox
I keep it flowin see we goin to the top
Ima get you every thing give a damn how much you tell me stop
You want it hotter than we take it cross seas
Party jumping its bumping toking something in Belize
I know you want it sucker free
Know you wanting to shine even though you fightin me
Take it easy player talking greasy player
Know you can feel me player
Uh
You put it down tight
You not having what you want dont even sound right
HOOK
Hey lady
Can I hit you wit a wine Mercedes
Some homies gotta work em out my baby
All you do is rub my back
Rub my back
Rub my back
Rub my back
I say my baby
Watch television in the escalady
Gone shock em when you want to baby
All you do is rub my back
Rub my back
Rub my back
Rub my back
VERSE 2
Lay down for a while pretty relax a minute
A caught a feeling when you represented
Gave you that Mercedes you better get up in it
Get off the corner come and pop some vintage
You never seen a player flip ya whole life
Dip the caddy on the freeway hitten the slow light
You got a mean walk at times right
Im here to shine light I get ya mind right
Charles Jordan girl if you wanna take a hit

[...] Read more

song performed by LL Cool J
Added by Lucian Velea
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Love Calling

Sun goes down I rise
Red hair flames so bright
Iced gin breaks the night
Steal into her mind
Walk without a sound
Fire in the mountains now
If you wanna rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub
If you wanna rub-a-dub, dub love
Love calling, love calling
If you wanna rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub
If you wanna rub-a-dub, dub love
Love calling
So baby rock on
Clap hands, clap hands
For the song man
Rock on, rock on
Ooo baby rock on,
Clap hands, clap hands
For the song man
Rock on, rock on
Song man dreams for you
Moves his clapping space
Turns us into snakes
Hot hits
And the blue moon move, move, move
Move until we die
Move until she cries
If you wanna rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub
If you wanna rub-a-dub, dub love
Love calling, love calling
If you wanna rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub
If you wanna rub-a-dub, dub love
Love calling
Oo baby rock on
If you wanna rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub
If you wanna rub-a-dub, dub love
Love calling, love calling
If you wanna rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub
If you wanna rub-a-dub, dub love
Love calling
So[ooo? ] baby rock on
Clap hands, clap hands
For the song man
Rock on, rock on
Ooo baby rock on,
Clap hands, clap hands
For the song man
Rock on, rock on

song performed by Billy Idol
Added by Lucian Velea
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Murdered By Their Tongues

Threatened by a mentalness,
That spreading gossip did.
And murdered by their tongues.

Whatever between them did exist,
That ruined their happiness...
And long loving relationships,
Has been murdered by their tongues.

Murdered by their tongues,
Abandoned good deeds are left undone.
In big numbers.

Murdered by their tongues,
Some people had to run...
To find their comfort.

Murdered by their tongues,
Some choose to begin to run...
To find their comfort,
And unencumbered by the numbers.

They've been murdered by their tongues.
Stubborn these people,
Who've been murdered by their tongues.
Unconscious people,
Who are murdered by their tongues.
These fools are equal,
Who will murder anyone with their wicked tongues.

Murdered by their tongues,
Some people had to run...
To find their comfort.

Threatened by a mentalness,
That spreading gossip did.
And murdered by their tongues.

Whatever between them did exist,
That ruined their happiness...
And long loving relationships,
Has been murdered by their tongues.

They've been murdered by their tongues.
Stubborn these people,
Who've been murdered by their tongues.
Unconscious people,
Who are murdered by their tongues.
These fools are equal,
Who will murder anyone with their wicked tongues.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Rub One Out

Performed by whoa!
Written by brian gunn, mark gun, nigel dick, julie glaze, josh schwartz, brian kierulf and andrew fromm
Mmm..yeah..oh baby..
Girl..when i think about you..i think of one thing..and you know what that is..
Only think of one thing
I lock my door
Get down on the floor
And i rub one out
I sit back in my chair
Like i just don't care
And i rub one out
When i'm feelin lonely
And i want you to hold me
I rub one out, yeah
Oh oh
Chorus
Rub one out
Hey don't be shy
(girl don't be shy)
Rub one out
Girl, don't ask me why
(don't ask me why)
Rub one out and i'll grab my crotch
(grab my crotch)
Rub one out
Do you want to watch me?
When i'm alone
And you're on the phone
I rub one out
Rub one out
When i'm feelin hot
And i'm all in a knot
I rub one out
So baby don't be shy
Don't ask why
I rub one out
Babbyyy, yeah
Chorus
Girl i wanna get inside you
All my dreams to get beside you
Ooh leave a message besides my machine
Somethin warm and sexy
And i'll rub one out cos that's the way it affects me, babe
It's not enough kissing and stuff
So i rub one out
When you're not here
And i want you near
I rub one out
Chorus

song performed by 2gether
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The Boxer

I am just a poor boy though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises
All lies in jest, still a man hears what he wants to hear, and disregards the rest
hmm hmm hmmm
When I left my home and my family, was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers In the quiet of the railway station running scared
Laying low seeking out the poorer quarters, Where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only they would know
lie la lie, lie la la-lie lie la-lie, lie-la lie, lie la la-lie lie la lie la-la la lie lie.
Asking only workman's wages I come looking for a job, but I get no offers
Just a come on from the whores on seventh avenue
I do declare there were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there
la la la ...
lie la lie, lie la la-lie lie la-lie, lie-la lie, lie la la-lie lie la lie la-la la lie lie.
And I am laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone, Going home
Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me, Leading me, going home
In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of every glove that laid him down or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and shame, I am leaving, I am leaving,
But the fighter still remains hmm hmm hmm
lie la lie, lie la la-lie lie la-lie, lie-la lie, lie la la-lie lie la lie la-la la lie lie.

song performed by Simon & Garfunkel
Added by Lucian Velea
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

II.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Sonnet Cycle to M C after W S Sonnets CXXXI - CXXXIX

Sonnet Cycle to M C after William Shakespeare Sonnets CXXXI - CLIV

[c] Jonathan Robin

CARE IS OUR DREAM

Sonnet Cycle after William Shakespeare: Part II
Sonnets CXXXI - CLIV

Shakespeare Sonnet CXXXI

Thou art so tyrannous, so as thou art,
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;
For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold,
Thy face hath not the power to make love groan;
To say they err I dare not be so bold,
Although I swear it to myself alone.
And to be sure that is not false, I swear,
A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face,
One on another's neck, do witness bear
Thy black is fairest in my judgement's place.
In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds,
And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.

Sonnet CXXXI
Swift in succession fleet speed thoughts when I
Allow time to rhyme contemplating smile.
Nefertiti resignèdly would cry
Grieving 'Quits' obliged to reconcile
To defeat, a feat none else dare try.
Outer skin and inner heart worthwhile
Most naturally ally I testify,
Adopt love’s truth to heart, scorn art and style.
Millions shudder – to your rank unworthy -
Aware all their priorities weigh zilch,
Understatements glib by small minds scurvy,
Deprived of value still your fame they’d filch.
Enshadowed, dark, stark dead their teeming dreams
Compelled to spell fell shutters, failing themes.

Shakespeare Sonnet CXXXII

Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,
Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain,
Have put on black and ivory mourner she,
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
And truly not the morning sun of heaven
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Dream Is Over

Psst, hey, come on man, wake up.
Oh, yeah, yeah!
I see the power,
Changin hands
Risin from the streets
A self made businessman,
Knows how the system can be beat.
Oh, were the lost generation,
Have no place to go,
The road to destruction,
Is all we need to know,
Cause its a rip off,
Were stripped, drawn, and cheated,
Were flat stone cold lied to
But were not defeated, nooo, sir
Easy money,
Its your way out,
Join the family
No middleman,
No i.r.s.
Your ticket out of poverty
Oh, were the lost generation,
I hold fate from a string
Lookin for direction
Reachin out for anything, so
Dream another dream
This dream is over, (oooh oooh oh)
Dream another dream
This dream is over, (dream another dream)
Dream another dream
This dream is over, (oooh) over yeah, (dream another dream)
So dream another dream
(solo)
Ah,
Yeow!!!!
Oh, its a rip off,
Were stepped on an cheated,
Flat stone cold lied to,
Were not defeated, noooo,
Dream another dream, this dream is over, (oooh oooh oh)
Dream another dream, this dream is over, (dream another dream)
Dream another dream, this dream is over, (oooh oooh oh) oh
Dream another dream, this dream is over, over yeah, (dream another dream)
Dream another dream, (ooh ooh ooh)
Dream another dream, (dream another dream, oooh ooh ooh)
Dream another dream, oh, this dreams all over (dream another dream)
Dream another dream, (dream another dream)
Dream another dream...

song performed by Van Halen
Added by Lucian Velea
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Whyd You Lie To Me

Why did you lie to me?
Cant be trusted, good for nothing type of brother
Everything you claimed to be was a lie, lie
Why did you lie to me?
Youve been creepin, sneekin, sleepin with another
Messed up, its time to leave, so bye, bye
Used to treat me like a queen
Said I was your everything
Promised me that you would never cheat, on me
But I found a number on the floor
And I wont take it no more
Baby it feels so crazy thinkin youd be true to me, yeah
(tell me baby) did you really think?
(I would maybe) I turn the other cheak and
(and let you play me) I thought you were different but your like the rest its true
Why did you lie to me?
Cant be trusted, good for nothing type of brother
Everything you claimed to be was a lie, lie
Why did you lie to me?
Youve been creepin, sneekin, sleepin with another
Messed up, its time to leave, so bye, bye
Yeah
Ooh, last time you played me like a fool
Now its time I loose my cool
Aint no way youll ever get another chance
Why did you just claimed to be so true
When I gave my world to you
All you wanna do is hang on the edge of the line
(tell me baby) did you really think?
(I would maybe) I turn the other cheak and
(and let you play me) ooh, but I flipped it all for you
(why did you lie to me? ) uh
Cant be trusted, good for nothing type of brother
Everything you claimed to be (was a lie, lie) it was a lie, lie yeah
(why did you lie to me? ) ooooh oooh
Youve been creepin, (sneekin, sleepin with another) hey yeah ooh
(messed up, its time to leave), so bye, bye
(tell me baby) did you really think?
(I would maybe) I turn the other cheak and
(and let you play me) ooh, but I flipped it all for you
(whyd you... lie to me) aah haa
(whyd you... lie to me) oooh oooh ooh oh
(whyd you, whyd you, whyd you, whyd you lie to me)
Whyd you... lie to me
(whyd you, whyd you, whyd you, whyd you lie to me)
(whyd you... lie to me) whyd you lie to me
Why did you lie to me?
Cant be trusted, good for nothing type of brother
Everything you claimed to be was a lie, lie
Why did you lie to me?

[...] Read more

song performed by Anastacia
Added by Lucian Velea
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Peacefully Delight In Peace

Peacefully delight in peace

Peace be peacefully in peace,
Peacefully to peaceful
Peace seekers on peaceful
Peace missions, who in peaceful peace,
Peacefully ended up peace in peace
Peacefully,

Peacefully, peaceful Peace peacefully in peace is like a peacefully peaceful
Peace piece pinned at a peaceful
Peacefully pitch in Peace, Peered in Peace
Peacefully by every peacefully
Peaceful eye in the name of peace,
Peaceful Peace peacefully in peace peaceful is passed peacefully in Peace, peaceful from peacefully
Peaceful peace believers in peace peacefully to peaceful peace
Peaceful peace seekers,

Peacefully
Peace in peace be peacefully to peaceful
Peace believers of peace who in Peace peacefully peaceful delight in peaceful
Peace.
Peacefully in peaceful peace peacefully delight in peaceful peace peacefully for peace in peace.

poem by Iyamuremye Wilfred
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IX. Juris Doctor Johannes-Baptista Bottinius, Fisci et Rev. Cam. Apostol. Advocatus

Had I God's leave, how I would alter things!
If I might read instead of print my speech,—
Ay, and enliven speech with many a flower
Refuses obstinate to blow in print,
As wildings planted in a prim parterre,—
This scurvy room were turned an immense hall;
Opposite, fifty judges in a row;
This side and that of me, for audience—Rome:
And, where yon window is, the Pope should hide—
Watch, curtained, but peep visibly enough.
A buzz of expectation! Through the crowd,
Jingling his chain and stumping with his staff,
Up comes an usher, louts him low, "The Court
"Requires the allocution of the Fisc!"
I rise, I bend, I look about me, pause
O'er the hushed multitude: I count—One, two—

Have ye seen, Judges, have ye, lights of law,—
When it may hap some painter, much in vogue
Throughout our city nutritive of arts,
Ye summon to a task shall test his worth,
And manufacture, as he knows and can,
A work may decorate a palace-wall,
Afford my lords their Holy Family,—
Hath it escaped the acumen of the Court
How such a painter sets himself to paint?
Suppose that Joseph, Mary and her Babe
A-journeying to Egypt, prove the piece:
Why, first he sedulously practiseth,
This painter,—girding loin and lighting lamp,—
On what may nourish eye, make facile hand;
Getteth him studies (styled by draughtsmen so)
From some assistant corpse of Jew or Turk
Or, haply, Molinist, he cuts and carves,—
This Luca or this Carlo or the like.
To him the bones their inmost secret yield,
Each notch and nodule signify their use:
On him the muscles turn, in triple tier,
And pleasantly entreat the entrusted man
"Familiarize thee with our play that lifts
"Thus, and thus lowers again, leg, arm and foot!"
—Ensuring due correctness in the nude.
Which done, is all done? Not a whit, ye know!
He,—to art's surface rising from her depth,—
If some flax-polled soft-bearded sire be found,
May simulate a Joseph, (happy chance!)—
Limneth exact each wrinkle of the brow,
Loseth no involution, cheek or chap,
Till lo, in black and white, the senior lives!
Is it a young and comely peasant-nurse

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The City of Dreadful Night

Per me si va nella citta dolente.

--Dante

Poi di tanto adoprar, di tanti moti
D'ogni celeste, ogni terrena cosa,
Girando senza posa,
Per tornar sempre la donde son mosse;
Uso alcuno, alcun frutto
Indovinar non so.

Sola nel mondo eterna, a cui si volve
Ogni creata cosa,
In te, morte, si posa
Nostra ignuda natura;
Lieta no, ma sicura
Dell' antico dolor . . .
Pero ch' esser beato
Nega ai mortali e nega a' morti il fato.

--Leopardi

PROEM

Lo, thus, as prostrate, "In the dust I write
My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears."
Yet why evoke the spectres of black night
To blot the sunshine of exultant years?
Why disinter dead faith from mouldering hidden?
Why break the seals of mute despair unbidden,
And wail life's discords into careless ears?

Because a cold rage seizes one at whiles
To show the bitter old and wrinkled truth
Stripped naked of all vesture that beguiles,
False dreams, false hopes, false masks and modes of youth;
Because it gives some sense of power and passion
In helpless innocence to try to fashion
Our woe in living words howe'er uncouth.

Surely I write not for the hopeful young,
Or those who deem their happiness of worth,
Or such as pasture and grow fat among
The shows of life and feel nor doubt nor dearth,
Or pious spirits with a God above them
To sanctify and glorify and love them,
Or sages who foresee a heaven on earth.

For none of these I write, and none of these
Could read the writing if they deigned to try;

[...] Read more

poem by James Thomson
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Lara

LARA. [1]

CANTO THE FIRST.

I.

The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain, [2]
And slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord —
The long self-exiled chieftain is restored:
There be bright faces in the busy hall,
Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall;
Far chequering o'er the pictured window, plays
The unwonted fagots' hospitable blaze;
And gay retainers gather round the hearth,
With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth.

II.

The chief of Lara is return'd again:
And why had Lara cross'd the bounding main?
Left by his sire, too young such loss to know,
Lord of himself; — that heritage of woe,
That fearful empire which the human breast
But holds to rob the heart within of rest! —
With none to check, and few to point in time
The thousand paths that slope the way to crime;
Then, when he most required commandment, then
Had Lara's daring boyhood govern'd men.
It skills not, boots not, step by step to trace
His youth through all the mazes of its race;
Short was the course his restlessness had run,
But long enough to leave him half undone.

III.

And Lara left in youth his fatherland;
But from the hour he waved his parting hand
Each trace wax'd fainter of his course, till all
Had nearly ceased his memory to recall.
His sire was dust, his vassals could declare,
'Twas all they knew, that Lara was not there;
Nor sent, nor came he, till conjecture grew
Cold in the many, anxious in the few.
His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name,
His portrait darkens in its fading frame,
Another chief consoled his destined bride,
The young forgot him, and the old had died;
"Yet doth he live!" exclaims the impatient heir,
And sighs for sables which he must not wear.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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Lara. A Tale

The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain,
And slavery half forgets her feudal chain;
He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord--
The long self-exiled chieftain is restored:
There be bright faces in the busy hall,
Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall;
Far chequering o'er the pictured window, plays
The unwonted fagots' hospitable blaze;
And gay retainers gather round the hearth,
With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth.

II.
The chief of Lara is return'd again:
And why had Lara cross'd the bounding main?
Left by his sire, too young such loss to know,
Lord of himself;--that heritage of woe,
That fearful empire which the human breast
But holds to rob the heart within of rest!--
With none to check, and few to point in time
The thousand paths that slope the way to crime;
Then, when he most required commandment, then
Had Lara's daring boyhood govern'd men.
It skills not, boots not, step by step to trace
His youth through all the mazes of its race;
Short was the course his restlessness had run,
But long enough to leave him half undone.

III.
And Lara left in youth his fatherland;
But from the hour he waved his parting hand
Each trace wax'd fainter of his course, till all
Had nearly ceased his memory to recall.
His sire was dust, his vassals could declare,
'Twas all they knew, that Lara was not there;
Nor sent, nor came he, till conjecture grew
Cold in the many, anxious in the few.
His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name,
His portrait darkens in its fading frame,
Another chief consoled his destined bride,
The young forgot him, and the old had died;
'Yet doth he live!' exclaims the impatient heir,
And sighs for sables which he must not wear.
A hundred scutcheons deck with gloomy grace
The Laras' last and longest dwelling-place;
But one is absent from the mouldering file,
That now were welcome to that Gothic pile.

IV.
He comes at last in sudden loneliness,
And whence they know not, why they need not guess;

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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II. Half-Rome

What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,—here's a church
To hold a crowd at need, accommodate
All comers from the Corso! If this crush
Make not its priests ashamed of what they show
For temple-room, don't prick them to draw purse
And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out
The beggarly transept with its bit of apse
Into a decent space for Christian ease,
Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine.
Listen and estimate the luck they've had!
(The right man, and I hold him.)

Sir, do you see,
They laid both bodies in the church, this morn
The first thing, on the chancel two steps up,
Behind the little marble balustrade;
Disposed them, Pietro the old murdered fool
To the right of the altar, and his wretched wife
On the other side. In trying to count stabs,
People supposed Violante showed the most,
Till somebody explained us that mistake;
His wounds had been dealt out indifferent where,
But she took all her stabbings in the face,
Since punished thus solely for honour's sake,
Honoris causâ, that's the proper term.
A delicacy there is, our gallants hold,
When you avenge your honour and only then,
That you disfigure the subject, fray the face,
Not just take life and end, in clownish guise.
It was Violante gave the first offence,
Got therefore the conspicuous punishment:
While Pietro, who helped merely, his mere death
Answered the purpose, so his face went free.
We fancied even, free as you please, that face
Showed itself still intolerably wronged;
Was wrinkled over with resentment yet,
Nor calm at all, as murdered faces use,
Once the worst ended: an indignant air
O' the head there was—'t is said the body turned
Round and away, rolled from Violante's side
Where they had laid it loving-husband-like.
If so, if corpses can be sensitive,
Why did not he roll right down altar-step,
Roll on through nave, roll fairly out of church,
Deprive Lorenzo of the spectacle,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Awake, My Heart

Awake, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake!

The darkness silvers away, the morn doth break,
It leaps in the sky: unrisen lustres slake
The o'ertaken moon. Awake, O heart, awake!

She too that loveth awaketh and hopes for thee:
Her eyes already have sped the shades that flee,
Already they watch the path thy feet shall take:
Awake, O heart, to be loved, awake, awake!

And if thou tarry from her, - if this could be, -
She cometh herself, O heart, to be loved, to thee;
For thee would unashamed herself forsake:
Awake, to be loved, my heart, awake, awake!

Awake! The land is scattered with light, and see,
Uncanopied sleep is flying from field and tree;
And blossoming boughs of April in laughter shake:
Awake, O heart, to be loved, awake, awake!

Lo, all things wake and tarry and look for thee:
She looketh and saith, "O sun, now bring him to me.
Come, more adored, O adored, for his coming's sake,
And awake, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake!"

poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
Added by Poetry Lover
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Run My Back

[Verse 1: LL Cool J]
Sippin somethin on the rocks
I got a shorty that makes the bed hop
I got plans to spoil you even though you sayin stop
Ima drop that phantom on you baby watch
Roberto Cavali and the Denali, am I hot?
Malibu Beaches and hydrofoil yachts
Baddest Mercedes, Lorenzos, and silver fox
I keep it flowin see we goin to the top
Ima get you everything, give a damn how much you tell me to stop
You want it hotter then we take it 'cross seas
Party jumpin is bumpin, tokin somethin in Belize
... I know you want it sucka free
Know you wantin to shine, even though you fightin me
... Take it easy player
Talkin greasy player, know you can feel me player
Uhh... you put it down tight
Yeah you not havin what you want dont even sound right
[Chorus: Timbaland]
Hey lady! I'm gonna hit you with a wine Mercedes
Somebody's gotta work with the mouth my baby
All you do is rub my back
Rub my back! Rub my back! Rub my back! Rub my back!
I said MY baby
Watch television is the Escalade-y
Go shoppin when you want to baby
All you do is rub my back
Rub my back! Rub my back! Rub my back! Rub my back! Ohh!
[Verse 2: LL Cool J]
Lay down for a while preety, relax a minute
... I caught a feelin when you represented
Gave you that Mercedes, you better get up in it
... Get off the corner, come to pop some vintage
You never seen a player flip your whole life
Dip the Caddy on the freeway, hittin the strobe light
... You got a mean walk at times right?
Im here to shine like, I get your mind right
Uhh, Charles Jordan girl if you wanna take a hit
Gotta? between the lippers this is it
... Lazy, lay back and court the chips
Some call it trickin or ballin, depends on who you wit
Him or L baby, so who you gonna pick
Mack motor, I told ya, I want ya livin rich
You don't know about a brother
Blow around a brother, money flow around a brother
[Chorus]
[Verse 3: LL Cool J]
Dont trip I know you like the rocks
Wanna dip round the corner in the drop
Music bumpin you frontin although you say you're not

[...] Read more

song performed by LL Cool J
Added by Lucian Velea
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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto I.

To Ianthe:

Not in those climes where I have late been straying,
Though Beauty long hath there been matchless deem'd;
Not in those visions to the heart displaying
Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd,
Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd:
Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek
To paint those charms which varied as they beam'd --
To such as see thee not my words were weak;
To those who gaze on thee what language could they speak?
Ah! may'st thou ever be what now thou art,
Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring,
As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart,
Love's image upon earth without his wing,
And guileless beyond Hope's imagining!
And surely she who now so fondly rears
Thy youth, in thee, thus hourly brightening,
Beholds the rainbow of her future years,
Before whose heavenly hues all sorrow disappears.

Young Peri of the West!-'tis well for me
My years already doubly number thine;
My loveless eye unmov'd may gaze on thee,
And safely view thy ripening beauties shine;
Happy, I ne'er shall see them in decline,
Happier, that while all younger hearts shall bleed,
Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign
To those whose admiration shall succeed,
But mixed with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours decreed.

Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle's,
Now brightly bold or beautifully shy,
Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells,
Glance o'er this page; nor to my verse deny
That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh,
Could I to thee be ever more than friend:
This much, dear maid, accord; nor question why
To one so young my strain I would commend,
But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend.

Such is thy name with this my verse entwin'd;
And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast
On Harold's page, Ianthe's here enshrin'd
Shall thus be first beheld, forgotten last:
My days once number'd, should this homage past
Attract thy fairy fingers near the lyre
Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast,
Such is the most my memory may desire;
Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship less require?

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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L'Idéal (The Ideal)

Ce ne seront jamais ces beautés de vignettes,
Produits avariés, nés d'un siècle vaurien,
Ces pieds à brodequins, ces doigts à castagnettes,
Qui sauront satisfaire un coeur comme le mien.

Je laisse à Gavarni, poète des chloroses,
Son troupeau gazouillant de beautés d'hôpital,
Car je ne puis trouver parmi ces pâles roses
Une fleur qui ressemble à mon rouge idéal.

Ce qu'il faut à ce coeur profond comme un abîme,
C'est vous, Lady Macbeth, âme puissante au crime,
Rêve d'Eschyle éclos au climat des autans;

Ou bien toi, grande Nuit, fille de Michel-Ange,
Qui tors paisiblement dans une pose étrange
Tes appas façonnés aux bouches des Titans!

The Ideal

It will never be the beauties that vignettes show, Those damaged products of a good-for-nothing age,
Their feet shod with high shoes, hands holding castanets,
Who can ever satisfy any heart like mine.

I leave to Gavarni, poet of chlorosis,
His prattling troop of consumptive beauties,
For I cannot find among those pale roses
A flower that is like my red ideal.

The real need of my heart, profound as an abyss,
Is you, Lady Macbeth, soul so potent in crime,
The dream of Aeschylus, born in the land of storms;

Or you, great Night, daughter of Michelangelo,
Who calmly contort, reclining in a strange pose
Your charms molded by the mouths of Titans!

— Translated by William Aggeler

The Ideal

It's not with smirking beauties of vignettes,
The shopsoiled products of a worthless age,
With buskined feet and hands for castanets —
A heart like mine its longing could assuage.

I leave Gavarni, poet of chloroses,
His twittering flock, anaemic and unreal.
I could not find among such bloodless roses,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Baudelaire
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