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Tolkien [Cellar Door]

Cast: Lily Collins, Nicholas Hoult

clip from Tolkien, directed by Dome Karukoski (2019)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Pictures Of Lily

I used to wake up in the morning
I used to wake up in the morning
I used to feel so bad
I used to feel so bad
I got so sick of having sleepless nights
I got so sick of having sleepless nights
I went and told my dad
I went and told my dad
He said, son now heres some little something
He said, son now heres some little something
And stuck them on my wall
And stuck them on my wall
And now my nights aint quite so lonely
And now my nights aint quite so lonely
In fact i, I dont feel bad at all
In fact i, I dont feel bad at all
Pictures of lily made my life so wonderful
Pictures of lily made my life so wonderful
Pictures of lily helped me sleep at night
Pictures of lily helped me sleep at night
Pitcures of lily solved my childhood problems
Pitcures of lily solved my childhood problems
Pictures of lily helped me feel alright
Pictures of lily helped me feel alright
Pictures of lily
Pictures of lily
Lily, oh lily
Lily, oh lily
Lily, oh lily
Lily, oh lily
Pictures of lily
Pictures of lily
And then one day things werent quite so fine
And then one day things werent quite so fine
I fell in love with lily
I fell in love with lily
I asked my dad where lily I could find
I asked my dad where lily I could find
He said, son, now dont be silly
He said, son, now dont be silly
shes been dead since 1929
Shes been dead since 1929
Oh, how I cried that night
Oh, how I cried that night
If only Id been born in lilys time
If only Id been born in lilys time
It would have been alright
It would have been alright
Pictures of lily made my life so wonderful
Pictures of lily made my life so wonderful

[...] Read more

song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lily Adair

On the beryl-rimmed rebecs of Ruby,
Brought fresh from the hyaline streams,
She played, on the banks of the Yuba,
Such songs as she heard in her dreams.
Like the heavens, when the stars from their cyries
Look down through the ebon night air,
Were the groves by the Ouphantic Fairies
Lit up for my Lily Adair—
For my child-like Lily Adair—
For my heaven-born Lily Adair—
For my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.

Like two rose-leaves in sunshine when blowing,
Just curled softly, gently apart,
Were her lips by her passion, while growing
In perfume on the stalk of her heart.
As mild as the sweet influences
Of the Pleiades 'pregning the air—
More mild than the throned Excellencies
Up in heaven, was my Lily Adair—
Was my Christ-like Lily Adair—
Was my lamb-like Lily Adair—
Was my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.

At the birth of this fair virgin Vestal,
She was taken for Venus' child;
And her voice, though like diamond in crystal,
Was not more melodious than mild.
Like the moon in her soft silver splendor,
She was shrined in her own, past compare,
For no Angel in heaven was more tender
Than my beautiful Lily Adair—
Than my dove-like Lily Adair—
Than my saint-like Lily Adair—
Than my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.

Thus she stood on the arabesque borders
Of the beautiful blossoms that blew
On the banks of the crystalline waters,
Every morn, in the diaphane dew.
The flowers, they were radiant with glory,
And shed such perfume on the air,
That my soul, now to want them, feels sorry,
And bleeds for my Lily Adair—
For my much-loved Lily Adair—
For my long-lost Lily Adair—
For my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.

poem by Thomas Holley Chivers (1853)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Lancelot And Elaine

Elaine the fair, Elaine the loveable,
Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat,
High in her chamber up a tower to the east
Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot;
Which first she placed where the morning's earliest ray
Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam;
Then fearing rust or soilure fashioned for it
A case of silk, and braided thereupon
All the devices blazoned on the shield
In their own tinct, and added, of her wit,
A border fantasy of branch and flower,
And yellow-throated nestling in the nest.
Nor rested thus content, but day by day,
Leaving her household and good father, climbed
That eastern tower, and entering barred her door,
Stript off the case, and read the naked shield,
Now guessed a hidden meaning in his arms,
Now made a pretty history to herself
Of every dint a sword had beaten in it,
And every scratch a lance had made upon it,
Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh;
That ten years back; this dealt him at Caerlyle;
That at Caerleon; this at Camelot:
And ah God's mercy, what a stroke was there!
And here a thrust that might have killed, but God
Broke the strong lance, and rolled his enemy down,
And saved him: so she lived in fantasy.

How came the lily maid by that good shield
Of Lancelot, she that knew not even his name?
He left it with her, when he rode to tilt
For the great diamond in the diamond jousts,
Which Arthur had ordained, and by that name
Had named them, since a diamond was the prize.

For Arthur, long before they crowned him King,
Roving the trackless realms of Lyonnesse,
Had found a glen, gray boulder and black tarn.
A horror lived about the tarn, and clave
Like its own mists to all the mountain side:
For here two brothers, one a king, had met
And fought together; but their names were lost;
And each had slain his brother at a blow;
And down they fell and made the glen abhorred:
And there they lay till all their bones were bleached,
And lichened into colour with the crags:
And he, that once was king, had on a crown
Of diamonds, one in front, and four aside.
And Arthur came, and labouring up the pass,
All in a misty moonshine, unawares

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Lily

I scorn the man—a fool at most,
And ignorant and blind—
Who loves to go about and boast
“He understands mankind.”
I thought I had that knowledge too,
And boasted it with pride—
But since, I’ve learned that human hearts
Cannot be classified.

In days when I was young and wild
I had no vanity—
I always thought when women smiled
That they were fooling me.
I was content to let them fool,
And let them deem I cared;
For, tutored in a narrow school,
I held myself prepared.

But Lily had a pretty face,
And great blue Irish eyes—
And she was fair as any race
Beneath the Northern skies—
The sweetest voice I ever heard,
Although it was unschooled.
So for a season I preferred
By Lily to be fooled.

A friend embittered all my life
With careless words of his;
He said I’d “never win a wife
With such an ugly phiz.”
I laughed the loudest at the wit.
Though loud the laughter rung—
So be it to his credit writ—
He never knew it stung.

As far as human nature goes,
The cynic I would teach
That fruit’s not always sour to those
For whom none hangs in reach.
I only gazed as captives might
Gaze through their prison bars—
Fair women seemed to me as bright
Though far away, as stars.

And Lily was to me a star
As fair as those above,
As beautiful but just as far
From my revengeful love.
The love I bore was not exempt

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
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A Snow-White Lily

There was a snow-white lily
Grew by a cottage door:
Such a white and wonderful lily
Never was seen before.

The earth and the ether brought it
Sustenance, raiment, grace,
And the feet of the west wind sought it,
And smiled in its smiling face.

Tall were its leaves and slender,
Slender and tall its stem;
Purity, all its splendour,
Beauty, its diadem.

Still from the ground it sprouted,
Statelier year by year,
Till loveliness clung about it,
And was its atmosphere.

And the fame of this lily was bruited
'Mong men ever more and more;
They came, and they saw, and uprooted
Its life from the cottage door.

For they said, ``'Twere shame, 'twere pity,
It here should dwell half despised.
We must carry it off to the city,
Where lilies are loved and prized.''

The city was moved to wonder,
And burst into praise and song,
And the multitude parted asunder
To gaze on it borne along.

Along and aloft 'twas uplifted,
From palace to palace led;
Men vowed 'twas the lily most gifted
Of lilies living or dead.

And wisdom, and wealth, and power,
Bowed down to it more and more:-
Yet it never was quite the same flower
That bloomed by the cottage door.

For no longer the night-dews wrought it
Raiment, and food, and grace;
Nor the feet of the west wind sought it,
To dance in its dimpling face.

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Austin
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Nicholas Nye

Thistle and darnell and dock grew there,
And a bush, in the corner, of may,
On the orchard wall I used to sprawl
In the blazing heat of the day;

Half asleep and half awake,
While the birds went twittering by,
And nobody there my lone to share
But Nicholas Nye.

Nicholas Nye was lean and gray,
Lame of leg and old,
More than a score of donkey's years
He had been since he was foaled;
He munched the thistles, purple and spiked,
Would sometimes stoop and sigh,
And turn to his head, as if he said,
"Poor Nicholas Nye!"

Alone with his shadow he'd drowse in the meadow,
Lazily swinging his tail,
At break of day he used to bray,--
Not much too hearty and hale;
But a wonderful gumption was under his skin,
And a clean calm light in his eye,
And once in a while; he'd smile:--
Would Nicholas Nye.

Seem to be smiling at me, he would,
From his bush in the corner, of may,--
Bony and ownerless, widowed and worn,
Knobble-kneed, lonely and gray;
And over the grass would seem to pass
'Neath the deep dark blue of the sky,
Something much better than words between me
And Nicholas Nye.

But dusk would come in the apple boughs,
The green of the glow-worm shine,
The birds in nest would crouch to rest,
And home I'd trudge to mine;
And there, in the moonlight, dark with dew,
Asking not wherefore nor why,
Would brood like a ghost, and as still as a post,
Old Nicholas Nye.

poem by Walter de la Mare
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From Four Saints in Three Acts

Pigeons on the grass alas.
Pigeons on the grass alas.
Short longer grass short longer longer shorter yellow grass. Pigeons
large pigeons on the shorter longer yellow grass alas pigeons on the
grass.
If they were not pigeons what were they.
If they were not pigeons on the grass alas what were they. He had
heard of a third and he asked about if it was a magpie in the sky.
If a magpie in the sky on the sky can not cry if the pigeon on the
grass alas can alas and to pass the pigeon on the grass alas and the
magpie in the sky on the sky and to try and to try alas on the
grass alas the pigeon on the grass the pigeon on the grass and alas.
They might be very well they might be very well very well they might
be.
Let Lucy Lily Lily Lucy Lucy let Lucy Lucy Lily Lily Lily Lily
Lily let Lily Lucy Lucy let Lily. Let Lucy Lily.

poem by Gertrude Stein
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The Lily Confidante

Lily! lady of the garden!
Let me press my lip to thine!
Love must tell its story, Lily!
Listen thou to mine.

Two I choose to know the secret --
Thee, and yonder wordless flute;
Dragons watch me, tender Lily,
And thou must be mute.

There's a maiden, and her name is . . .
Hist! was that a rose-leaf fell?
See, the rose is listening, Lily,
And the rose may tell.

Lily-browed and lily-hearted,
She is very dear to me;
Lovely? yes, if being lovely
Is -- resembling thee.

Six to half a score of summers
Make the sweetest of the "teens" --
Not too young to guess, dear Lily,
What a lover means.

Laughing girl, and thoughtful woman,
I am puzzled how to woo --
Shall I praise, or pique her, Lily?
Tell me what to do.

"Silly lover, if thy Lily
Like her sister lilies be,
Thou must woo, if thou wouldst wear her,
With a simple plea.

"Love's the lover's only magic,
Truth the very subtlest art;
Love that feigns, and lips that flatter,
Win no modest heart.

"Like the dewdrop in my bosom,
Be thy guileless language, youth;
Falsehood buyeth falsehood only,
Truth must purchase truth.

"As thou talkest at the fireside,
With the little children by --
As thou prayest in the darkness,
When thy God is nigh --

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Timrod
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A Lay of St. Nicholas

'Statim sacerdoti apparuit diabolus in specie puellæ pulchritudinis miræ, et ecce Divus, fide catholica et cruce et aqua benedicta armatus, venit, et aspersit aquam in nomine Sanctæ et Individuæ Trinitatis, quam, quasi ardentem, diabolus, nequaquam sustinere valens, mugitibus fugit.'
-- Roger Hoveden.

Lord Abbot! Lord Abbot! I'd fain confess;
I am a-weary, and worn with woe;
Many a grief doth my heart oppress,
And haunt me whithersoever I go!'

On bended knee spake the beautiful Maid;
'Now lithe and listen, Lord Abbot, to me!'--
'Now naye, Fair Daughter,' the Lord Abbot said,
'Now naye, in sooth it may hardly be;

'There is Mess Michael, and holy Mess John,
Sage Penitauncers I ween be they!
And hard by doth dwell, in St. Catherine's cell,
Ambrose, the anchorite old and grey!'

'-- Oh, I will have none of Ambrose or John,
Though sage Penitauncers I trow they be;
Shrive me may none save the Abbot alone.
Now listen, Lord Abbot, I speak to thee.

'Nor think foul scorn, though mitre adorn
Thy brow, to listen to shrift of mine.
I am a Maiden royally born,
And I come of old Plantagenet's line.

'Though hither I stray in lowly array,
I am a Damsel of high degree;
And the Compte of Eu, and the Lord of Ponthieu,
They serve my father on bended knee!

'Counts a many, and Dukes a few,
A suitoring came to my father's Hall;
But the Duke of Lorraine, with his large domain,
He pleased my father beyond them all.

'Dukes a many, and Counts a few,
I would have wedded right cheerfullie;
But the Duke of Lorraine was uncommonly plain,
And I vow'd that he ne'er should my bridegroom be!

'So hither I fly, in lowly guise,
From their gilded domes and their princely halls;
Fain would I dwell in some holy cell,
Or within some Convent's peaceful walls!'

-- Then out and spake that proud Lord Abbot,
'Now rest thee, Fair Daughter, withouten fear;

[...] Read more

poem by Richard Harris Barham
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I Would Like To Write A Billy Collins Poem

I WOULD LIKE TO WRITE A BILLY COLLINS’ POEM

I would like to write a Billy Collins poem-
Not for Billy Collins
But to show that I could be as imaginative in story
As humorous and humane as he is-

But I can’t write that poem.

I don’t have his gift for the everyday experience
And for surprising metaphor
For those qualities good poets ordinarily have-

I would like to write a Billy Collins poem
To show that I can be a good poet too.
But probably I am just a different kind of thing entirely.

Still reading Billy Collins poems has added a bit
To my sense of what Poetry is-

It is remarkable all the wonderful gifts others have
One can appreciate
Without having oneself.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Last Duet

(With Lily Tomlin)
Lily:
You creep
Into my heart
And make my heart burn
Barry:
You sneak
Into my mind
And make my head ache
Both:
There are things I long to tell you
Lily:
You're much too blonde
Barry:
You snore
Both:
Look
It's time to face the music
Barry:
Bye bye
Lily:
Don't slam the door
And I don't want
Barry:
I don't want
Lily:
I don't want
Barry:
I don't want
Both:
No, I don't want your flowers anymore
This is the last duet
Last chance you're gonna get
No more ha harmony
For you and me
This is the final song
And when the music's through
This is the last duet
I'll ever do with you
Barry:
You're not the one that I want
Ooh ooh ooh
Tood-le-oo (Honey)
Lily:
Don't go breakin' my back
Don't call me
I'll call you
Both:
Back together
Reunited

[...] Read more

song performed by Barry Manilow
Added by Lucian Velea
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Loraine

This is the story of one man’s soul.
The paths are stony and passion is blind,
And feet must bleed ere the light we find.
The cypher is writ on Life’s mighty scroll,
And the key is in each man’s mind.
But who read aright, ye have won release,
Ye have touched the joy in the heart of Peace.

PART I

THERE’S a bend of the river on Glenbar run
Which the wild duck haunt at the set of sun,
And the song of the waters is softened so
That scarcely its current is heard to flow;
And the blackfish hide by the shady bank
’Neath the sunken logs where the reeds are rank,
And the halcyon’s mail is an azure gleam
O’er the shifting shoals of the silver bream,
And the magpies chatter their idle whim,
And the wagtails flitter along the brim,
And tiny martins with breasts of snow
Keep fluttering restlessly to and fro,
And the weeping willows have framed the scene
With the trailing fall of their curtains green,
And the grass grows lush on the level leas
’Neath the low gnarled boughs of the apple trees,
Where the drowsy cattle dream away
The noon-tide hours of the summer day.
There’s a shady nook by the old tree where
The track comes winding from Bendemeer.
So faint are the marks of the bridle track,
From the old slip-rails on the ridge’s back,
That few can follow the lines I know—
But I ride with the shadows of long ago!
I am gaunt and gray, I am old and worn,
But my heart goes back to a radiant morn
When someone waited and watched for me
In the friendly shade of that grand old tree.
The winter of Memory brings again
The summer rapture of passionate pain,
And she comes to me with the morning grace
On her sun-gold hair and her lily face,
And her blue eyes soft with the dreamy light
She stole from the stars of the Southern night,
And her slender form like a springtide flower
That sprang from the earth in a magic hour,
With the trembling smile and the tender tone
And the welcome glance—that were mine alone.
And we sit once more as we sat of old
When the future lay in a haze of gold—

[...] Read more

poem by George Essex Evans
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-77

Rain Lily Rose(Zephyranthes rosea)
Primrose Rain Lily(Zephyranthes primulina)
Yellow Rain Lily(Zephyranthes citrina)
Fairy Lily(pink rain lily, Zephyranthes carinata)
Fairy Lily(white rain lily, Zephyranthes candida)

Ah, o'dear I found you at Kalakad
Brought and planted in my yard
Knowing not then much of matter
About you and your family fatter

And when you grew prettily wide
Rain God in love one day pattered
Awesome to see you basked in joy
Blossoming making me too enjoy

You were rose with sister yellow
White or pink or primrose yellow-
Somewhere yonder all far farther
Only you rose and yellow together

Short and flared yellow upward
Potted or fielded grassy leaved
Small and green throated lily rose
To green tube funneled rosy tepals

O'rain lilies, so yellow and rose
Bloom, bloom often by rainy showers
Bordered or potted or clumped lot
Gathered in gentle bliss in my heart

poem by Indira Renganathan
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Lily, Rosemary And The Jack Of Hearts

by Bob Dylan
The festival was over, the boys were all plannin' for a fall,
The cabaret was quiet except for the drillin' in the wall.
The curfew had been lifted and the gamblin' wheel shut down,
Anyone with any sense had already left town.
He was standin' in the doorway lookin' like the Jack of Hearts.
He moved across the mirrored room, "Set it up for everyone," he said,
Then everyone commenced to do what they were doin' before he turned their
heads. Then he walked up to a stranger and he asked him with a grin,
"Could you kindly tell me, friend, what time the show begins?"
Then he moved into the corner, face down like the Jack of Hearts.
Backstage the girls were playin' five-card stud by the stairs,
Lily had two queens, she was hopin' for a third to match her pair.
Outside the streets were fillin' up, the window was open wide,
A gentle breeze was blowin', you could feel it from inside.
Lily called another bet and drew up the Jack of Hearts.
Big Jim was no one's fool, he owned the town's only diamond mine,
He made his usual entrance lookin' so dandy and so fine.
With his bodyguards and silver cane and every hair in place,
He took whatever he wanted to and he laid it all to waste.
But his bodyguards and silver cane were no match for the Jack of Hearts.
Rosemary combed her hair and took a carriage into town,
She slipped in through the side door lookin' like a queen without a crown.
She fluttered her false eyelashes and whispered in his ear,
"Sorry, darlin', that I'm late," but he didn't seem to hear.
He was starin' into space over at the Jack of Hearts.
"I know I've seen that face before," Big Jim was thinkin' to himself,
"Maybe down in Mexico or a picture up on somebody's shelf."
But then the crowd began to stamp their feet and the house lights did dim
And in the darkness of the room there was only Jim and him,
Starin' at the butterfly who just drew the Jack of Hearts.
Lily was a princess, she was fair-skinned and precious as a child,
She did whatever she had to do, she had that certain flash every time she smiled.
She'd come away from a broken home, had lots of strange affairs
With men in every walk of life which took her everywhere.
But she'd never met anyone quite like the Jack of Hearts.
The hangin' judge came in unnoticed and was being wined and dined,
The drillin' in the wall kept up but no one seemed to pay it any mind.
It was known all around that Lily had Jim's ring
And nothing would ever come between Lily and the king.
No, nothin' ever would except maybe the Jack of Hearts.
Rosemary started drinkin' hard and seein' her reflection in the knife,
She was tired of the attention, tired of playin' the role of Big Jim's wife.
She had done a lot of bad things, even once tried suicide,
Was lookin' to do just one good deed before she died.
She was gazin' to the future, riding on the Jack of Hearts.
Lily washed her face, took her dress off and buried it away.
"Has your luck run out?" she laughed at him, "Well, I guess you must
have known it would someday.
Be careful not to touch the wall, there's a brand-new coat of paint,

[...] Read more

song performed by Bob Dylan
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The Ghost,

There stands a City,-- neither large nor small,
Its air and situation sweet and pretty;
It matters very little -- if at all --
Whether its denizens are dull or witty,
Whether the ladies there are short or tall,
Brunettes or blondes, only, there stands a city!--
Perhaps 'tis also requisite to minute
That there's a Castle and a Cobbler in it.

A fair Cathedral, too, the story goes,
And kings and heroes lie entomb'd within her;
There pious Saints, in marble pomp repose,
Whose shrines are worn by knees of many a Sinner;
There, too, full many an Aldermanic nose
Roll'd its loud diapason after dinner;
And there stood high the holy sconce of Becket,
-- Till four assassins came from France to crack it.

The Castle was a huge and antique mound,
Proof against all th' artillery of the quiver,
Ere those abominable guns were found
To send cold lead through gallant warrior's liver.
It stands upon a gently rising ground,
Sloping down gradually to the river,
Resembling (to compare great things with smaller),
A well-scooped, mouldy Stilton cheese,-- but taller.

The Keep, I find, 's been sadly alter'd lately,
And, 'stead of mail-clad knights, of honour jealous,
In martial panoply so grand and stately,
Its walls are fill'd with money-making fellows,
And stuff'd, unless I'm misinformed greatly,
With leaden pipes, and coke, and coals, and bellows;
In short, so great a change has come to pass,
'Tis now a manufactory of Gas.

But to my tale.-- Before this profanation,
And ere its ancient glories were cut short all,
A poor hard-working Cobbler took his station
In a small house, just opposite the portal;
His birth, his parentage, and education,
I know but little of -- a strange, odd mortal;
His aspect, air, and gait, were all ridiculous;
His name was Mason -- he'd been christen'd Nicholas.

Nick had a wife possessed of many a charm,
And of the Lady Huntingdon persuasion;
But, spite of all her piety, her arm
She'd sometimes exercise when in a passion;
And, being of a temper somewhat warm,

[...] Read more

poem by Richard Harris Barham
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Tolkien

Cast: Lily Collins, Nicholas Hoult, Mimi Keene, Genevieve O'Reilly, Pam Ferris, Craig Roberts, Derek Jacobi, Laura Donnelly

trailer for Tolkien, directed by Dome Karukoski (2019)
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Tom Collins

Who never drinks and never bets,
But loves his wife and pays his debts
And feels content with what he gets?
Tom Collins.

Who has the utmost confidence
That all the banks now in suspense
Will meet their paper three years hence?
Tom Collins.

Who reads the Herald leaders through,
And takes the Evening News for true,
And thought the Echo's jokes were new?
Tom Collins.

Who is the patriot renowned
So very opportunely found
To fork up Dibbs's thousand pound?
Tom Collins.

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Ratcatcher's Daughter

Not long ago, in Vestminstier,
There liv'd a ratcatcher's daughter, -
But she didn't quite live in Vestminstier,
'Cause she liv'd t'other side of the vater; -
Her father caught rats, and she sold sprats,
All round and about that quarter;
And the gentlefolks all took off their hats,
To the putty little ratcatcher's daughter.
Doodle dee! doodle dum! di dum doodle da!

She vore no 'at upon her 'ead,
No cap nor dandy bonnet,
The 'air of 'er 'ead all 'ung down her back,
Like a bunch of carrots upon it;
Ven she cried 'Sprats!' in Vestminstier,
She 'ad such a sweet loud woice, sir,
You could hear her all down Parliament Street,
As far as Charing Cross, sir.
Doodle dee! doodle dum! di dum doodle da!

Now, rich and poor, both far and near,
In matrimony sought her;
But at friends and foes she turn'd up her nose,
Did the putty little ratcatcher's daughter.
For there was a man, sold lily-vite sand,
In Cupid's net had caught her;
And right over head and ears in love
Vent the putty little ratcatcher's daughter!
Doodle dee! doodle dum! di dum doodle da!

Now lily-vite sand so ran in'er 'ead,
As she vent along the Strand, oh!
She forgot as she'd got sprats on her 'ead,
And cried, 'D'ye vant any lily-vite sand, oh,'
The folks, amaz'd, all thought her craz'd,
As she vent along the Strand, oh!
To see a gal vith sprats on 'er 'ead
Cry, 'D'ye vant any lily-vite sand, oh!'
Doodle dee! doodle dum! di dum doodle da!

Now ratcatcher's daughter so ran in his 'ead,
He couldn't tell vat he was arter,
So, instead of crying 'D'ye vant any sand?'
He cried, 'D'ye vant any ratcatcher's darter?'
His donkey cock'd his ears and laughed,
And couldn't think vat 'e was arter,
Ven he heard his lily-vite sandman cry,
'D'ye vant any ratcatcher's darter?'
Doodle dee! doodle dum! di dum doodle da!

[...] Read more

poem by E. Bradley
Added by anonym
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Lily, Rosemary & The Jack Of Hearts

The festival was over, the boys were all plannin for a fall,
The cabaret was quiet except for the drillin in the wall.
The curfew had been lifted and the gamblin wheel shut down,
Anyone with any sense had already left town.
He was standin in the doorway lookin like the jack of hearts.
He moved across the mirrored room, set it up for everyone, he said,
Then everyone commenced to do what they were doin before he turned their
Heads. then he walked up to a stranger and he asked him with a grin,
Could you kindly tell me, friend, what time the show begins?
Then he moved into the corner, face down like the jack of hearts.
Backstage the girls were playin five-card stud by the stairs,
Lily had two queens, she was hopin for a third to match her pair.
Outside the streets were fillin up, the window was open wide,
A gentle breeze was blowin, you could feel it from inside.
Lily called another bet and drew up the jack of hearts.
Big jim was no ones fool, he owned the towns only diamond mine,
He made his usual entrance lookin so dandy and so fine.
With his bodyguards and silver cane and every hair in place,
He took whatever he wanted to and he laid it all to waste.
But his bodyguards and silver cane were no match for the jack of hearts.
Rosemary combed her hair and took a carriage into town,
She slipped in through the side door lookin like a queen without a crown.
She fluttered her false eyelashes and whispered in his ear,
Sorry, darlin, that Im late, but he didnt seem to hear.
He was starin into space over at the jack of hearts.
I know Ive seen that face before, big jim was thinkin to himself,
Maybe down in mexico or a picture up on somebodys shelf.
But then the crowd began to stamp their feet and the house lights did dim
And in the darkness of the room there was only jim and him,
Starin at the butterfly who just drew the jack of hearts.
Lily was a princess, she was fair-skinned and precious as a child,
She did whatever she had to do, she had that certain flash every time she smiled.
Shed come away from a broken home, had lots of strange affairs
With men in every walk of life which took her everywhere.
But shed never met anyone quite like the jack of hearts.
The hangin judge came in unnoticed and was being wined and dined,
The drillin in the wall kept up but no one seemed to pay it any mind.
It was known all around that lily had jims ring
And nothing would ever come between lily and the king.
No, nothin ever would except maybe the jack of hearts.
Rosemary started drinkin hard and seein her reflection in the knife,
She was tired of the attention, tired of playin the role of big jims wife.
She had done a lot of bad things, even once tried suicide,
Was lookin to do just one good deed before she died.
She was gazin to the future, riding on the jack of hearts.
Lily washed her face, took her dress off and buried it away.
Has your luck run out? she laughed at him, well, I guess you must
Have known it would someday.
Be careful not to touch the wall, theres a brand-new coat of paint,
Im glad to see youre still alive, youre lookin like a saint.

[...] Read more

song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Lily of St Leonards

’TIS sunrise over Watson,
Where I sailed out to sea,
On that wild run to London
That wrecked and ruined me.
The beauty of the morning
On bluff and point and bay,
But the Lily of St Leonards
Was fairer than the day.

O Lily of St Leonards!
And I was mad to roam—
She died with loving words for me
Three days ere I came home.

As fair as lily whiteness,
As pure as lily gold,
And bright with childlike brightness
And wise as worlds of old.
Her heart for all was beating
And all hearts were her own—
Like sunshine through the Lily
Her purity was shown.

O Lily of St Leonards!
My night is on the track,
’Tis well you never lived to see
The wreck that I came back.

A leaden sky shuts over
A sobbing leaden sea,
For the Lily of St Leonards
Is never more for me.
I seek the wharf of Outward
Where the deck no longer thrills
Where she stood with great tears starting
Like the lights on dark wet hills.

The world was all before me
The laurels on my brow—
’Twas the world-star of the rovers,
’Tis the Star of Exile now.

poem by Henry Lawson
Added by Poetry Lover
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