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pinky
post Jul 7 2007, 05:14 PM
Post #646


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QUOTE(noorie @ Jul 5 2007, 11:38 PM) *

Two should feel the same way. Only then it is worth it.

Noorie











GOING to heaven!



Going to Heaven!
I don't know when,
Pray do not ask me how,
Indeed, I'm too astonished
To think of answering you!
Going to heaven!
How dim it sounds!
And yet it will be done
As sure as flocks go home at night
Unto the shepherd's arm!

Perhaps you're going too!
Who knows?
If you should get there first,
Save just a little place for me
Close to the two I lost!
The smallest "robe" will fit me,
And just a bit of "crown";
For you know we do not mind our dress
When we are going home.

I'm glad I don't believe it,
For it would stop my breath,
And I'd like to look a little more
At such a curious earth!
I am glad they did believe it
Whom I have never found
Since the mighty autumn afternoon
I left them in the ground.


by Emily Dickinson


"The best and the most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen,
nor touched...but are felt in the heart."


Far, very far, into the world of the farthest beyond
My hope carries me and places me
On the sweetest lap of the unknown.
There i behold my self-form
In the Dance-Delight of the Absolute



Every Night and every Morn
Some to Misery are born
Every morn and every Night
Some are born to sweet Delight
Some are born to Endless night
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mmuk2004
post Jul 12 2007, 08:43 AM
Post #647


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Lovely poems... smile.gif

Am old fashioned enough to still enjoy TSE...

The modernist consciousness, attempting to write poetry/romance...so terribly awkward, self-conscious, self-flagellating, with a hodge-podge of broken references(literary, biblical, personal, contemporary), unable to find any sense of continuity...and since I have attempted to summarize in one line what people have been struggling to do for ninety years in innumerable volumes ... ph34r.gif let me add insult to injury and ask you to ignore the Italian Dantesque bit that precedes the English, for now... believe me, the poem makes sense even without trying to decode that...

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

T.S. Eliot



S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo



LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
. . . . .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.



"This isn't right, this isn't even wrong."
Wolfgang Pauli (1900-1958)

"There are no facts, only interpretations."
Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900)

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noorie
post Jul 15 2007, 12:53 PM
Post #648


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tongue1.gif

Men and Their Boring Arguments
- Wendy Cope

One man on his own can be quite good fun
But don't go drinking with two -
They'll probably have an argument
And take no notice of you.

What makes men so tedious
Is the need to show off and compete.
They'll bore you to death for hours and hours
Before they'll admit defeat.

It often happens at dinner-parties
Where brother disputes with brother
And we can't even talk among ourselves
Because we're not next to each other.

Some men like to argue with women -
Don't give them a chance to begin.
You won't be allowed to change the subject
Until you have given in.

A man with the bit between his teeth
Will keep you up half the night
And the only way to get some sleep
Is to say, 'I expect you're right.'

I expect you're right, my dearest love.
I expect you're right, my friend.
These boring arguments make no difference
To anything in the end.


P.S. Madhavi, no comments about the poem?tongue1.gif

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noorie
post Jul 15 2007, 01:06 PM
Post #649


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Love Cuts
- John Hegley

Love cuts
love juts out
and you walk right into it.

Love cuts
love comes and goes
love's a rose
first you smell the flower
then the thorn gets up your nostril
love gives you the chocolates
and then love gives you the chop
it doesn't like to linger.

Love cuts
love shuts up shop
and shuts it on your finger

Love cuts
love's very sharp
a harpoon through an easy chair
a comb of honey in your hair
just wait until the bees come home
and find you just relaxing there.

Love cuts, love guts the fish
of what you wish for
and leaves it in the airing cupboard.

Love cuts
love huts fall down
as all the walls get falser.

Love cuts
Love struts around on stilts of balsa
wood love cuts
love gives you a sweeping bow
then ploughs a furrow deep above your eyebrow
love cuts
love curtseys
then nuts you
where it really hurtseys.

Love cuts
love butts in
When you're in full flow
and you're so glad
your heart's aglow.

But like it comes
it likes to go
without so much as a cheerio
and you miss it so
until next time.

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noorie
post Jul 15 2007, 01:32 PM
Post #650


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In The Valley Of Cautertz
-Alfred, Lord Tennyson

All along the valley, stream that flashest white,
Deepening thy voice with the deepening of the night,
All along the valley, where thy waters flow,
I walk'd with one I loved two and thirty years ago.
All along the valley, while I walk'd to-day,
The two and thirty years were a mist that rolls away;
For all along the valley, down thy rocky bed,
Thy living voice to me was as the voice of the dead,
And all along the valley, by rock and cave and tree,
The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.

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noorie
post Jul 16 2007, 03:49 PM
Post #651


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A Thought Went Up My Mind Today
- Emily Dickinson

A thought went up my mind today
That I have had before,
But did not finish,--some way back,
I could not fix the year,

Nor where it went, nor why it came
The second time to me,
Nor definitely what it was,
Have I the art to say.

But somewhere in my soul, I know
I've met the thing before;
It just reminded me--'t was all--
And came my way no more.

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"During times of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act"

"You have enemies? Good! It means that you stood up for something, sometime in your life."
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mmuk2004
post Jul 17 2007, 07:15 PM
Post #652


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QUOTE
P.S. Madhavi, no comments about the poem?


Instead, allow me to quote an eloquent, ultra-romantic, early Yeats... and, despite all logic, I still fall for it... smile.gif

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.


Btw, that was another lovely ED poem.



"This isn't right, this isn't even wrong."
Wolfgang Pauli (1900-1958)

"There are no facts, only interpretations."
Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900)

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noorie
post Jul 17 2007, 07:52 PM
Post #653


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QUOTE(mmuk2004 @ Jul 17 2007, 07:15 PM) *


Instead, allow me to quote an eloquent, ultra-romantic, early Yeats... and, despite all logic, I still fall for it... smile.gif

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Btw, that was another lovely ED poem.


It's a cruel world.

Noorie

P.S. A beautifully put-together poem. Will always be one of my favorites. wub.gif

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mmuk2004
post Jul 17 2007, 11:11 PM
Post #654


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Okay, now how about some wallowing from the female side...love this un too... smile1.gif

"How do I love thee? Let me Count the Ways..."
Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)


How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.


What lovely lines..."I love thee with a passion put to use/In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith"...



"This isn't right, this isn't even wrong."
Wolfgang Pauli (1900-1958)

"There are no facts, only interpretations."
Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900)

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pinky
post Jul 18 2007, 07:22 PM
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A Dream worth Dreaming


Somewhere in my dreams I hear your voice
Whispering gently....into thin air
At the edge of the mountain I close my eyes
Sensing your breathing...feeling you appear there

On the edge of my dreams I see your face
A twin soul......when we share eyes
At the edge of the mountain I catch my breath
Touching our finger tips...mouth goes dry

In the shadows of my dreams I taste your lips
So soft against mine like a warm rain
At the edge of the mountain my heart slows
Sharing our every breath....two hearts don't refrain

In the deepest part of my dreams I feel your touch
Breathless....from the warmth of your skin
At the edge of the mountain I open my eyes
Seeing only clouds....feeling.... within

On the edge of my dreams is where I want to stay
It's there...I'm forever in your arms...safe...sound
At the edge of the mountain I'll remain breathless
For me.....no greater love will ever be found

Will you always be there on the edge of my dreams?
Will you always meet me to the edge of the mountain?



rkentdesign;

"The best and the most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen,
nor touched...but are felt in the heart."


Far, very far, into the world of the farthest beyond
My hope carries me and places me
On the sweetest lap of the unknown.
There i behold my self-form
In the Dance-Delight of the Absolute



Every Night and every Morn
Some to Misery are born
Every morn and every Night
Some are born to sweet Delight
Some are born to Endless night
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noorie
post Jul 20 2007, 11:54 PM
Post #656


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QUOTE(pinky @ Jul 18 2007, 07:22 PM) *

A Dream worth Dreaming

Will you always be there on the edge of my dreams?
Will you always meet me to the edge of the mountain?




Pinkz, thank you. smile.gif

Now for the 'answer':

Let me not to the marriage of true minds ( Sonnet CXVI )
-William Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no, it is an ever-fixèd mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his heighth be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom. wub.gif
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.


Not everyone gets 2 be so emotionally close with their loved one.

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noorie
post Jul 21 2007, 12:01 AM
Post #657


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QUOTE(mmuk2004 @ Jul 17 2007, 11:11 PM) *

Okay, now how about some wallowing from the female side...love this un too... smile1.gif

"How do I love thee? Let me Count the Ways..."
Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)


How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.


What lovely lines..." I love thee with a passion put to use/In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith"...


Yeah, that's the only way to love.

Madhavi, this is strange; the favorites you've shared till now are on my list too. Mere coincidence?

Noorie

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mmuk2004
post Jul 21 2007, 02:13 AM
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QUOTE
Madhavi, this is strange; the favorites you've shared till now are on my list too. Mere coincidence?

I hope not... and here's hoping we share some more favorites...even if you happen not to like the one below... tongue1.gif



Now that one has wallowed in love and time... how about adding some wit to it (the metaphysical kind ofc wink2.gif ) here is Andrew Marwell trying to persuade his mistress to umm...abide by his wishes... The man claims that together they can make the sun run biggrin.gif !!!

To His Coy Mistress
Andrew Marwell (1621-1678)


Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.


But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.


Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.


Check out TSE's references to this poem in Prufrock...("Indeed there will be time...the entire stanza on Time in fact; and then the lines "To have squeezed the universe into a ball/to roll it toward some overwhelming question")

Wonder how his mistress would have replied to him...



"This isn't right, this isn't even wrong."
Wolfgang Pauli (1900-1958)

"There are no facts, only interpretations."
Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900)

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noorie
post Jul 22 2007, 11:27 PM
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QUOTE(mmuk2004 @ Jul 21 2007, 02:13 AM) *

QUOTE
Madhavi, this is strange; the favorites you've shared till now are on my list too. Mere coincidence?

I hope not... and here's hoping we share some more favorites...even if you happen not to like the one below... tongue1.gif



Now that one has wallowed in love and time... how about adding some wit to it (the metaphysical kind ofc wink2.gif ) here is Andrew Marwell trying to persuade his mistress to umm...abide by his wishes... The man claims that together they can make the sun run biggrin.gif !!!

To His Coy Mistress
Andrew Marwell (1621-1678)


Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.


But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.


Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.


Check out TSE's references to this poem in Prufrock...("Indeed there will be time...the entire stanza on Time in fact; and then the lines "To have squeezed the universe into a ball/to roll it toward some overwhelming question")



The poet seems to be trying too hard to get her to listen to him. tongue1.gif

Noorie

P.S - I do like the poem.

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noorie
post Jul 22 2007, 11:49 PM
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This poem is sure to change the way a person views Time.

Consolation
- Matthew Arnold

Mist clogs the sunshine.
Smoky dwarf houses
Hem me round everywhere;
A vague dejection
Weighs down my soul.

Yet, while I languish,
Everywhere countless
Prospects unroll themselves,
And countless beings
Pass countless moods.

Far hence, in Asia,
On the smooth convent-roofs,
On the gilt terraces,
Of holy Lassa,
Bright shines the sun.

Grey time-worn marbles
Hold the pure Muses;
In their cool gallery,
By yellow Tiber,
They still look fair.

Strange unloved uproar
Shrills round their portal;
Yet not on Helicon
Kept they more cloudless
Their noble calm.

Through sun-proof alleys
In a lone, sand-hemm'd
City of Africa,
A blind, led beggar,
Age-bow'd, asks alms.

No bolder robber
Erst abode ambush'd
Deep in the sandy waste;
No clearer eyesight
Spied prey afar.

Saharan sand-winds
Sear'd his keen eyeballs;
Spent is the spoil he won.
For him the present
Holds only pain.

Two young, fair lovers,
Where the warm June-wind,
Fresh from the summer fields
Plays fondly round them,
Stand, tranced in joy.

With sweet, join'd voices,
And with eyes brimming:
"Ah," they cry, "Destiny,
Prolong the present!
Time, stand still here!"

The prompt stern Goddess
Shakes her head, frowning;
Time gives his hour-glass
Its due reversal;
Their hour is gone.

With weak indulgence
Did the just Goddess
Lengthen their happiness,
She lengthen'd also
Distress elsewhere.

The hour, whose happy
Unalloy'd moments
I would eternalise,
Ten thousand mourners
Well pleased see end.

The bleak, stern hour,
Whose severe moments
I would annihilate,
Is pass'd by others
In warmth, light, joy.

Time, so complain'd of,
Who to no one man
Shows partiality,
Brings round to all men
Some undimm'd hours.

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"During times of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act"

"You have enemies? Good! It means that you stood up for something, sometime in your life."
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