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Quotes about verve

The Fog

The fog slunk down from Labrador, stealthy, sure, and slow,
Southwardly shifting, far inshore, so never a man might know
How the sea it trod with feet soft-shod, watching the distance dim.
Where the fishing-fleet to the eastward beat, white dots on the ocean’s rim.
Feeling the sands with its furtive hands, fingering cape and cove.
Where the sweet salt smells of the nearer swells up the sloping hillside rove;
Where the whimpering sea-gulls swoop and soar, and the great king-herons go,
The fog slunk down from Labrador, stealthy, sure, and slow!

Then a stillness fell on crag and cliff, on beach and breaker fell,
As the sea-breeze brought on its final whiff the note of a distant bell,
One faint, far sound, and the fog unwound its mantle across the lea.
Joined hand in hand with a wind from land, and the twain went out to sea.
And the wind that rose spoke soft, of those who watch on the cliffs at dawn,
And the fog’s white lips, of sinking ships where the tortured tempests spawn,
As, each to each, they told once more such things as fishers know,
When the fog slinks down from Labrador, stealthy, sure, and slow !

Oh, the wan, white hours go limping by, when that pall comes in between
The great, blue bell of the cloudless sky and the ocean’s romping green!

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poem by from The Garden of Years and Other Poems (1901)Report problemRelated quotes
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Whom the World Calls Idle

He is brother-born to the wind. Its song, in his heart implanted,
Stirs and wakes when the morning breaks and the wide horizon burns;
He is brother-born to the sea, and visions of isles enchanted
Slowly rise to his dreaming eyes from the furrow his labor turns.
Child of fate, be it soon or late that his heart he learns to know,
Not his to say if he roam or stay when the summons bids him go:
Brother-born to the wind of morn, he must share its endless quest
Who once hath heard the sovereign word of the gods of Great Unrest!

The stretch of the open road, the challenge of heights unmounted,
The distant cry of the beasts that lie at the mouth of some latent lair,
The sweep of the pathless plain and the speeding of miles uncounted,
When the rangers ride, with a star for guide, in the face of the battling air—
These are his whose fortune is, like the tireless tide’s, to roam,
Brother-born to the wind of morn, with the whole wide world for home:
Child of the soil, he must turn from toil to the dim and dreamt-of West,
Who once hath heard the sovereign word of the gods of Great Unrest!

Song of the stately pines to the winds of northward high lands,
Song of the palms across the calms that sleep on the long lagoon,

[...] Read more

poem by from The Garden of Years and Other Poems (1899)Report problemRelated quotes
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My function at Verve was that of a genuine producer in artists and repertoire.

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The Deserted Garden

I know a village in a far-off land
Where from a sunny, mountain-girdled plain
With tinted walls a space on either hand
And fed by many an olive-darkened lane
The high-road mounts, and thence a silver band
Through vineyard slopes above and rolling grain,
Winds off to that dim corner of the skies
Where behind sunset hills a stately city lies.

Here, among trees whose overhanging shade
Strews petals on the little droves below,
Pattering townward in the morning weighed
With greens from many an upland garden-row,
Runs an old wall; long centuries have frayed
Its scalloped edge, and passers to and fro
Heard never from beyond its crumbling height
Sweet laughter ring at noon or plaintive song at night.

But here where little lizards bask and blink
The tendrils of the trumpet-vine have run,

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The Mosque Of Cordoba

The succession of day and night
Is the architect of events.
The succession of day and night
Is the fountain-head of life and death.
The succession of day and night
Is a two-tone silken twine,
With which the Divine Essence
Prepares Its apparel of Attributes.

The succession of day and night
Is the reverberation of the symphony of
Creation.
Through its modulations, the Infinite
demonstrates
The parameters of possibilities.

The succession of day and night
Is the touchstone of the universe;
Now sitting in judgement on you,
Now setting a value on me.

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I AM (I write)

I write of love, of hate, of anguish
But not of what is
..who is Anita Crystal Rose Khelawan
Anita named after the sultry sensation Anita Baker
Crystal... a nomenclature given by my father
An appellation used solely by my grandmother
Rose..so delicate the best of its kind
And like that flower it reflects my frame of mind
A rose does not bare just one color
The rose's semblance emulates a description of my character
I am a red rose - courageous & respectful
I am a black rose - mysterious &
I am a yellow and white rose - gracious & joyful
But i am 'Crystal Rose'
Khelawan a surname that's frozen in time
Khelawan I am lead to believe it's a fabricated name
It represents a new start relinquishing anger and pain..rejecting everything inhumane

Gaping at this picture the only time I've smiled was when I was a child
Times changed and this upward curving of the corners of the mouth is no longer my style

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?'Who Is ACRK

I write of love, of hate, of anguish
But not of wat is
..who is Anita Crystal Rose Khelawan
Anita named after the soultry sensation Anita Baker
Crystal... a nomenclature given by my father
An appellation used soley by my grandmother
Rose..so delicate the best of its kind
And like that flower it reflects my frame of mind
A rose does not bare just one colour
The rose's semblance emulates a description of my character
I am a red rose - courageous & respectful
I am a black rose - mysterious & occasionally borrow trouble
I am a yellow and white rose - graceous & joyful
But i am 'Crystal Rose'
Khelawan a surname that's frozen in time
Khelawan I am lead to believe it's a fabricated name
It represents a new start relinquishing anger and pain..rejecting everything inhumane

Gaping at this picture the only time I've smiled was when I was a child
Times changed and this upward curving of the corners of the mouth is no longer my style

[...] Read more

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Love's Substitute

This love, that dares not warm before its flame
   Our yearning hands, or from its tempting tree
Yield fruit we may consume, or let us claim
   In Hymen's scroll of happy heraldry
   The twining glyphs of perfect you and me --
May kindle social fires whence curls no blame,
   Find gardens where no fruits forbidden be,
And mottoes weave, unsullied by a shame.

For, love, unmothered Childhood wanly waits
   For such as you to cherish it to Youth:
   Raw social soils untilled need Love's own verve
That Peace a-flower may oust their weedy hates:
   And where Distress would faint from wolfish sleuth
   The perfect lovers' symbol is "We serve!"

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Charles Baudelaire

Chanson d'Après-midi (Afternoon Song)

Quoique tes sourcils méchants
Te donnent un air étrange
Qui n'est pas celui d'un ange,
Sorcière aux yeux alléchants,

Je t'adore, ô ma frivole,
Ma terrible passion!
Avec la dévotion
Du prêtre pour son idole.

Le désert et la forêt
Embaument tes tresses rudes,
Ta tête a les attitudes
De l'énigme et du secret.

Sur ta chair le parfum rôde
Comme autour d'un encensoir;
Tu charmes comme le soir
Nymphe ténébreuse et chaude.

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Charles Baudelaire

La Géante (The Giantess)

Du temps que la Nature en sa verve puissante
Concevait chaque jour des enfants monstrueux,
J'eusse aimé vivre auprès d'une jeune géante,
Comme aux pieds d'une reine un chat voluptueux.

J'eusse aimé voir son corps fleurir avec son âme
Et grandir librement dans ses terribles jeux;
Deviner si son coeur couve une sombre flamme
Aux humides brouillards qui nagent dans ses yeux;

Parcourir à loisir ses magnifiques formes;
Ramper sur le versant de ses genoux énormes,
Et parfois en été, quand les soleils malsains,

Lasse, la font s'étendre à travers la campagne,
Dormir nonchalamment à l'ombre de ses seins,
Comme un hameau paisible au pied d'une montagne.

The Giantess

[...] Read more

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