Discussion in 'Ænonymous' started by dramacrat, May 14, 2012.

A very friendly community


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  3. Fag.

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  1. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe

    Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
    Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
    As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
    `'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
    Only this, and nothing more.'

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
    And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
    For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
    Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
    Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
    `'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
    Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
    This it is, and nothing more,'

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
    `Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
    That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
    Darkness there, and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
    This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
    Merely this and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
    Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    `Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
    Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
    Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
    'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
    In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
    Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

    Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
    By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
    `Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
    Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
    Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
    Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
    Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
    With such name as `Nevermore.'

    But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
    That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
    Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
    On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
    Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
    `Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
    Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
    Of "Never-nevermore."'

    But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
    Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
    What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
    Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
    To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
    But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
    She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
    Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    `Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
    Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
    Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    `Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
    Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
    On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
    Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    `Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
    By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
    Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    `Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
    `Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
    Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
    On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
    And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
    And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
    Shall be lifted - nevermore!
  2. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    I don't see the point of this thread... are you trying to say you wrote this? like some kind of unfunny joke?
    or is it just poetry? if so,why did you post it unamed? who cares?
    finlay,good work choosing something trite and populistic.

  3. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    Once while sitting on the shitter
    I thought about my baby sitter
    so very many years ago
    i played strip poker with that ho
  4. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
    from The Tempest
    Ariel's Song

    Come unto these yellow sands,
    And then take hands:
    Curtsied when you have, and kiss'd
    The wild waves whist,
    Foot it featly here and there;
    And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
    Hark, hark!
    The watch-dogs bark.
    Hark, hark! I hear
    The strain of strutting chanticleer
    Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow.
    Full fathom five thy father lies;
    Of his bones are coral made;
    Those are pearls that were his eyes:
    Nothing of him that doth fade,
    But doth suffer a sea-change
    Into something rich and strange.
    Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
    Hark! now I hear them—Ding-dong, bell.
  5. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    this is ugly Shakespeare is stupid and likes incest
  6. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    1, 2 shit in a shoe

    simple yet poetic
  7. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    roses are red
    violets are blue
    what is this bump?
    and what is this goo?
  8. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    I like haiku.

  9. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    my wiener is up
    this act will be done
    it's time for fuck
    my dick's going up your bum
  10. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    Don't try to treat me like I ain't famous My apologies, are you into astrology Cause I'm, I'm tryin to make it to Uranus

    I can double my density from three-sixty degrees to seven-twenty instantly.

    Thirty-eight revolve like the sun round the Earth.

    When it's hot I'm duckin' them people with my firearm Look I be straight thuggin.

    I like them black, white, Puerto Rican, or Haitian Like Japanese, Chinese, or even Asian.

    Thirty-two grams raw, chop it in half, get sixteen, double it times three. We got forty-eight, which mean a whole lot of cream Divide the profit by four, subtract it by eight We back to sixteen...

    Got a Bill in my mouth like I'm Hillary Rodham.

    Young, black, and famous, with money hanging out the anus.
  11. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    hi madh8r
  12. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    This is Shakespeare.
    You are all ruining my life.
  13. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    Antigonish/Hughes Mearns

    Yesterday, upon the stair,
    I met a man who wasn’t there
    He wasn’t there again today
    I wish, I wish he’d go away...

    When I came home last night at three
    The man was waiting there for me
    But when I looked around the hall
    I couldn’t see him there at all!
    Go away, go away, don’t you come back any more!
    Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door... (slam!)

    Last night I saw upon the stair
    A little man who wasn’t there
    He wasn’t there again today
    Oh, how I wish he’d go away
  14. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    Dicks and Dicks and Dicks and Dicks and Dick
    Suck dem suck dem till it makes you sick
    Cocks and Cocks and Cocks and Cocks and Cock
    Rock'em rock'em up and down the block
  15. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    Here I sit, brokenhearted.
    I tried to shit,
    but I just farted.
  16. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    Richard Cory

    Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
    We people on the pavement looked at him:
    He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
    Clean-favoured and imperially slim.

    And he was always quietly arrayed,
    And he was always human when he talked;
    But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
    "Good Morning!" and he glittered when he walked.

    And he was rich, yes, richer than a king,
    And admirably schooled in every grace:
    In fine -- we thought that he was everything
    To make us wish that we were in his place.

    So on we worked and waited for the light,
    And went without the meat and cursed the bread,
    And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
    Went home and put a bullet in his head.

    -Edwin Arlington Robinson
  17. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout-Shel Silverstein

    Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout
    Would not take the garbage out.
    She'd wash the dishes and scrub the pans
    Cook the yams and spice the hams,
    And though her parents would scream and shout,
    She simply would not take the garbage out.
    And so it piled up to the ceiling:
    Coffee grounds, potato peelings,
    Brown bananas and rotten peas,
    Chunks of sour cottage cheese.
    It filled the can, it covered the floor,
    It cracked the windows and blocked the door,
    With bacon rinds and chicken bones,
    Drippy ends of ice cream cones,
    Prune pits, peach pits, orange peels,
    Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal,
    Pizza crusts and withered greens,
    Soggy beans, and tangerines,
    Crusts of black-burned buttered toast,
    Grisly bits of beefy roast.
    The garbage rolled on down the halls,
    It raised the roof, it broke the walls,
    I mean, greasy napkins, cookie crumbs,
    Blobs of gooey bubble gum,
    Cellophane from old bologna,
    Rubbery, blubbery macaroni,
    Peanut butter, caked and dry,
    Curdled milk, and crusts of pie,
    Rotting melons, dried-up mustard,
    Eggshells mixed with lemon custard,
    Cold French fries and rancid meat,
    Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat.
    At last the garbage reached so high
    That finally it touched the sky,
    And none of her friends would come to play,
    And all of her neighbors moved away;
    And finally, Sarah Cynthia Stout
    Said, "Okay, I'll take the garbage out!"
    But then, of course it was too late,
    The garbage reached across the state,
    From New York to the Golden Gate;
    And there in the garbage she did hate
    Poor Sarah met an awful fate
    That I cannot right now relate
    Because the hour is much too late
    But children, remember Sarah Stout,
    And always take the garbage out.
  18. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    "O bury me not on the lone prairie."
    These words came low and mournfully
    From the pallid lips of the youth who lay
    On his dying bed at the close of day.

    He had wasted and pined 'til o'er his brow
    Death's shades were slowly gathering now
    He thought of home and loved ones nigh,
    As the cowboys gathered to see him die.

    "O bury me not on the lone prairie
    Where coyotes howl and the wind blows free
    In a narrow grave just six by three—
    O bury me not on the lone prairie"

    "It matters not, I've been told,
    Where the body lies when the heart grows cold
    Yet grant, o grant, this wish to me
    O bury me not on the lone prairie."

    "I've always wished to be laid when I died
    In a little churchyard on the green hillside
    By my father's grave, there let me be,
    O bury me not on the lone prairie."

    "I wish to lie where a mother's prayer
    And a sister's tear will mingle there.
    Where friends can come and weep o'er me.
    O bury me not on the lone prairie."

    "For there's another whose tears will shed.
    For the one who lies in a prairie bed.
    It breaks me heart to think of her now,
    She has curled these locks, she has kissed this brow."

    "O bury me not..." And his voice failed there.
    But they took no heed to his dying prayer.
    In a narrow grave, just six by three
    They buried him there on the lone prairie.

    And the cowboys now as they roam the plain,
    For they marked the spot where his bones were lain,
    Fling a handful o' roses o'er his grave
    With a prayer to God his soul to save.
  19. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    The father should have smacked that bitch.
  20. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley

    I met a traveler from an antique land
    Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
    Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
    Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
    And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
    Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
    Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
    The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
    And on the pedestal these words appear:
    “My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
    Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
    Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
    Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
    The lone and level sands stretch far away.
  21. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    THE BELLS (1849)
    Edgar Allan Poe


    Hear the sledges with the bells-
    Silver bells!
    What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
    How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
    In the icy air of night!
    While the stars that oversprinkle
    All the heavens, seem to twinkle
    With a crystalline delight;
    Keeping time, time, time,
    In a sort of Runic rhyme,
    To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
    From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
    Bells, bells, bells-
    From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.


    Hear the mellow wedding bells,
    Golden bells!
    What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
    Through the balmy air of night
    How they ring out their delight!
    From the molten-golden notes,
    And an in tune,
    What a liquid ditty floats
    To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
    On the moon!
    Oh, from out the sounding cells,
    What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
    How it swells!
    How it dwells
    On the Future! how it tells
    Of the rapture that impels
    To the swinging and the ringing
    Of the bells, bells, bells,
    Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
    Bells, bells, bells-
    To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!


    Hear the loud alarum bells-
    Brazen bells!
    What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
    In the startled ear of night
    How they scream out their affright!
    Too much horrified to speak,
    They can only shriek, shriek,
    Out of tune,
    In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
    In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
    Leaping higher, higher, higher,
    With a desperate desire,
    And a resolute endeavor,
    Now- now to sit or never,
    By the side of the pale-faced moon.
    Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
    What a tale their terror tells
    Of Despair!
    How they clang, and clash, and roar!
    What a horror they outpour
    On the bosom of the palpitating air!
    Yet the ear it fully knows,
    By the twanging,
    And the clanging,
    How the danger ebbs and flows:
    Yet the ear distinctly tells,
    In the jangling,
    And the wrangling,
    How the danger sinks and swells,
    By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-
    Of the bells-
    Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
    Bells, bells, bells-
    In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!


    Hear the tolling of the bells-
    Iron Bells!
    What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
    In the silence of the night,
    How we shiver with affright
    At the melancholy menace of their tone!
    For every sound that floats
    From the rust within their throats
    Is a groan.
    And the people- ah, the people-
    They that dwell up in the steeple,
    All Alone
    And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
    In that muffled monotone,
    Feel a glory in so rolling
    On the human heart a stone-
    They are neither man nor woman-
    They are neither brute nor human-
    They are Ghouls:
    And their king it is who tolls;
    And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
    A paean from the bells!
    And his merry bosom swells
    With the paean of the bells!
    And he dances, and he yells;
    Keeping time, time, time,
    In a sort of Runic rhyme,
    To the paean of the bells-
    Of the bells:
    Keeping time, time, time,
    In a sort of Runic rhyme,
    To the throbbing of the bells-
    Of the bells, bells, bells-
    To the sobbing of the bells;
    Keeping time, time, time,
    As he knells, knells, knells,
    In a happy Runic rhyme,
    To the rolling of the bells-
    Of the bells, bells, bells:
    To the tolling of the bells,
    Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
    Bells, bells, bells-
    To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
  22. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    Now, this is a story all about how
    My life got flipped-turned upside down
    And I liked to take a minute
    Just sit right there
    I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air

    In west Philadelphia born and raised
    On the playground was where I spent most of my days
    Chillin' out maxin' relaxin' all cool
    And all shootin some b-ball outside of the school
    When a couple of guys
    Who were up to no good
    Startin making trouble in my neighborhood
    I got in one little fight and my mom got scared
    She said 'You're movin' with your auntie and uncle in Bel Air'

    I begged and pleaded with her day after day
    But she packed my suite case and send me on my way
    She gave me a kiss and then she gave me my ticket.
    I put my walkman on and said, 'I might as well kick it'.

    First class, yo this is bad
    Drinking orange juice out of a champagne glass.
    Is this what the people of Bel-Air Living like?
    Hmmmmm this might be alright.

    But wait I hear they're prissy, wine all that
    Is Bel-Air the type of place they send this cool cat?
    I don't think sow
    I'll see when I get there
    I hope they're prepared for the prince of Bel-Air

    Well, the plane landed and when I came out
    There was a dude who looked like a cop standing there with my name out
    I ain't trying to get arrested
    I just got here
    I sprang with the quickness like lightening, disappeared

    I whistled for a cab and when it came near
    The license plate said fresh and it had dice in the mirror
    If anything I can say this cab is rare
    But I thought 'Now forget it' - 'Yo homes to Bel Air'

    I pulled up to the house about 7 or 8
    And I yelled to the cabbie 'Yo homes smell ya later'
    I looked at my kingdom
    I was finally there
    To sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel Air
  23. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    Elfenlied by Eduard Mörike At night in the village the watchman cried "Elf!"A very small elf was asleep in the wood –just around the eleven! –[1]And he thinks that the nightingalemust have called him by name from the valley,or Silpelit might have sent for him.[2]
    So the elf rubs his eyes,
    comes out of his snail-shell house,
    and is like a drunken man,
    his nap was not finished;
    and he hobbles down, tip tap,
    through the hazel wood into the valley,
    slips right up to the wall;
    there sits the glow-worm, light on light.
    "What are those bright windows?
    There must be a wedding inside;
    the little people are sitting at the feast,
    and fooling around in the ballroom.
    So I'll just take a peep in!"
    Shame! he hits his head on hard stone!
    Well, elf, had enough, have you?
    Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
  24. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
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    The Rime of the Ancient Mariner - Samuel Taylor Coleridge

    Part I

    It is an ancient Mariner,
    And he stoppeth one of three.
    `By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
    Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

    The bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
    And I am next of kin;
    The guests are met, the feast is set:
    Mayst hear the merry din.'

    He holds him with his skinny hand,
    "There was a ship," quoth he.
    `Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!'
    Eftsoons his hand dropped he.

    He holds him with his glittering eye -
    The Wedding-Guest stood still,
    And listens like a three years' child:
    The Mariner hath his will.

    The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
    He cannot choose but hear;
    And thus spake on that ancient man,
    The bright-eyed Mariner.

    "The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
    Merrily did we drop
    Below the kirk, below the hill,
    Below the lighthouse top.

    The sun came up upon the left,
    Out of the sea came he!
    And he shone bright, and on the right
    Went down into the sea.

    Higher and higher every day,
    Till over the mast at noon -"
    The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
    For he heard the loud bassoon.

    The bride hath paced into the hall,
    Red as a rose is she;
    Nodding their heads before her goes
    The merry minstrelsy.

    The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
    Yet he cannot choose but hear;
    And thus spake on that ancient man,
    The bright-eyed Mariner.

    "And now the storm-blast came, and he
    Was tyrannous and strong:
    He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
    And chased us south along.

    With sloping masts and dipping prow,
    As who pursued with yell and blow
    Still treads the shadow of his foe,
    And foward bends his head,
    The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
    And southward aye we fled.

    And now there came both mist and snow,
    And it grew wondrous cold:
    And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
    As green as emerald.

    And through the drifts the snowy clifts
    Did send a dismal sheen:
    Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken -
    The ice was all between.

    The ice was here, the ice was there,
    The ice was all around:
    It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
    Like noises in a swound!

    At length did cross an Albatross,
    Thorough the fog it came;
    As it had been a Christian soul,
    We hailed it in God's name.

    It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
    And round and round it flew.
    The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
    The helmsman steered us through!

    And a good south wind sprung up behind;
    The Albatross did follow,
    And every day, for food or play,
    Came to the mariner's hollo!

    In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
    It perched for vespers nine;
    Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
    Glimmered the white moonshine."

    `God save thee, ancient Mariner,
    From the fiends that plague thee thus! -
    Why look'st thou so?' -"With my crossbow
    I shot the Albatross."

    Part II

    "The sun now rose upon the right:
    Out of the sea came he,
    Still hid in mist, and on the left
    Went down into the sea.

    And the good south wind still blew behind,
    But no sweet bird did follow,
    Nor any day for food or play
    Came to the mariners' hollo!

    And I had done a hellish thing,
    And it would work 'em woe:
    For all averred, I had killed the bird
    That made the breeze to blow.
    Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
    That made the breeze to blow!

    Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
    The glorious sun uprist:
    Then all averred, I had killed the bird
    That brought the fog and mist.
    'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
    That bring the fog and mist.

    The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
    The furrow followed free;
    We were the first that ever burst
    Into that silent sea.

    Down dropped the breeze, the sails dropped down,
    'Twas sad as sad could be;
    And we did speak only to break
    The silence of the sea!

    All in a hot and copper sky,
    The bloody sun, at noon,
    Right up above the mast did stand,
    No bigger than the moon.

    Day after day, day after day,
    We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
    As idle as a painted ship
    Upon a painted ocean.

    Water, water, every where,
    And all the boards did shrink;
    Water, water, every where,
    Nor any drop to drink.

    The very deep did rot: O Christ!
    That ever this should be!
    Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
    Upon the slimy sea.

    About, about, in reel and rout
    The death-fires danced at night;
    The water, like a witch's oils,
    Burnt green, and blue, and white.

    And some in dreams assured were
    Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
    Nine fathom deep he had followed us
    From the land of mist and snow.

    And every tongue, through utter drought,
    Was withered at the root;
    We could not speak, no more than if
    We had been choked with soot.

    Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks
    Had I from old and young!
    Instead of the cross, the Albatross
    About my neck was hung."

    Part III

    "There passed a weary time. Each throat
    Was parched, and glazed each eye.
    A weary time! a weary time!
    How glazed each weary eye -
    When looking westward, I beheld
    A something in the sky.

    At first it seemed a little speck,
    And then it seemed a mist;
    It moved and moved, and took at last
    A certain shape, I wist.

    A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
    And still it neared and neared:
    As if it dodged a water-sprite,
    It plunged and tacked and veered.

    With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
    We could nor laugh nor wail;
    Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
    I bit my arm, I sucked the blood,
    And cried, A sail! a sail!

    With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
    Agape they heard me call:
    Gramercy! they for joy did grin,
    And all at once their breath drew in,
    As they were drinking all.

    See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!
    Hither to work us weal;
    Without a breeze, without a tide,
    She steadies with upright keel!

    The western wave was all a-flame,
    The day was well nigh done!
    Almost upon the western wave
    Rested the broad bright sun;
    When that strange shape drove suddenly
    Betwixt us and the sun.

    And straight the sun was flecked with bars,
    (Heaven's Mother send us grace!)
    As if through a dungeon-grate he peered
    With broad and burning face.

    Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
    How fast she nears and nears!
    Are those her sails that glance in the sun,
    Like restless gossameres?

    Are those her ribs through which the sun
    Did peer, as through a grate?
    And is that Woman all her crew?
    Is that a Death? and are there two?
    Is Death that Woman's mate?

    Her lips were red, her looks were free,
    Her locks were yellow as gold:
    Her skin was as white as leprosy,
    The Nightmare Life-in-Death was she,
    Who thicks man's blood with cold.

    The naked hulk alongside came,
    And the twain were casting dice;
    `The game is done! I've won! I've won!'
    Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

    The sun's rim dips; the stars rush out:
    At one stride comes the dark;
    With far-heard whisper o'er the sea,
    Off shot the spectre-bark.

    We listened and looked sideways up!
    Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
    My life-blood seemed to sip!
    The stars were dim, and thick the night,
    The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white;
    From the sails the dew did drip -
    Till clomb above the eastern bar
    The horned moon, with one bright star
    Within the nether tip.

    One after one, by the star-dogged moon,
    Too quick for groan or sigh,
    Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,
    And cursed me with his eye.

    Four times fifty living men,
    (And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
    With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
    They dropped down one by one.

    The souls did from their bodies fly, -
    They fled to bliss or woe!
    And every soul it passed me by,
    Like the whizz of my crossbow!"

    Part IV

    `I fear thee, ancient Mariner!
    I fear thy skinny hand!
    And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
    As is the ribbed sea-sand.

    I fear thee and thy glittering eye,
    And thy skinny hand, so brown.' -
    "Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!
    This body dropped not down.

    Alone, alone, all, all alone,
    Alone on a wide wide sea!
    And never a saint took pity on
    My soul in agony.

    The many men, so beautiful!
    And they all dead did lie;
    And a thousand thousand slimy things
    Lived on; and so did I.

    I looked upon the rotting sea,
    And drew my eyes away;
    I looked upon the rotting deck,
    And there the dead men lay.

    I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;
    But or ever a prayer had gusht,
    A wicked whisper came and made
    My heart as dry as dust.

    I closed my lids, and kept them close,
    And the balls like pulses beat;
    Forthe sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky,
    Lay like a load on my weary eye,
    And the dead were at my feet.

    The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
    Nor rot nor reek did they:
    The look with which they looked on me
    Had never passed away.

    An orphan's curse would drag to hell
    A spirit from on high;
    But oh! more horrible than that
    Is the curse in a dead man's eye!
    Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
    And yet I could not die.

    The moving moon went up the sky,
    And no where did abide:
    Softly she was going up,
    And a star or two beside -

    Her beams bemocked the sultry main,
    Like April hoar-frost spread;
    But where the ship's huge shadow lay,
    The charmed water burnt alway
    A still and awful red.

    Beyond the shadow of the ship
    I watched the water-snakes:
    They moved in tracks of shining white,
    And when they reared, the elfish light
    Fell off in hoary flakes.

    Within the shadow of the ship
    I watched their rich attire:
    Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
    They coiled and swam; and every track
    Was a flash of golden fire.

    O happy living things! no tongue
    Their beauty might declare:
    A spring of love gushed from my heart,
    And I blessed them unaware:
    Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
    And I blessed them unaware.

    The selfsame moment I could pray;
    And from my neck so free
    The Albatross fell off, and sank
    Like lead into the sea."

    Part V

    "Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
    Beloved from pole to pole!
    To Mary Queen the praise be given!
    She sent the gentle sleep from heaven,
    That slid into my soul.

    The silly buckets on the deck,
    That had so long remained,
    I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
    And when I awoke, it rained.

    My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
    My garments all were dank;
    Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
    And still my body drank.

    I moved, and could not feel my limbs:
    I was so light -almost
    I thought that I had died in sleep,
    And was a blessed ghost.

    And soon I heard a roaring wind:
    It did not come anear;
    But with its sound it shook the sails,
    That were so thin and sere.

    The upper air burst into life!
    And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
    To and fro they were hurried about!
    And to and fro, and in and out,
    The wan stars danced between.

    And the coming wind did roar more loud,
    And the sails did sigh like sedge;
    And the rain poured down from one black cloud;
    The moon was at its edge.

    The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
    The moon was at its side:
    Like waters shot from some high crag,
    The lightning fell with never a jag,
    A river steep and wide.

    The loud wind never reached the ship,
    Yet now the ship moved on!
    Beneath the lightning and the moon
    The dead men gave a groan.

    They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
    Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
    It had been strange, even in a dream,
    To have seen those dead men rise.

    The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;
    Yet never a breeze up blew;
    The mariners all 'gan work the ropes,
    Where they were wont to do;
    They raised their limbs like lifeless tools -
    We were a ghastly crew.

    The body of my brother's son
    Stood by me, knee to knee:
    The body and I pulled at one rope,
    But he said nought to me."

    `I fear thee, ancient Mariner!'
    "Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!
    'Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
    Which to their corses came again,
    But a troop of spirits blest:

    For when it dawned -they dropped their arms,
    And clustered round the mast;
    Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
    And from their bodies passed.

    Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
    Then darted to the sun;
    Slowly the sounds came back again,
    Now mixed, now one by one.

    Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
    I heard the skylark sing;
    Sometimes all little birds that are,
    How they seemed to fill the sea and air
    With their sweet jargoning!

    And now 'twas like all instruments,
    Now like a lonely flute;
    And now it is an angel's song,
    That makes the heavens be mute.

    It ceased; yet still the sails made on
    A pleasant noise till noon,
    A noise like of a hidden brook
    In the leafy month of June,
    That to the sleeping woods all night
    Singeth a quiet tune.

    Till noon we quietly sailed on,
    Yet never a breeze did breathe;
    Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
    Moved onward from beneath.

    Under the keel nine fathom deep,
    From the land of mist and snow,
    The spirit slid: and it was he
    That made the ship to go.
    The sails at noon left off their tune,
    And the ship stood still also.

    The sun, right up above the mast,
    Had fixed her to the ocean:
    But in a minute she 'gan stir,
    With a short uneasy motion -
    Backwards and forwards half her length
    With a short uneasy motion.

    Then like a pawing horse let go,
    She made a sudden bound:
    It flung the blood into my head,
    And I fell down in a swound.

    How long in that same fit I lay,
    I have not to declare;
    But ere my living life returned,
    I heard and in my soul discerned
    Two voices in the air.

    `Is it he?' quoth one, `Is this the man?
    By him who died on cross,
    With his cruel bow he laid full low
    The harmless Albatross.

    The spirit who bideth by himself
    In the land of mist and snow,
    He loved the bird that loved the man
    Who shot him with his bow.'

    The other was a softer voice,
    As soft as honey-dew:
    Quoth he, `The man hath penance done,
    And penance more will do.'

    Part VI

    First Voice

    But tell me, tell me! speak again,
    Thy soft response renewing -
    What makes that ship drive on so fast?
    What is the ocean doing?

    Second Voice

    Still as a slave before his lord,
    The ocean hath no blast;
    His great bright eye most silently
    Up to the moon is cast -

    If he may know which way to go;
    For she guides him smooth or grim.
    See, brother, see! how graciously
    She looketh down on him.

    First Voice

    But why drives on that ship so fast,
    Without or wave or wind?

    Second Voice

    The air is cut away before,
    And closes from behind.

    Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high!
    Or we shall be belated:
    For slow and slow that ship will go,
    When the Mariner's trance is abated.

    "I woke, and we were sailing on
    As in a gentle weather:
    'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high;
    The dead men stood together.

    All stood together on the deck,
    For a charnel-dungeon fitter:
    All fixed on me their stony eyes,
    That in the moon did glitter.

    The pang, the curse, with which they died,
    Had never passed away:
    I could not draw my eyes from theirs,
    Nor turn them up to pray.

    And now this spell was snapped: once more
    I viewed the ocean green,
    And looked far forth, yet little saw
    Of what had else been seen -

    Like one that on a lonesome road
    Doth walk in fear and dread,
    And having once turned round walks on,
    And turns no more his head;
    Because he knows a frightful fiend
    Doth close behind him tread.

    But soon there breathed a wind on me,
    Nor sound nor motion made:
    Its path was not upon the sea,
    In ripple or in shade.

    It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek
    Like a meadow-gale of spring -
    It mingled strangely with my fears,
    Yet it felt like a welcoming.

    Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
    Yet she sailed softly too:
    Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze -
    On me alone it blew.

    Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed
    The lighthouse top I see?
    Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
    Is this mine own country?

    We drifted o'er the harbour-bar,
    And I with sobs did pray -
    O let me be awake, my God!
    Or let me sleep alway.

    The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
    So smoothly it was strewn!
    And on the bay the moonlight lay,
    And the shadow of the moon.

    The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,
    That stands above the rock:
    The moonlight steeped in silentness
    The steady weathercock.

    And the bay was white with silent light,
    Till rising from the same,
    Full many shapes, that shadows were,
    In crimson colours came.

    A little distance from the prow
    Those crimson shadows were:
    I turned my eyes upon the deck -
    Oh, Christ! what saw I there!

    Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
    And, by the holy rood!
    A man all light, a seraph-man,
    On every corse there stood.

    This seraph-band, each waved his hand:
    It was a heavenly sight!
    They stood as signals to the land,
    Each one a lovely light;

    This seraph-band, each waved his hand,
    No voice did they impart -
    No voice; but oh! the silence sank
    Like music on my heart.

    But soon I heard the dash of oars,
    I heard the Pilot's cheer;
    My head was turned perforce away,
    And I saw a boat appear.

    The Pilot and the Pilot's boy,
    I heard them coming fast:
    Dear Lord in heaven! it was a joy
    The dead men could not blast.

    I saw a third -I heard his voice:
    It is the Hermit good!
    He singeth loud his godly hymns
    That he makes in the wood.
    He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away
    The Albatross's blood."

    Part VII

    "This Hermit good lives in that wood
    Which slopes down to the sea.
    How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
    He loves to talk with marineers
    That come from a far country.

    He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve -
    He hath a cushion plump:
    It is the moss that wholly hides
    The rotted old oak-stump.

    The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk,
    `Why, this is strange, I trow!
    Where are those lights so many and fair,
    That signal made but now?'

    `Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit said -
    `And they answered not our cheer!
    The planks looked warped! and see those sails,
    How thin they are and sere!
    I never saw aught like to them,
    Unless perchance it were

    Brown skeletons of leaves that lag
    My forest-brook along;
    When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
    And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,
    That eats the she-wolf's young.'

    `Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look -
    (The Pilot made reply)
    I am afeared' -`Push on, push on!'
    Said the Hermit cheerily.

    The boat came closer to the ship,
    But I nor spake nor stirred;
    The boat came close beneath the ship,
    And straight a sound was heard.

    Under the water it rumbled on,
    Still louder and more dread:
    It reached the ship, it split the bay;
    The ship went down like lead.

    Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound,
    Which sky and ocean smote,
    Like one that hath been seven days drowned
    My body lay afloat;
    But swift as dreams, myself I found
    Within the Pilot's boat.

    Upon the whirl where sank the ship
    The boat spun round and round;
    And all was still, save that the hill
    Was telling of the sound.

    I moved my lips -the Pilot shrieked
    And fell down in a fit;
    The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
    And prayed where he did sit.

    I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,
    Who now doth crazy go,
    Laughed loud and long, and all the while
    His eyes went to and fro.
    `Ha! ha!' quoth he, `full plain I see,
    The Devil knows how to row.'

    And now, all in my own country,
    I stood on the firm land!
    The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,
    And scarcely he could stand.

    O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!
    The Hermit crossed his brow.
    `Say quick,' quoth he `I bid thee say -
    What manner of man art thou?'

    Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched
    With a woeful agony,
    Which forced me to begin my tale;
    And then it left me free.

    Since then, at an uncertain hour,
    That agony returns;
    And till my ghastly tale is told,
    This heart within me burns.

    I pass, like night, from land to land;
    I have strange power of speech;
    That moment that his face I see,
    I know the man that must hear me:
    To him my tale I teach.

    What loud uproar bursts from that door!
    The wedding-guests are there:
    But in the garden-bower the bride
    And bride-maids singing are;
    And hark the little vesper bell,
    Which biddeth me to prayer!

    O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been
    Alone on a wide wide sea:
    So lonely 'twas, that God himself
    Scarce seemed there to be.

    O sweeter than the marriage-feast,
    'Tis sweeter far to me,
    To walk together to the kirk
    With a goodly company! -

    To walk together to the kirk,
    And all together pray,
    While each to his great Father bends,
    Old men, and babes, and loving friends,
    And youths and maidens gay!

    Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
    To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
    He prayeth well, who loveth well
    Both man and bird and beast.

    He prayeth best, who loveth best
    All things both great and small;
    For the dear God who loveth us,
    He made and loveth all."

    The Mariner, whose eye is bright,
    Whose beard with age is hoar,
    Is gone; and now the Wedding-Guest
    Turned from the bridegroom's door.

    He went like one that hath been stunned,
    And is of sense forlorn:
    A sadder and a wiser man
    He rose the morrow morn.
  25. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
    Home Page:
    The Hollow Men - T. S. Elliot

    Mistah Kurtz-he dead
    A penny for the Old Guy


    We are the hollow men
    We are the stuffed men
    Leaning together
    Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
    Our dried voices, when
    We whisper together
    Are quiet and meaningless
    As wind in dry grass
    Or rats' feet over broken glass
    In our dry cellar

    Shape without form, shade without colour,
    Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

    Those who have crossed
    With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
    Remember us-if at all-not as lost
    Violent souls, but only
    As the hollow men
    The stuffed men.


    Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
    In death's dream kingdom
    These do not appear:
    There, the eyes are
    Sunlight on a broken column
    There, is a tree swinging
    And voices are
    In the wind's singing
    More distant and more solemn
    Than a fading star.

    Let me be no nearer
    In death's dream kingdom
    Let me also wear
    Such deliberate disguises
    Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
    In a field
    Behaving as the wind behaves
    No nearer-

    Not that final meeting
    In the twilight kingdom


    This is the dead land
    This is cactus land
    Here the stone images
    Are raised, here they receive
    The supplication of a dead man's hand
    Under the twinkle of a fading star.

    Is it like this
    In death's other kingdom
    Waking alone
    At the hour when we are
    Trembling with tenderness
    Lips that would kiss
    Form prayers to broken stone.


    The eyes are not here
    There are no eyes here
    In this valley of dying stars
    In this hollow valley
    This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

    In this last of meeting places
    We grope together
    And avoid speech
    Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

    Sightless, unless
    The eyes reappear
    As the perpetual star
    Multifoliate rose
    Of death's twilight kingdom
    The hope only
    Of empty men.


    Here we go round the prickly pear
    Prickly pear prickly pear
    Here we go round the prickly pear
    At five o'clock in the morning.

    Between the idea
    And the reality
    Between the motion
    And the act
    Falls the Shadow
    For Thine is the Kingdom

    Between the conception
    And the creation
    Between the emotion
    And the response
    Falls the Shadow
    Life is very long

    Between the desire
    And the spasm
    Between the potency
    And the existence
    Between the essence
    And the descent
    Falls the Shadow
    For Thine is the Kingdom

    For Thine is
    Life is
    For Thine is the

    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    Not with a bang but a whimper.
  26. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
    Home Page:
    Some Pussies R Tight & Fit Like a Glove
    Some R Loose & No Good 4 Love
    The Way for Fuckin' & Kepping U Fitter
    Is Rolling Her Over & Banging Her Shitter!
  27. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
    Home Page:
  28. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
    Home Page:
    Wonderful choice.
  29. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
    Home Page:
    Kubla Khan
    By Samuel Taylor Coleridge
    In Xanadu did Kublai Khan
    A stately Pleasure-Dome decree,
    Where Alph, the sacred river ran
    Through caverns measureless to man
    Down to a sunless sea.

    So twice five miles of fertile ground
    With walls and towers was girdled ’round,
    And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
    Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
    And here were forests ancient as the hills,
    Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

    But, oh! That deep, romantic chasm which slanted
    Down the green hill, athwart a cedarn cover:
    A savage place! As holy and enchanted
    As e’er beneath the waning moon was haunted
    By woman wailing for her Demon Lover!
    And from this chasm with ceaseless turmoil seething,
    As if this Earth in fast, thick pants were breathing,
    A mighty fountain momently was forced,
    Amid whose swift, half-intermitted burst
    Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
    Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail;
    And ‘midst these dancing rocks at once and ever,
    It flung up momently the sacred river!
    Five miles meandering with ever a mazy motion,
    Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
    Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
    And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean.
    And ‘mid this tumult, Kublai heard from far
    Ancestral voices prophesying war!

    The shadow of the Dome of Pleasure
    Floated midway on the waves,
    Where was heard the mingled measure
    From the fountain and the caves.
    It was a miracle of rare device:
    A sunny Pleasure-Dome with caves of ice!

    A damsel with a dulcimer
    In a vision once I saw:
    It was an Abyssinian maid,
    And on her dulcimer she played,
    Singing of Mount Abora.
    Could I revive within me
    Her symphony and song,
    To such deep delight ‘twould win me
    That with music loud and long,
    I would build that dome within the air!
    That sunny dome, those caves of ice,
    And all who heard should see them there,
    And all should cry: “Beware! Beware!
    His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
    Weave a circle ’round him thrice,
    And close your eyes in holy dread:
    For he on honeydew hath fed,
    And drunk the milk of Paradise!”
  30. dramacrat

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    Nov 9, 2011
    Home Page:
    Llama de amor viva

    San Juán de la Cruz

    ¡O llama de amor viva
    que tiernamente hieres
    de mi alma en el más profundo centro!
    Pues ya no eres esquiva
    acaba ya si quieres,
    ¡rompe la tela de este dulce encuentro!

    ¡O cauterio süave!
    ¡O regalada llaga!
    ¡O mano blanda! ¡O toque delicado
    que a vida eterna sabe
    y toda deuda paga!
    Matando, muerte en vida has trocado.

    ¡O lámparas de fuego
    en cuyos resplandores
    las profundas cavernas del sentido,
    que estaba oscuro y ciego,
    con estraños primores
    color y luz dan junto a su querido!

    ¡Cuán manso y amoroso
    recuerdas en mi seno
    donde secretamente solo moras,
    y en tu aspirar sabroso
    de bien y gloria lleno,
    cuán delicadamente me enamoras