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Quotes about eth

As Thee Will'eth

For the love of thy night creature,
Call’eth, with thy heart, dark romance’s very teacher.
As thee will’eth on thy heavenly plain,
So shall it be in thy hellish refrain.

To bask’eth in divine love
While’st thy bodies fall from above.
For this mortal sin
Will eat ourselves both from within.

Angelic presence should not be tainted
By thy demonic love, so un-sainted.
Pure Spirit of thee hold’st true
To thy darkened fleshly hue.

Still thee summons thy shade
And thyself appears as inferno’s flames fade.
True love, in eye-lock’eth gaze, commence
As we art to be’eth together forever since.

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Annemarie

Yahweh came down upon Mount Sinai and,
The ten Commandments were given to us;
But, how many of us are with the Book of the Covenant?

Of a Black Family in the White House,
Of a White Family in the Black House,
Of the longsuffering and abounding in righteousness and truth;
But be very careful not to throw a bomb into the market place,
Because it may also kill your friends and your relatives.

May your house be like the house of Perez and,
May Yahweh be celebrated in Israyl! !
For your bombs have killed many without a clue.

Annemarie, do learn from the secret codes of this world;
And do grow in love always than hate.
Also, tell your friend Yahash about the truth and shed no blood!
But try to repay evil with mercy and hatred with love.

Blessed be your wise counsel to others and,

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The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 03

Now is Mede the mayde and no mo of hem alle,
With bedeles and baillies brought bifore the Kyng.
The Kyng called a clerk - l kan noght his name -
To take Mede the maide and maken hire at ese.
I shal assayen hire myself and soothliche appose
What man of this world that hire were levest.
And if she werche bi wit and my wil folwe
I wol forgyven hire this gilt, so me God helpe!'
Curteisly the clerk thanne, as the Kyng highte,
Took Mede bi the myddel and broghte hire into chambre.
Ac ther was murthe and mynstralcie Mede to plese;
That wonyeth at Westmynstre worshipeth hire alle.
Gentilliche with joye the justices somme
Busked hem to the bour ther the burde dwellede,
Conforted hyre kyndely by Clergies leve,
And seiden, ' Mourne noght, Mede, ne make thow no sorwe,
For we wol wisse the Kyng and thi wey shape
To be wedded at thi wille and wher thee leef liketh
For al Conscienees cast or craft, as I trowe.'
Mildely Mede thanne merciede hem alle

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In recent years, more and more of my time has become absorbed by administrative work for the research council of ETH-Z of which I am presently the president.

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I Equal To You

Till egotism reigns
I is supreme
Not look'eth beyond it
The powers to look beyond it
Will not be gained
Egotistical approach when shed
The I relegated
Caring you become
For those around
When reciprocal this current
A movement becomes
I will be taken care of
Consciously and sub-consciously
By known and unknown.

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Wafer

The Present: a nano-thin wafer wall
on which we wanderers waiver, stall
for time - waifs small on ant-heap tall -
soon turned to ashes spurned, shred shawl
on which we pile from fast Past’s dust,
rich dream state which maintains its thrall
to spell Man’s time-plan wherewithal -
framework contextual all-in-all.

This transient recorded scrawl
upon the wall of fate thus must
seem progam which can disinstall
itself when system crashes - fall
whose ripples often waterfall
from chaos and beginnings small -
an ore shawl for next cycle’s rust –
from an apparent free-for-all,
create conditions for long haul,
new ball-game to begin it all
again and open options call.

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George Herbert

Lent

Welcome dear feast of Lent: who loves not thee,
He loves not Temperance, or Authority,
But is compos'd of passion.
The Scriptures bid us fast; the Church says, now:
Give to thy Mother, what thou wouldst allow
To ev'ry Corporation.

The humble soul compos'd of love and fear
Begins at home, and lays the burden there,
When doctrines disagree,
He says, in things which use hath justly got,
I am a scandal to the Church, and not
The Church is so to me.

True Christians should be glad of an occasion
To use their temperance, seeking no evasion,
When good is seasonable;
Unless Authority, which should increase
The obligation in us, make it less,
And Power itself disable.

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By-tor & The Snow Dog

Words and music by geddy lee, alex lifeson, and neil peart
I. at the tobes of hades
The tobes of hades
Lit by flickering torchlight
The netherworld is gathered in the glare
Prince by-tor takes the cavern
To the north light
The sign of eth is rising in the air
By-tor, knight of darkness,
Centurion of evil
Devils prince
Ii. across the styx
Across the river styx
Out of the lamplight
His nemesis is waiting at the gate
The snow dog, ermine glowing
In the damp night
Coal-black eyes shimmering with hate
By-tor and the snow dog
Square for battle

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John Dryden

Mac Flecknoe: A Satire upon the True-blue Protestant Poet T

All human things are subject to decay,
And, when Fate summons, monarchs must obey:
This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus, young
Was call'd to empire, and had govern'd long:
In prose and verse, was own'd, without dispute
Through all the realms of Non-sense, absolute.
This aged prince now flourishing in peace,
And blest with issue of a large increase,
Worn out with business, did at length debate
To settle the succession of the State:
And pond'ring which of all his sons was fit
To reign, and wage immortal war with wit;
Cry'd, 'tis resolv'd; for nature pleads that he
Should only rule, who most resembles me:
Shadwell alone my perfect image bears,
Mature in dullness from his tender years.
Shadwell alone, of all my sons, is he
Who stands confirm'd in full stupidity.
The rest to some faint meaning make pretence,
But Shadwell never deviates into sense.

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Edmund Spenser

Astrophel

A Pastorall Elegie vpon the death of the most Noble and valorous Knight, Sir Philip Sidney.

Dedicated To the most beautifull and vertuous Ladie, the Countesse of Essex.

Shepheards that wont on pipes of oaten reed,
Oft times to plaint your loues concealed smart:
And with your piteous layes haue learnd to breed
Compassion in a countrey lasses hart.
Hearken ye gentle shepheards to my song,
And place my dolefull plaint your plaints emong.
To you alone I sing this mournfull verse,
The mournfulst verse that euer man heard tell:
To you whose softened hearts it may empierse,
VVith dolours dart for death of Astrophel.
To you I sing and to none other wight,
For well I wot my rymes bene rudely dight.

Yet as they been, if any nycer wit
Shall hap to heare, or couet them to read:
Thinke he, that such are for such ones most fit,

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