Did you never know, long ago, how much you loved me-- That your love would never lessen and never go? You were young then, proud and fresh-hearted, You were too young to know.
Fate is a wind, and red leaves fly before it Far apart, far away in the gusty time of year-- Seldom we meet now, but when I hear you speaking, I know your secret, my dear, my dear.
In secret be quiet say nothing except the street be full of stars and the prisoners eat doves and the doves eat cheese and the cheese eats words and the words eat bridges and the bridges eat looks and the looks eat cups full of kisses in the orchata that hides all with its wings the butterfly the night in a cafe last summer in Barcelona
Crown Me with Roses
Crown me with roses, Crown me really With roses - Roses which burn out On a forehead burning So soon out! Crown me with roses And with fleeting leafage. That will do.
What is our Life? (Sir Walter Raleigh).
What is our life? A play of passion, Our mirth the music of division, Our mother's wombs the tiring houses be Where we are dressed for this short Comedy; Heaven the judicious sharp Spectator is, That sits and marks still who doth act amiss; Our graves that hide us from the searching Sun Are like drawn curtains when the play is done; Thus march we playing to our latest rest, Only we die in earnest, that's no jest.
SERENE, I fold my hands and wait, Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea; I rave no more 'gainst time or fate, For lo! my own shall come to me.
I stay my haste, I make delays, For what avails this eager pace? I stand amid the eternal ways, And what is mine shall know my face.
Asleep, awake, by night or day, The friends I seek are seeking me; No wind can drive my bark astray, Nor change the tide of destiny.
What matter if I stand alone? I wait with joy the coming years; My heart shall reap where it hath sown, And garner up its fruit of tears.
The waters know their own and draw The brook that springs in yonder height; So flows the good with equal law Unto the soul of pure delight.
The stars come nightly to the sky; The tidal wave unto the sea; Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high, Can keep my own away from me.
Spring Night in Lo-yang Hearing a Flute by: Li Po
In what house, the jade flute that sends these dark notes drifting, scattering on the spring wind that fills Lo-yang? Tonight if we should hear the willow-breaking song, who could help but long for the gardens of home?
A Dream by: Edgar Allen Poe
In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed- But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted.
Ah! what is not a dream by day To him whose eyes are cast On things around him with a ray Turned back upon the past?
That holy dream- that holy dream, While all the world were chiding, Hath cheered me as a lovely beam A lonely spirit guiding.
What though that light, thro' storm and night, So trembled from afar- What could there be more purely bright In Truth's day-star?
Fancy in Nubibus (or the Poet in the Clouds)
O! It is pleasant, with a heart at ease, Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies, To make the shifting clouds be what you please, Or let the easily persuaded eyes Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould Of a friend's fancy; or with head bent low And cheek aslant see rivers flow of gold 'Twixt crimson banks; and then, a traveller, go From mount to mount through Cloudland, gorgeous land! Or list'ning to the tide, with closed sight, Be that blind bard, who on the Chian strand By those deep sounds possessed with inward light, Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssee Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge 1772-1834
Autumn (Excerpt) by P.K. Page
The sharpening air of late afternoon is now the colour of tea. Once-glycerined green leaves burned by a summer sun are brittle and ochre. Night enters day like a thief. And children fear that the beautiful daylight has
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