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Sophia

Sophia look like a witch
A beautiful witch is she
Sophia look like a witch
Hidden form in the name of chastity
Sophia wears a crucifix
Christ hung round her neck
Sophia wears a crucifix
Crucifix effect
Sophia lies between black sheets
Between black sheets she rests
Sophia rises while the cock-a-doodle-doos' a calling
And in black robes she's dressed
Sophia look like a witch Sophia look like a witch (repeat)
Sophia rises while the cockerel's mourning
As the sun sets in the West
Sophia is a mother with a child at her breast
Sophia look like a witch Sophia look like a witch (repeat)

song performed by X-Ray Spex
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sophia

Sophia look like a witch
A beautiful witch is she
Sophia look like a witch
Hidden form in the name of chastity
Sophia wears a crucifix
Christ hung round her neck
Sophia wears a crucifix
Crucifix effect
Sophia lies between black sheets
Between black sheets she rests
Sophia rises while the cock-a-doodle-doos' a calling
And in black robes she's dressed
Sophia look like a witch Sophia look like a witch (repeat)
Sophia rises while the cockerel's mourning
As the sun sets in the West
Sophia is a mother with a child at her breast
Sophia look like a witch Sophia look like a witch (repeat)

song performed by X-Ray Spex
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Legend Of St. Sophia Of Kioff

I.

[The Poet describes the city and spelling of Kiow, Kioff, or Kiova.]

A thousand years ago, or more,
A city filled with burghers stout,
And girt with ramparts round about,
Stood on the rocky Dnieper shore.
In armor bright, by day and night,
The sentries they paced to and fro.
Well guarded and walled was this town, and called
By different names, I'd have you to know;
For if you looks in the g'ography books,
In those dictionaries the name it varies,
And they write it off Kieff or Kioff, Kiova or Kiow.

II.

[Its buildings, public works, and ordinances, religious and civil.]

[...] Read more

poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Sophia The Psychic She Lived Down The Road

Sophia the psychic she lived down the road
She knew the roads she knew the souls
An Antipythia of the broken heart
Wept ‘don’t know thyself ‘tis too deep’
Know thy paths not entangled they are
‘spread like lilies’ not needing the truth

Sophia the psychic centuries echoed
Tormented by knowing too much

Sophia the psychic she met me one day
I looked into her eyes compassion I smiled
Yes, she started, and she could not stop
Against my smile her intermittent sobs

Sophia the psychic centuries echoed
Tormented by knowing too much

‘Tis passion Sophia I asked
Why are you telling me what I already know

[...] Read more

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Transition In Building Worship Utilization

Aya Sophýa Istanbul
church built to honour our God
became prime model
for all mosques to honour Allah

Hagia Sophia Greek
Holy Wisdom
Sancta Sophia Latin
Sancta Sapientia Turkish

designed by the Greek
scientist Isidore of Miletus
who taught physics
in Alexandria Egypt
then Constantinople Bosporus

and Anthemius of Tralles
a Greek professor of Geometry
in Constantinople Byzantium
string construction of ellipse

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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I came to live in Sophia Street

I came to live in Sophia Street,
In a little house in Sophia Street
With an inch of floor
Between door and door
And a yard you'd measure in children's feet.
When I'd been ten days in Sophia Street
I remembered its name was Wisdom Street;
For I'd learned much more
Than in all the score
Of years I clamoured for books to eat.

poem by Lesbia Harford
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The Loving Ballad Of Lord Bateman

Lord Bateman was a noble lord,
A noble lord of high degree;
He shipped himself all aboard of a ship,
Some foreign country for to see.

He sailed east, he sailed west,
Until he came to famed Turkey,
Where he was taken and put to prison,
Until his life was quite weary.

All in this prison there grew a tree,
O there it grew so stout and strong!
Where he was chained all by the middle,
Until his life was almost gone.

This Turk he had one only daughter,
The fairest my two eyes eer see;
She steal the keys of her father's prison,
And swore Lord Bateman she would let go free.

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Lang
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Sophia’s Fool’s-Cap

SOPHIA was a little child,
Obliging, good, and very mild,
Yet lest of dress she should be vain,
Mamma still dress'd her well, but plain.
Her parents, sensible and kind,
Wish'd only to adorn her mind;
No other dress, when good, had she,
But useful, neat simplicity.

Though seldom, yet when she was rude,
Or ever in a naughty mood,
Her punishment was this disgrace,
A large fine cap, adorn'd with lace,
With feathers and with ribbons too;
The work was neat, the fashion new,
Yet, as a fool's-cap was its name,
She dreaded much to wear the same.

A lady, fashionably gay,
Did to mamma a visit pay:

[...] Read more

poem by Ann Taylor
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What does christmas mean to you? ?

'Melissa' my sister Sophia says,
'What does christmas mean to you? '
A little girl about the age of seven replies
'Christmas is the time you get to spend with your family
And experience the joy of giving.'

No matter how true this was
doesnt mean it will ever happen again

For, that night as we were tapingour christmas
our fun
and our 'everlasting joy
Our opening presents
the unearthly presence
The one that covers wach girl and boy
Little did we know
that this would be
our last time
to shine
together..

[...] Read more

poem by Melissa Ferrer
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Gualterus Danistonus, Ad Amicos. - And Imitation

Dum studeo fungi fallentis munere vitae,
Adfectoque viam sedibus Elysiis
Arctoa florens sophia, Samiisque superbus
Discipulis, animas morte carere cano.
Has ego corporibus profugas ad sidera mitto;
Sideraque ingressis otia blanda dico;
Qualia conveniunt divis, queis fata volebant
Vitai faciles molliter ire vias:
Vinaque coelicolis media inter gaudia libo;
Et me quid majus suspicor esse viro,
Sed fuerint nulli forsan, quos spondeo, coeli;
Nullaque sint Ditis numina, nulla Jovis:
Fabula sit torris agitur, quae vita relictis
Quique superstes homo; qui nihil, esto Deus.
Attamen esse hilares, et inanes mittere curas
Proderit, ac vitae commoditate frui,
Et festos agitasse dies, aevique fugacis
Tempora perpetuis detinuisse jocis.
His me parentem praeceptis occupet orcus,
Et mors; seu divum, seu nihil esse velit;

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Prior
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