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The Reckoning

LEADER.

LET no cares now hover o'er us

Let the wine unsparing run!
Wilt thou swell our merry chorus?

Hast thou all thy duty done?

SOLO.

Two young folks--the thing is curious--

Loved each other; yesterday
Both quite mild, to-day quite furious,

Next day, quite the deuce to pay!
If her neck she there was stooping,

He must here needs pull his hair.

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poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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La Vie Antérieure (My Earlier Life)

J'ai longtemps habité sous de vastes portiques
Que les soleils marins teignaient de mille feux,
Et que leurs grands piliers, droits et majestueux,
Rendaient pareils, le soir, aux grottes basaltiques.

Les houles, en roulant les images des cieux,
Mêlaient d'une façon solennelle et mystique
Les tout-puissants accords de leur riche musique
Aux couleurs du couchant reflété par mes yeux.

C'est là que j'ai vécu dans les voluptés calmes,
Au milieu de l'azur, des vagues, des splendeurs
Et des esclaves nus, tout imprégnés d'odeurs,

Qui me rafraîchissaient le front avec des palmes,
Et dont l'unique soin était d'approfondir
Le secret douloureux qui me faisait languir.

My Former Life

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poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Metamorphoses: Book The Eighth

NOW shone the morning star in bright array,
To vanquish night, and usher in the day:
The wind veers southward, and moist clouds arise,
That blot with shades the blue meridian skies.
Cephalus feels with joy the kindly gales,
His new allies unfurl the swelling sails;
Steady their course, they cleave the yielding main,
And, with a wish, th' intended harbour gain.
The Story of Mean-while King Minos, on the Attick strand,
Nisus and Displays his martial skill, and wastes the land.
Scylla His army lies encampt upon the plains,
Before Alcathoe's walls, where Nisus reigns;
On whose grey head a lock of purple hue,
The strength, and fortune of his kingdom, grew.
Six moons were gone, and past, when still from
far
Victoria hover'd o'er the doubtful war.
So long, to both inclin'd, th' impartial maid
Between 'em both her equal wings display'd.
High on the walls, by Phoebus vocal made,

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poem by Ovid
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Left To Wilt And Languish

It will rain to replenish,
That which needs to be nourished.
It will flood to clear debris,
To rejuvenate an encouragement of growth...
That allows a renewal to begin once again,
To restore a drought of life left to wilt and languish.
And has begun to dull with dust to cover in lament.

It will rain to replenish,
That which needs to be nourished.
It will flood to clear debris,
To rejuvenate an encouragement of growth...
Anguishing.
And...
Left to wilt and languish.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Elysium

I languish through the day
In morbid dissatisfaction of time
Barely working through motions
How the mind has become
Such a terrible thing to waste
I play on once such thought
More often than any other it seems
A thought of a girl
One who I fancy I may love
Yet abstain from telling her such
I question if I know this fate
How my feelings are but finished
I know this beautiful girl is fair
Gently spoken in her manners
And that I hold nothing for her
A thought of love becomes an irritation
Which labours in my concision
Such is that I languish myself
Hour upon morbid hour
Till the day like my thoughts

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poem by Matthew Holloway
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Sit idle

Sit idle

Recline

languish

Recline on the sofa

The eyes will be shut

No thoughts no idea

No vision no dream

Does your back ache

Are your eyes getting heavy

Sink like a heavy weight

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poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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Chorus of the Dead

And all returns to Thee, alone eternal,
And all Thee returning.
Oh Death, in Thy vast shadow,
Simple and bare we languish,
Not happy, but from the anguish
Of life at last set free. The night profoundly
Falls on the shaken spirit,
And dark in dark confuses;
The withered soul sourage and hope refuses;
Spent and uncaring,
Free now from sorrow and from fear for ever,
We lie here undespairing
Through void eternity.
We lived... And as a phantom from a dream of terror
Wanders into the day,
And draws across the speechless souls of children
A memory and a fear,
We, as we linger here,
Are haunted still by life: but fears of children
Haunt us not now. What were we?

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poem by Count Giacomo Leopardi
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For My Sake

(Written in aid of the Children's Hospital.)

MATTHEW XXV. 40.

“Inasmuch as ye gave ear unto the sighing
Of the least of these the children of my care,—
Of your love from death redeemed them, or in dying
Stood between them and the shadow of despair;—

“Inasmuch as when the little ones did languish,
Ye put forth the hand to make their burdens light;—
Inasmuch as when they lay on beds of anguish,
Ye were with them in the watches of the night;—

“All the joy ye brought to light when sorrow hid it
Now awaits you, an exceeding great reward.
As ye did it unto these, to ME ye did it;
Enter ye into the joy of your Lord.”

“Lord, when sought we out the children that did languish?

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poem by James Brunton Stephens
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The Enjoyment

Come my Laura, come my love;
Come my tender turtle-dove;
Let me from this host retire,
To languish in a softer fire,
How the waving elms invite us!
How the rosy bowers delight us!
How their am'rous foldings twine,
To imitate thy arms and mine!
See these snowy lilies blowing,
With the blushing roses glowing,
Silently the soul inspire,
To kindle at thy lover's fire:
See these springing violets rise,
Animated by thy eyes;
Lavishly their charms they spread,
To make a soft enamelled bed;
And like this downy swelling breast,
They rise, and languish to be pressed.

But O thou happy, happy grove,

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poem by William Pattison
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The wasted fountains

"And their nobles have sent their little ones to the waters;
they came to the pits and found no water; they returned with
their vessels empty." -- Jeremiah XIV. 3.

When the fitful fever of the soul
Is awakened in thee first;
And thou goest like Judah's children forth,
To slake thy burning thirst; --

And when dry and wasted, like the springs
Sought by that little band,
Before thee, in their emptiness
Life's broken cisterns stand; --

When the ripened fruits that tempted,
Turn to ashes on the taste;
And thine early visions fade and pass,
Like the mirage of the waste; --

When faith darkens, and hopes languish,

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poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
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