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Caution

[Bob Marley]
Wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo.
Wo-wo-wo-wo, wo-wo-wo-wo.
Here I am walkin' down the street (Walkin', walkin', walkin', walkin',
walkin', walkin', walkin', walkin', walkin', walkin', walkin',
walkin')
And the children: everything is so sweet.
(Wo-wo-wo sweet! Wo-wo-wo sweet!)
I'm doin' my best and I'm doin' it slow,
But there is just one thing I would like you to know.
Ooh, when you wet, it's slippery, yeah. Uh!
When it damp, it crampin'!
If it's slidin', you'll tumble down,
Won't want you on the ground.
Oh-oh-oh! Caution: the road is wet;
Black soul is black as jet. Did you hear me?
Caution: the road is hot;
Still you got to do better than that!
'Cause when you wet, it's slippery, yeah. It's slippery, yeah!
When it damp, it crampin'! When it damp, it crampin'!

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song performed by Bob Marley
Added by Lucian Velea
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Canto the Second

I
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,
I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,
It mends their morals, never mind the pain:
The best of mothers and of educations
In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain,
Since, in a way that's rather of the oddest, he
Became divested of his native modesty.

II
Had he but been placed at a public school,
In the third form, or even in the fourth,
His daily task had kept his fancy cool,
At least, had he been nurtured in the north;
Spain may prove an exception to the rule,
But then exceptions always prove its worth -—
A lad of sixteen causing a divorce
Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.

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poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Interlude: The Hearth And The Window

Thou cricket, that at dusk in the damp weeds,
all that, alack! my sickly garden breeds,
silverest the brown air with thy liquid note
now eve is sharp, I, hearkening, dream remote
the home my exiled heart hath somewhere known
far from these busy days that make me lone,
in twilit past, where the soon autumn damp
is gather'd black above the yellow lamp
that guides my feet towards the rustic roof
infrequent, on the forest edge, aloof,
as I return, nor fail to greet the way
(ah, when?) the witness of my childish play,
and feel that soon the silver-piled snow
will make the watches warm beside the glow
that just reveals, amid the enfolding gloom,
the smoky joists of the familiar room:
and while thy supper-song is shrilling thro'
that well-kept nook, my musing shall renew
its kindred of romance, the friendly throng
that haunts the winters when the nights are long.

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poem by Christopher John Brennan
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The Mother

I

IT was April, blossoming spring,
They buried me, when the birds did sing;

Earth, in clammy wedging earth,
They banked my bed with a black, damp girth.

Under the damp and under the mould,
I kenned my breasts were clammy and cold.

Out from the red beams, slanting and bright,
I kenned my cheeks were sunken and white.

I was a dream, and the world was a dream,
And yet I kenned all things that seem.

I was a dream, and the world was a dream,
But you cannot bury a red sunbeam.

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poem by William Wilfred Campbell
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Havfruen ved Samsøe

Det er sildigt alt paa Aft'nen, Stormen stiger meer og meer,
Bølgen vælter sig mod Kysten, hvor man Fiskerhytten seer.
O, der er saa luunt derinde, gamle Mutter sidder her,
Og ved Fyrrepindens Flamme bøder hun paa Garnet der.
Hist i Krogen ligger Katten, den er ei i Ungdoms Vaar,
Sildehoveder den spiser af et gammelt Potteskaar.
Lav er Døren, uden Lukke ryster den ved Stormens Kast,
Skjøndt den nok saa godt er bunden med en gammel Strikke fast.
Hør — nu rasler det derude, gamle Fatter kommer hjem;
„Gud skee Lov, han kom den Gamle! Søen er i Aften slem."
Men, hvor han er bleg og stille, Skyer paa hans Pande staae;
Han sin gamle Klædning kaster, tager Søndags-Stadsen paa.
Haaret børster han med Haanden; see, hans Øie ruller vildt;
Undrende hans gamle Qvinde trykker ham i Haanden mildt.
Hende kan han ikke dølge, hvad der driver ham afsted;
„Jeg maa bort! til Dannerhoffet; før faaer jeg ei nogen Fred.
Havfruen igjen jeg hørte, det er nu den tredie Gang;
Hvis jeg dvæler længer, vil hun synge snart min Dødningsang.
Hvert af hendes Ord jeg husker, o det klang saa stort, saa smukt!
Snart skal Jubelklokken klinge over Belte, Sund og Bugt,

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poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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An ecstasy of solitude in an estranged city

An ecstasy of solitude in an estranged city
With the company of a winding spider swaying on its pall
At dark, dusty, sticky, silky corner wall
A craving anticipation for the monotonous music of a solitary cricket
At midnight sound and fury of streets wicket
Pondering at the queue of laborious ants
Undisturbed by on going neighbors rant
Indifferently they are pursuing their heavy task
As I wonder how long and how far it may last
 
Cold damp frigid winter night at the edge of city
In the middle of the garden wood
A folded leaf is wooed from out its root
With wind rising and gusting upon the barren branch
It floats and falls down to the dark dreary air
And now bouncing between barren boughs in a macabre dance
To the sound of the music of the whispering wind there
This black spotted yellow leaf joins his clan
that dances as often as dance it can
A back choir of hissing leaves at the curb

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poem by Isaac Ziv
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The Tramp

He sleeps alone in the damp
And rests his head upon a door
The only bed he knows is the floor,
The tramp
Turned up collar and worn out shoes
He doesnt care cause he hasnt got nothing to lose
He sleeps alone in the damp
And rests his head upon a door
The only bed he knows is the floor,
The tramp
No companion to take him home
His only friends are the kind that just leave him alone
No one knows just how lonely his life has been
In a world that lives in a dream
He sleeps alone in the damp
And rests his head upon a door
The only bed he knows is the floor,
The tramp

song performed by Cat Stevens
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Troubadour. Canto 3

LAND of the olive and the vine,
The saint and soldier, sword and shrine!
How glorious to young RAYMOND'S eye
Swell'd thy bold heights, spread thy clear sky,
When first he paused upon the height
Where, gather'd, lay the Christian might.
Amid a chesnut wood were raised
Their white tents, and the red cross blazed
Meteor-like, with its crimson shine,
O'er many a standard's scutcheon'd line.

On the hill opposite there stood
The warriors of the Moorish blood,--
With their silver crescents gleaming,
And their horse-tail pennons streaming;
With cymbals and the clanging gong,
The muezzin's unchanging song,
The turbans that like rainbows shone,
The coursers' gay caparison,
As if another world had been

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poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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The Corsair

'O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our soul's as free
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home!
These are our realms, no limits to their sway-
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
Ours the wild life in tumult still to range
From toil to rest, and joy in every change.
Oh, who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave!
Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave;
Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease!
whom slumber soothes not - pleasure cannot please -
Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried,
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide,
The exulting sense - the pulse's maddening play,
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?
That for itself can woo the approaching fight,
And turn what some deem danger to delight;
That seeks what cravens shun with more than zeal,
And where the feebler faint can only feel -

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poem by Byron
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Circle

A rain hawk circles in the dawn.
The dawn uncovers the trees;
the trees lead to a forest.
The forest sinks into the damp earth;
the damp earth waters the stones.
Stones are under a rain hawk -

a rain hawk circles in the dawn
a rain hawk circles in the dawn.

poem by Leslie Philibert
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