Quotes about vault, page 3
Sepulcher
Inside this cringing vault
Impenetrable to demons
Angles flapped their wings
Fanning the inner turbulence
And the embers of suffering
And inside this vault
No one else has to know.
poem by Norman Santos
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The Sepulcher
Inside this cringing vault
Impenetrable to demons
Angles flapped their wings
Fanning the inner turbulence
And the embers of suffering
And inside this vault
No one else has to know.
poem by Norman Santos
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Disembogued
The night fell asleep
Leaving the ancient ruins
And darkness surrounded
The sore mayhem around
Whilst inside this vault -
A vacuum
Where everything
Sank mordantly,
Unfettered from the tethers
Thriving to girdle
My bountiful unrealities
There was nothing left
Not a poet
Nor a poem
Even more alone
Than loneliness
Save the virulent strains
Of my reality:
Everything
Sinks
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poem by Norman Santos
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You've Got Me
You've got me,
Beaming down from the stars.
You've got me,
Leaping Venus and Mars.
And passing by Jupiter,
Somersaulting in...
Cosmic fever.
You've got me,
Glued and magnetized too.
You've got me,
And I am glad it is you.
I'm leaping Venus and Mars...
Somersaulting as I vault,
With Cosmic fever.
You've got me,
Glued and magnetized too.
You've got me,
And I am glad it is you.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Thoughts
If I walk the noisy streets,
Or enter a many thronged church,
Or sit among the wild young generation,
I give way to my thoughts.
I say to myself: the years are fleeting,
And however many there seem to be,
We must all go under the eternal vault,
And someone?s hour is already at hand.
When I look at a solitary oak
I think: the patriarch of the woods.
It will outlive my forgotten age
As it outlived that of my grandfathers?.
If I dandle a young infant,
Immediately I think: farewell!
I will yield my place to you,
For I must fade while your flower blooms.
Each day, and every hour
I habitually follow in my thoughts,
Trying to guess from their number
The year which brings my death.
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poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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Vignettes
“AND Smith has made money?'
'O, no; that's a myth:
Smith never made money
But money made Smith!'
_______________
A sculptor is Deming—a great man, too;
But the chisel of fancy the hand outstrips;
While he talks of the wonder he's going to do
All the work of his fingers leaks out at his lips!
______________
'A scholar, sir! To Brown six tongues are known!'
(The Blockhead! never spoke one thought his own!)
_______________
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poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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A Night-Piece
------The sky is overcast
With a continuous cloud of texture close,
Heavy and wan, all whitened by the Moon,
Which through that veil is indistinctly seen,
A dull, contracted circle, yielding light
So feebly spread, that not a shadow falls,
Chequering the ground--from rock, plant, tree, or tower.
At length a pleasant instantaneous gleam
Startles the pensive traveller while he treads
His lonesome path, with unobserving eye
Bent earthwards; he looks up--the clouds are split
Asunder,--and above his head he sees
The clear Moon, and the glory of the heavens.
There, in a black-blue vault she sails along,
Followed by multitudes of stars, that, small
And sharp, and bright, along the dark abyss
Drive as she drives: how fast they wheel away,
Yet vanish not!--the wind is in the tree,
But they are silent;--still they roll along
Immeasurably distant; and the vault,
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poem by William Wordsworth
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Houghton's Bank
HOUGHTON'S BANK
Herd instinct wannabes beg bridge funds, but
Often, spendthrift, find requests for loans
Unsecured denied. Bank makes no bones
Grabbing from those who’d raise themselves from rut,
Hand extended, scored, endures deep cut,
Turns topsy-turvy projects, risk condones,
Obstructing time-vault access with crisp tones,
Neat writing on the wall cites scuttlebutt.
Banking’s a profession where the gut
Active role takes, stakes past winners, drones
Need putting in their place. Prudence postpones
Knackers’ needs, weeds, tightens screw, bolt and nut.
However write-offs rise as profits fall,
Because tight guidelines can’t encompass all.
13 July 1992 revised 2 January 2009
robi03_0581_robi03_0000 ASX_JXX
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Juliet's Soliloquy
Farewell!--God knows when we shall meet again.
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins
That almost freezes up the heat of life:
I'll call them back again to comfort me;--
Nurse!--What should she do here?
My dismal scene I needs must act alone.--
Come, vial.--
What if this mixture do not work at all?
Shall I be married, then, to-morrow morning?--
No, No!--this shall forbid it:--lie thou there.--
What if it be a poison, which the friar
Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead,
Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd,
Because he married me before to Romeo?
I fear it is: and yet methinks it should not,
For he hath still been tried a holy man:--
I will not entertain so bad a thought.--
How if, when I am laid into the tomb,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point!
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poem by William Shakespeare
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The Sleeper
At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapour, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And, softly dripping, drop by drop,
Upon the quiet mountain top,
Steal drowsily and musically
Into the universal valley.
The rosemary nods upon the grave;
The lily lolls upon the wave;
Wrapping the fog about its breast,
The ruin moulders into rest;
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.
All beauty sleeps! - and lo! where lies
Irene, with her Destinies!
Oh, lady bright! can it be right-
The window open to the night?
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poem by Edgar Allan Poe (1831)
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