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Smile

Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it's breaking
When there are clouds in the sky
You'll get by
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You'll see the sun come shining through
For you
Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear
May be ever so near
That's the time you must keep on tryin'
Smile, what's the use of cryin'
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you'd just smile
(x2)
Smile

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Smile

(j. turner/g. parsons/sir c. chaplin)
Smile,
Though your heart is aching
Smile,
Even though its breaking
When there are clouds in the sky youll get by
If you smile,
Through your fear and sorrow
Smile,
And maybe tomorrow
Youll see the sun come shining through for you
Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear maybe ever so near
Thats the time
You must keep on trying
Smile,
Whats the use of crying
Youll find that life is still worth while
If you,
Just smile
Thats the time
You must keep on trying
Smile,
Whats the use of crying
Youll find that life
Life is still worth while
If you just smile

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Smile

-artist: nat king cole
-peak billboard position # 10 in 1954
-competing versions charted by sunny gale (#19) and david whitfield (#25).
-also charted in 1959 by tony bennett (#73); in 1961 by timi yuro (#42); in
-1962 by ferrante and teicher (#94); and in 1965 by betty everett and jerry
-butler (#42).
Words by john turner and geoffrey parsons and music by charlie chaplin
Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though its breaking
When there are clouds in the sky, youll get by
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
Youll see the sun come shining through for you
Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
Thats the time you must keep on trying
Smile, whats the use of crying?
Youll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile

Thats the time you must keep on trying
Smile, whats the use of crying?
Youll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile

song performed by Nat King ColeReport problemRelated quotes
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There Are Holes In The Sky

There are holes in the sky
Where the rain gets in
But there ever so small
That's why the rain is thin.

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To-- Oh! there are spirits of the air

Dakrysi Dioisw Potmon Apotmon

Oh! there are spirits of the air,
And genii of the evening breeze,
And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fair
As star-beams among twilight trees:—
Such lovely ministers to meet
Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet.

With mountain winds, and babbling springs,
And moonlight seas, that are the voice
Of these inexplicable things,
Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice
When they did answer thee; but they
Cast, like a worthless boon, thy love away.

And thou hast sought in starry eyes
Beams that were never meant for thine,
Another’s wealth:—tame sacrifice
To a fond faith! still dost thou pine?
Still dost thou hope that greeting hands,
Voice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands?

Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope
On the false earth’s inconstancy?
Did thine own mind afford no scope
Of love, or moving thoughts to thee?
That natural scenes or human smiles
Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles?

Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled
Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted;
The glory of the moon is dead;
Night’s ghosts and dreams have now departed;
Thine own soul still is true to thee,
But changed to a foul fiend through misery.

This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever
Beside thee like thy shadow hangs,
Dream not to chase;—the mad endeavour
Would scourge thee to severer pangs.
Be as thou art. Thy settled fate,
Dark as it is, all change would aggravate.

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There Are Pains Beyond The Healing Of Poetry

THERE ARE PAINS BEYOND THE HEALING OF POETRY

There are pains beyond the healing of poetry-
Lifes wounds can be deeper than any helping song or thought-
A life can fail
And go into the ground
With all its cries unanswered.
Who are we to know why we suffer so sometimes?
Perhaps we deserve it,
Perhaps we do not.

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There Are Times/ When The Poetry Of The Poem

THERE ARE TIMES/ WHEN THE POETRY OF THE POEM

There are times
When the poetry of the poem,
And the poetry of the poet
Are poetry.

But there are too times
When the poetry of the poet
And the poetry of the poem
Are not poetry.

There are times
When all the poetry,
And all the poets in the universe
Do not make the world a poem.

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Smile

By chaplin, parsons and phillips
Smile, though your heart is aching.
Smile, even though its breaking.
Though there are clouds in the sky,
Youll get by...
If you smile through your fears and sorrows.
Smile and maybe tomorrow.
Youll see the sun come shining through.
If you just light up your face with gladness,
Hide every trace of sadness.
Although a tear may be ever, ever so near.
Thats the time you must keep on trying.
Smile, whats the use of crying?
Youll find life is still worthwhile
If youll just smile, come on and smile.
If you just smile.

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Smile

Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it's breaking
When there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You'll see the sun come shining through for you
Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile

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Smile

Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it's breaking
When there are clouds in the sky you'll get by
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You'll see the sun come shining through
For you
Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear maybe ever so near
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile- what's the use of crying
You'll find that life is still worth while
If you just smile
Oh that's the time you must keep on trying
Smile what's the use of crying
You'll find that life is still worth while
If you just smile

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Smile

Smile
Though your heart is aching
Smile
Even though it's breaking
When there are clouds
In the sky,
You'll get by
If you smile
Through your fear and sorrow
Smile
And maybe tomorrow
You'll see the sun
Come shining through
For you
Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear
May be ever so near
That's the time
You must keep on trying
Smile
What's the use of crying?
You'll find that life
Is still worth-while
If you just smile
Smile
Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear
May be ever so near
That's the time
You must keep on trying
Smile,
What's the use of crying?
You'll find that life
Is still worth-while
If you just smile
Keep on smiling
Oh yeah
Smile
Never, never, never stop smile
Smile

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Smile

Smile, though your heart is aching
Smile, even though it's breaking
When there are clouds in the sky
You'll get by if you smile
With your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just
Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just
Smile, though your heart is aching
Smile, even though it's breaking
When there are clouds in the sky
You'll get by
If you smile
Through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile

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The Borough. Letter X: Clubs And Social Meetings

YOU say you envy in your calm retreat
Our social Meetings;--'tis with joy we meet.
In these our parties you are pleased to find
Good sense and wit, with intercourse of mind;
Composed of men who read, reflect, and write,
Who, when they meet, must yield and share delight.
To you our Book-club has peculiar charm,
For which you sicken in your quiet farm;
Here you suppose us at our leisure placed,
Enjoying freedom, and displaying taste:
With wisdom cheerful, temperately gay,
Pleased to enjoy, and willing to display.
If thus your envy gives your ease its gloom,
Give wings to fancy, and among us come.
We're now assembled; you may soon attend -
I'll introduce you--'Gentlemen, my friend.'
'Now are you happy? you have pass'd a night
In gay discourse, and rational delight.'
'Alas! not so: for how can mortals think,
Or thoughts exchange, if thus they eat and drink?
No! I confess when we had fairly dined,
That was no time for intercourse of mind;
There was each dish prepared with skill t'invite,
And to detain the struggling appetite;
On such occasions minds with one consent
Are to the comforts of the body lent;
There was no pause--the wine went quickly round,
Till struggling Fancy was by Bacchus bound;
Wine is to wit as water thrown on fire,
By duly sprinkling both are raised the higher;
Thus largely dealt, the vivid blaze they choke,
And all the genial flame goes off in smoke.'
'But when no more your boards these loads

contain,
When wine no more o'erwhelms the labouring brain,
But serves, a gentle stimulus; we know
How wit must sparkle, and how fancy flow.'
It might be so, but no such club-days come;
We always find these dampers in the room:
If to converse were all that brought us here,
A few odd members would in turn appear;
Who, dwelling nigh, would saunter in and out,
O'erlook the list, and toss the books about;
Or yawning read them, walking up and down,
Just as the loungers in the shops in town;
Till fancying nothing would their minds amuse,
They'd push them by, and go in search of news.
But our attractions are a stronger sort,
The earliest dainties and the oldest port;
All enter then with glee in every look,
And not a member thinks about a book.
Still, let me own, there are some vacant hours,
When minds might work, and men exert their powers:
Ere wine to folly spurs the giddy guest,
But gives to wit its vigour and its zest;
Then might we reason, might in turn display
Our several talents, and be wisely gay;
We might--but who a tame discourse regards,
When Whist is named, and we behold the Cards?
We from that time are neither grave nor gay;
Our thought, our care, our business is to play:
Fix'd on these spots and figures, each attends
Much to his partners, nothing to his friends.
Our public cares, the long, the warm debate,
That kept our patriots from their beds so late;
War, peace, invasion, all we hope or dread,
Vanish like dreams when men forsake their bed;
And groaning nations and contending kings
Are all forgotten for these painted things;
Paper and paste, vile figures and poor spots,
Level all minds, philosophers and sots;
And give an equal spirit, pause, and force,
Join'd with peculiar diction, to discourse:
'Who deals?--you led--we're three by cards--had you
Honour in hand?'--'Upon my honour, two.'
Hour after hour, men thus contending sit,
Grave without sense, and pointed without wit.
Thus it appears these envied Clubs possess
No certain means of social happiness;
Yet there's a good that flows from scenes like

these -
Man meets with man at leisure and at ease;
We to our neighbours and our equals come,
And rub off pride that man. contracts at home;
For there, admitted master, he is prone
To claim attention and to talk alone:
But here he meets with neither son nor spouse;
No humble cousin to his bidding bows;
To his raised voice his neighbours' voices rise,
To his high look as lofty look replies;
When much he speaks, he finds that ears are closed,
And certain signs inform him when he's prosed;
Here all the value of a listener know,
And claim, in turn, the favour they bestow.
No pleasure gives the speech, when all would

speak,
And all in vain a civil hearer seek.
To chance alone we owe the free discourse,
In vain you purpose what you cannot force;
'Tis when the favourite themes unbidden spring,
That fancy soars with such unwearied wing;
Then may you call in aid the moderate glass,
But let it slowly and unprompted pass;
So shall there all things for the end unite,
And give that hour of rational delight.
Men to their Clubs repair, themselves to please,
To care for nothing, and to take their ease;
In fact, for play, for wine, for news they come:
Discourse is shared with friends or found at home.
But Cards with Books are incidental things;
We've nights devoted to these queens and kings:
Then if we choose the social game, we may;
Now 'tis a duty, and we're bound to play;
Nor ever meeting of the social kind
Was more engaging, yet had less of mind.
Our eager parties, when the lunar light
Throws its full radiance on the festive night,
Of either sex, with punctual hurry come,
And fill, with one accord, an ample room;
Pleased, the fresh packs on cloth of green they

see,
And seizing, handle with preluding glee;
They draw, they sit, they shuffle, cut, and deal;
Like friends assembled, but like foes to feel:
But yet not all,--a happier few have joys
Of mere amusement, and their cards are toys;
No skill nor art, nor fretful hopes have they,
But while their friends are gaming, laugh and play.
Others there are, the veterans of the game,
Who owe their pleasure to their envied fame;
Through many a year with hard-contested strife,
Have they attain'd this glory of their life:
Such is that ancient burgess, whom in vain
Would gout and fever on his couch detain;
And that large lady, who resolves to come,
Though a first fit has warn'd her of her doom!
These are as oracles: in every cause
They settle doubts, and their decrees are laws;
But all are troubled, when, with dubious look,
Diana questions what Apollo spoke.
Here avarice first, the keen desire of gain,
Rules in each heart, and works in every brain:
Alike the veteran-dames and virgins feel,
Nor care what graybeards or what striplings deal;
Sex, age, and station, vanish from their view,
And gold, their sov'reign good, the mingled crowd

pursue.
Hence they are jealous, and as rivals, keep
A watchful eye on the beloved heap;
Meantime discretion bids the tongue be still,
And mild good-humour strives with strong ill-will
Till prudence fails; when, all impatient grown,
They make their grief by their suspicions known,
'Sir, I protest, were Job himself at play,
He'd rave to see you throw your cards away;
Not that I care a button--not a pin
For what I lose; but we had cards to win:
A saint in heaven would grieve to see such hand
Cut up by one who will not understand.'
'Complain of me! and so you might indeed
If I had ventured on that foolish lead,
That fatal heart--but I forgot your play -
Some folk have ever thrown their hearts away.'
'Yes, and their diamonds; I have heard of one
Who made a beggar of an only son.'
'Better a beggar, than to see him tied
To art and spite, to insolence and pride.'
'Sir, were I you, I'd strive to be polite,
Against my nature, for a single night.'
'So did you strive, and, madam! with success;
I knew no being we could censure less!'
Is this too much? Alas! my peaceful Muse
Cannot with half their virulence abuse.
And hark! at other tables discord reigns,
With feign'd contempt for losses and for gains;
Passions awhile are bridled: then they rage,
In waspish youth, and in resentful age;
With scraps of insult--'Sir, when next you play,
Reflect whose money 'tis you throw away.
No one on earth can less such things regard,
But when one's partner doesn't know a card -
I scorn suspicion, ma'am, but while you stand
Behind that lady, pray keep down your hand.'
'Good heav'n, revoke: remember, if the set
Be lost, in honour you should pay the debt.'
'There, there's your money; but, while I have

life,
I'll never more sit down with man and wife;
They snap and snarl indeed, but in the heat
Of all their spleen, their understandings meet;
They are Freemasons, and have many a sign,
That we, poor devils! never can divine:
May it be told, do ye divide th' amount,
Or goes it all to family account?'

---------------------

Next is the Club, where to their friends in town
Our country neighbours once a month come down;
We term it Free-and-Easy, and yet we
Find it no easy matter to be free:
E'en in our small assembly, friends among,
Are minds perverse, there's something will be

wrong;
Men are not equal; some will claim a right
To be the kings and heroes of the night;
Will their own favourite themes and notions start,
And you must hear, offend them, or depart.
There comes Sir Thomas from his village-seat,
Happy, he tells us, all his friends to meet;
He brings the ruin'd brother of his wife,
Whom he supports, and makes him sick of life;
A ready witness whom he can produce
Of all his deeds--a butt for his abuse;
Soon as he enters, has the guests espied,
Drawn to the fire, and to the glass applied -
'Well, what's the subject?--what are you about?
The news, I take it--come, I'll help you out:' -
And then, without one answer he bestows
Freely upon us all he hears and knows;
Gives us opinions, tells us how he votes,
Recites the speeches, adds to them his notes;
And gives old ill-told tales for new-born

anecdotes:
Yet cares he nothing what we judge or think,
Our only duty's to attend and drink:
At length, admonish'd by his gout he ends
The various speech, and leaves at peace his

friends;
But now, alas! we've lost the pleasant hour,
And wisdom flies from wine's superior power.
Wine like the rising sun, possession gains,
And drives the mist of dulness from the brains;
The gloomy vapour from the spirit flies,
And views of gaiety and gladness rise:
Still it proceeds; till from the glowing heat,
The prudent calmly to their shades retreat: -
Then is the mind o'ercast--in wordy rage
And loud contention angry men engage;
Then spleen and pique, like fireworks thrown in

spite,
To mischief turn the pleasures of the night;
Anger abuses, Malice loudly rails,
Revenge awakes, and Anarchy prevails;
Till wine, that raised the tempest, makes its

cease,
And maudlin Love insists on instant peace;
He, noisy mirth and roaring song commands,
Gives idle toasts, and joins unfriendly bands:
Till fuddled Friendship vows esteem and weeps,
And jovial Folly drinks and sings and sleeps.

-----------------------

A Club there is of Smokers--Dare you come
To that close, clouded, hot, narcotic room?
When, midnight past, the very candles seem
Dying for air, and give a ghastly gleam;
When curling fumes in lazy wreaths arise,
And prosing topers rub their winking eyes;
When the long tale, renew'd when last they met,
Is spliced anew, and is unfinish'd yet;
When but a few are left the house to tire,
And they half sleeping by the sleepy fire;
E'en the poor ventilating vane that flew
Of late so fast, is now grown drowsy too;
When sweet, cold, clammy punch its aid bestows,
Then thus the midnight conversation flows: -
'Then, as I said, and--mind me--as I say,
At our last meeting--you remember'--'Ay?'
'Well, very well--then freely as I drink
I spoke my thought--you take me--what I think.
And, sir, said I, if I a Freeman be,
It is my bounden duty to be free.'
'Ay, there you posed him: I respect the Chair,
But man is man, although the man's a mayor;
If Muggins live--no, no!--if Muggins die,
He'll quit his office--neighbour, shall I try?'
'I'll speak my mind, for here are none but

friends:
They're all contending for their private ends;
No public spirit--once a vote would bring,
I say a vote--was then a pretty thing;
It made a man to serve his country and his king:
But for that place, that Muggins must resign,
You've my advice--'tis no affair of mine.'

----------------------

The Poor Man has his Club: he comes and spends
His hoarded pittance with his chosen friends;
Nor this alone,--a monthly dole he pays,
To be assisted when his health decays;
Some part his prudence, from the day's supply,
For cares and troubles in his age, lays by;
The printed rules he guards with painted frame,
And shows his children where to read his name;
Those simple words his honest nature move,
That bond of union tied by laws of love;
This is his pride, it gives to his employ
New value, to his home another joy;
While a religious hope its balm applies
For all his fate inflicts, and all his state

denies.
Much would it please you, sometimes to explore
The peaceful dwellings of our Borough poor:
To view a sailor just return'd from sea,
His wife beside; a child on either knee,
And others crowding near, that none may lose
The smallest portions of the welcome news;
What dangers pass'd, 'When seas ran mountains high,
When tempest raved, and horrors veil'd the sky;
When prudence fail'd, when courage grew dismay'd,
When the strong fainted, and the wicked pray'd, -
Then in the yawning gulf far down we drove,
And gazed upon the billowy mount above;
Till up that mountain, swinging with the gale,
We view'd the horrors of the watery vale.'
The trembling children look with steadfast eyes,
And, panting, sob involuntary sighs:
Soft sleep awhile his torpid touch delays,
And all is joy and piety and praise.

--------------------

Masons are ours, Freemasons--but, alas!
To their own bards I leave the mystic class;
In vain shall one, and not a gifted man,
Attempt to sing of this enlightened clan:
I know no Word, boast no directing Sign,
And not one Token of the race is mine;
Whether with Hiram, that wise widow's son,
They came from Tyre to royal Solomon,
Two pillars raising by their skill profound,
Boaz and Jachin through the east renown'd:
Whether the sacred Books their rise express,
Or books profane, 'tis vain for me guess:
It may be lost in date remote and high,
They know not what their own antiquity:
It may be, too, derived from cause so low,
They have no wish their origin to show:
If, as Crusaders, they combine to wrest
From heathen lords the land they long possess'd;
Or were at first some harmless club, who made
Their idle meetings solemn by parade;
Is but conjecture--for the task unfit,
Awe-struck and mute, the puzzling theme I quit:
Yet, if such blessings from their Order flow,
We should be glad their moral code to know;
Trowels of silver are but simple things,
And Aprons worthless as their apron-strings;
But if indeed you have the skill to teach
A social spirit, now beyond our reach;
If man's warm passions you can guide and bind,
And plant the virtues in the wayward mind;
If you can wake to Christian love the heart, -
In mercy, something of your powers impart.
But, as it seems, we Masons must become
To know the Secret, and must then be dumb;
And as we venture for uncertain gains,
Perhaps the profit is not worth the pains.
When Bruce, that dauntless traveller, thought he

stood
On Nile's first rise, the fountain of the flood,
And drank exulting in the sacred spring,
The critics told him it was no such thing;
That springs unnumber'd round the country ran,
But none could show him where the first began:
So might we feel, should we our time bestow,
To gain these Secrets and these Signs to know;
Might question still if all the truth we found,
And firmly stood upon the certain ground;
We might our title to the Mystery dread,
And fear we drank not at the river-head.

---------------------

G riggs and Gregorians here their meeting hold,
Convivial Sects, and Bucks alert and bold;
A kind of Masons, but without their sign;
The bonds of union--pleasure, song, and wine.
Man, a gregarious creature, loves to fly
Where he the trackings of the herd can spy;
Still to be one with many he desires,
Although it leads him through the thorns and

briers.
A few! but few there are, who in the mind
Perpetual source of consolation find:
The weaker many to the world will come,
For comforts seldom to be found from home.
When the faint hands no more a brimmer hold,
When flannel-wreaths the useless limbs infold,
The breath impeded, and the bosom cold;
When half the pillow'd man the palsy chains,
And the blood falters in the bloated veins, -
Then, as our friends no further aid supply
Than hope's cold phrase and courtesy's soft sigh,
We should that comfort for ourselves ensure,
Which friends could not, if we could friends

procure.
Early in life, when we can laugh aloud,
There's something pleasant in a social crowd,
Who laugh with us--but will such joy remain
When we lie struggling on the bed of pain?
When our physician tells us with a sigh,
No more on hope and science to rely,
Life's staff is useless then; with labouring breath
We pray for Hope divine--the staff of Death; -
This is a scene which few companions grace,
And where the heart's first favourites yield their

place.
Here all the aid of man to man must end,
Here mounts the soul to her eternal Friend:
The tenderest love must here its tie resign,
And give th' aspiring heart to love divine.
Men feel their weakness, and to numbers run,
Themselves to strengthen, or themselves to shun;
But though to this our weakness may be prone,
Let's learn to live, for we must die, alone.

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Hapiness (when you find that special someone)

Happiness (When you find that special someone)

I did not know happiness until I found you
All I knew was the feelings of being sad and blue
I did not know I could feel such joy, just by simply hearing your voice
Above all you have given me peace and love

Being happy is new to me
Its something I thought would never be
But again I’ll see your face and feel like a princess
All because you took one more chance above the rest

I feel your touch and I know I am loved
I see your eyes and the warmth enclosed
Then you turn toward me and I see your face with smiles & a radiant glow of happiness
Then I look at you and I wonder what is this? Whats so different?
This must be happiness, in it true form.

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Love, to a Fault!

They met at the Station of Henley Scarp
Set deep in the countryside,
He told her he'd meet her in London Town
When the hue and the cry had died,
The train pulled in with a blast of steam,
The carriages ground to a halt,
He was sure to tell her to change her train
When she pulled in at Bishops Fault.

They stood at the empty platform then,
And ventured a parting kiss,
He'd always remember the touch of her lips
As a promise of future bliss,
The guard appeared with his little flag
And signalled the train away,
As he hurried on back to the waiting car
On that fresh, first day in May.

He checked his watch, it was four o'clock,
They wouldn't have missed him yet,
He'd need to be back in the servant's hall
Before the sun had set,
He'd planned to travel by minor roads,
By farms and bullock tracks,
It was only an hour and a quarter there,
And then he could relax.

The sun was settling rather low,
The light had begun to fade,
He cursed at the rutted cattle tracks
And the dust trail that he made,
He gripped the wheel with a sudden fear
That turned his knuckles white,
As the Riley bounced and it slid out there,
Unsure, in the fading light.

He found his way to the highway then
With a mile or so to go,
No matter how fast he drove, it seemed
He was only going slow,
And then he saw in the mirror there
The blue and flashing light,
The sound of a siren, chasing him,
His face was pale and white!

The tyre that blew at the corner, sent
Him cannoning off the wall,
Into the trunk of an ancient oak
At the gates of Mourden Hall,
They pulled him out of the twisted wreck
Unconscious there, he bled,
He didn't wake up for a fortnight then
His wrist was chained to the bed!

He lay in a daze, unable then,
To think, or even speak,
Everything passed him by in a haze
He was there for a further week,
But then in the dock, the magistrate
Passed sentence, said, 'I find,
That a year in a cell might just suffice
To clear your muddled mind! '

He did his time in a Yorkshire gaol,
Spent months in a draughty cell,
Fretting and worrying day by day,
Just where was Alice Parnell?
He hadn't been able to contact her,
He wondered what she would say,
Down in the heart of London Town -
Did she think that he'd walked away?

He never once mentioned her name in there,
He couldn't be linked to her,
He knew it would implicate her
In the heart of the whole affair,
He asked the warders for papers there
In case she had advertised,
They said he was welcome to read them all
When he got out, next July!

His time was finally up, he walked,
And headed for London Town,
Checked at the flat he'd rented there,
She hadn't been seen around,
He walked the streets with a broken heart,
Had even been seen to cry,
Then caught a train back to Mourden Hall,
To check with the Butler, Guy.

Guy was a grim, and daunting man,
Was not impressed with his friend,
For prison was such a disgrace, a shame,
Brought friendship to an end,
But when he was asked where Alice was,
Had she been seen at the Hall?
He lowered his lip and looked quite sad,
'I see her, right by the wall.'

'Right by the wall of the cemetery,
I see her there every day,
But what has she got to do with you? '
(He said that he'd better not say!)
For days, he stood by the cemetery wall
Walked back and forth for a week,
But Alice was never around for him,
The future was looking bleak.

And still he wanders the city streets
To look for her, every day,
His Alice, a dream, like a puff of steam
From the train that she took, last May.
A stone by the cemetery wall is writ
With the following words: 'She died;
In the Awful Disaster at Bishops Fault
With a hundred and ten beside! '

11 October 2009

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I Ain't Got Nothin' But Time

HANK WILLIAMS (MGM 11768, 1954)
Little girl, if you're feeling low
And you got no place to go
Just give me a ring
Some joy I will bring
'Cause I ain't got nothin' but time
Well, I ain't got nothin' but time
So baby, if you wanna shine
If you take time to look
My number's in the book
And you can call me any time
I'm footloose and I'm fancy free
So baby, just come along with me
Grab your dancin' shoes
We'll go and lose them blues
'Cause I ain't got nothin' but time
If you say so babe, we'll stay all night
Don't worry, 'cause I ain't got no wife
Any time you wanna go
Good gal, just let me know
'Cause I ain't got nothin' but time
No use to sit at home and fine
And let someone trouble your mind
Just come along with me
There's more fish in the sea
And I ain't got nothin' but time
Now baby, just come on and smile
You'll find that life is still worth while
If you just look around
And watch the fellars in this town
That for you ain't got nothin' but time
Lord, I ain't got nothin' but time
So baby, if you wants to shine
If you take time to look
My number's in the book
And you can call me any time

song performed by Hank WilliamsReport problemRelated quotes
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Straight To My Heart

Well in a hundred years from now
They will attempt to tell us how
A scientific means to bliss
Will supercede the human kiss
A sub atomic chain
Will maybe galvanize your brain
A biochemic trance
Will eliminate romance
But why ever should we care
When there are arrows in the air
Formed by lovers ancient art
That go straight to my heart
A future sugar coated pill
Would give our lovers time to kill
I think theyre working far too much
For the redundancy of touch
But what will make me yours
Are a millions deadly spores
Formed by lovers ancient art
That go straight to my heart
Come into my door
Be the light of my life
Come into my door
Youll never have to sweep the floor
Come into my door
Be the light of my life
Come into my door
Come and be my wife
Ill be true. to no one but you
If its a future would we fear
We have tomorrows seeds right here
For you can hold them in your hand
Or let them fall into the sand
But if our love is pure
The only thing of which were sure
Then you can play your part
And fly straight to my heart
If I should seek immunity
And love you with impunity
Then the only thing to do
Is for me to pledge myself to you
But they only dealt one card
So for me it is not hard
Youre the bright star in my chart
You go straight to my heart
Come into my door
Be the light of my life
Come into my door
Youll never have to sweep the floor
Come into my door
Be the light of my life
Come into my door
Come and be my wife
Ill be true. to no one but you

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Empty Room

Empty room, empty room
How am I gonna fill U?
How am I gonna fill this empty room?
Lonely hearts, worlds apart
Why must they be broken?
How am I gonna ever fill this empty room?
And what is wrong when love is strong?
Why can't it last 4ever?
How could U go and leave me all alone?
Tears fall on barren walls
But what's the use in cryin'?
I gotta find a way 2 fill this empty room

song performed by PrinceReport problemRelated quotes
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There are times that I am at peace

There are times
that I am at peace, in tranquillity
with the world surrounding me
even with my enemies
who in a godlike way
judged me, stole my life
my job from me
with a certainty of the perfect correctness
of their actions and decisions
without having all the facts, without walking
in my shoes, without judging me on merit.

There are times
when the world seems a friendly place,
where I see great beauty
in the way that the world functions,
in every shrub, every flower and tree.

There are times where I am free
from men who take political decisions
about my future, where I am free from the military
free from the influence, the mangling of men

and then there are times when I know
how much you mean to me,
where the meaning, the sheer beauty
compassion and joy that you bring
floods me like an everlasting spring.

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Friday Night Fever

I love the sound of a jukebox playing,
So I sit here while shes staying home
Watching dallas on t.v.
I love the taste of whiskey straight,
But the strongest thing she ever takes
Is a sip from a small glass of chablis.
Though birds of a different feather,
Our love keeps us together,
And she knows whats wrong with me tonight,
Ive got that friday night fever;
Sometimes a man just needs a breather.
She knows I love her and I need her.
And Im no cheater,
Ive just got that friday night fever.
She wouldnt change me if she could, so I wouldnt change her,
Shes too good.
Sometimes a man just needs a change of pace.
Ive heard all those come-on lines,
But I go home at closing time.
I know no one could ever take her place
Now shes taking down her hair, she knows Ill soon be there.
To give her the love she needs tonight.
Ive got that friday night fever;
Sometimes a man just needs a breather.
She knows I love her and I need her.
And Im no cheater, Ive just got that friday night fever.
I got that friday night fever.

song performed by George StraitReport problemRelated quotes
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There Is Dew For The Flow'ret

There is dew for the flow'ret
And honey for the bee,
And bowers for the wild bird,
And love for you and me.
There are tears for the many
And pleasures for the few;
But let the world pass on, dear,
There's love for me and you.
There is care that will not leave us,
And pain that will not flee;
But on our hearth unalter'd
Sits Love—'tween you and me.
Our love it ne'er was reckon'd,
Yet good it is and true,
It's half the world to me, dear,
It's all the world to you.

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