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GOSPELCLOWN's Photo GOSPELCLOWN Posts: 5,277
8/29/12 10:40 P

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thank you for sharing!

There ain't much fun in medicine, but there's a heck of a lot of medicine in fun.

- Josh Billings, 19th Century Humorist


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LINGUISTMARCIE's Photo LINGUISTMARCIE Posts: 2,854
10/2/11 9:14 A

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It's Sunday....and I thought of this one by Gerard Manley Hopkins. One of my favorites!


Pied Beauty

GLORY be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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LINGUISTMARCIE's Photo LINGUISTMARCIE Posts: 2,854
12/25/09 4:20 P

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I'm glad!!

Thought they were appropriate for today.

Holiday Blessings Abound for You All, My Dear Spark Friends!

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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LITTLE_QUEEN's Photo LITTLE_QUEEN Posts: 41,421
12/25/09 12:23 P

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Love it marcie

Coleader of Rootin For Ruby, And proud to be a Ruby Lite

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PLEASE EXCUSE THE CAPS AND MISTAKES AS I HAVE VISION ISSUES
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Making your passion play - little queen

Nobody knows your melancholy mind -

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LINGUISTMARCIE's Photo LINGUISTMARCIE Posts: 2,854
12/25/09 4:46 A

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"The Virgin Mary to the Child Jesus"
Elizabeth Barrett Browning

But see, the Virgin blest
Hath laid her babe to rest.

Milton

I.

Sleep, sleep, mine Holy One!
My flesh, my Lord!--what name? I do not know
A name that seemeth not too high or low,
Too far from me or heaven.
My Jesus, that is best! that word being given
By the majestic angel whose command
Was softly as a man's beseeching said,
When I and all the earth appeared to stand
In the great overflow
Of light celestial from his wings and head.
Sleep, sleep, my saving One!

II.

And art Thou come for saving, baby-browed
And speechless Being--art Thou come for saving?
The palm that grows beside our door is bowed
By treadings of the low wind from the south,
A restless shadow through the chamber waving:
Upon its bough a bird sings in the sun;
But Thou, with that close slumber on thy mouth,
Dost seem of wind and sun already weary.
Art come for saving, O my weary One?

III.

Perchance this sleep that shutteth out the dreary
Earth-sounds and motions, opens on Thy soul
High dreams on fire with God;
High songs that make the pathways where they roll
More bright than stars do theirs; and visions new
Of Thine eternal nature's old abode.
Suffer this mother's kiss,
Best thing that earthly is,
To guide the music and the glory through,
Nor narrow in Thy dream the broad upliftings
Of any seraph wing!
Thus, noiseless, thus. Sleep, sleep, my dreaming One!

IV.

The slumber of His lips meseems to run
Through my lips to mine heart; to all its shiftings
Of sensual life, bring contrariousness
In a great calm. I feel, I could lie down
As Moses did, and die,[M]--and then live most.
I am 'ware of you, heavenly Presences,
That stand with your peculiar light unlost,
Each forehead with a high thought for a crown,
Unsunned i' the sunshine! I am 'ware. Yet throw
No shade against the wall! How motionless
Ye round me with your living statuary,
While through your whiteness, in and outwardly,
Continual thoughts of God appear to go,
Like light's soul in itself! I bear, I bear,
To look upon the dropt lids of your eyes,
Though their external shining testifies
To that beatitude within, which were
Enough to blast an eagle at his sun.
I fall not on my sad clay face before ye;
I look on His. I know
My spirit which dilateth with the woe
Of His mortality,
May well contain your glory.
Yea, drop your lids more low,
Ye are but fellow-worshippers with me!
Sleep, sleep, my worshipped One!

V.

We sate among the stalls at Bethlehem.
The dumb kine from their fodder turning them,
Softened their horned faces
To almost human gazes
Towards the newly born.
The simple shepherds from the star-lit brooks
Brought visionary looks,
As yet in their astonished hearing rung
The strange, sweet angel-tongue.
The magi of the East, in sandals worn,
Knelt reverent, sweeping round,
With long pale beards their gifts upon the ground,
The incense, myrrh and gold,
These baby hands were impotent to hold.
So, let all earthlies and celestials wait
Upon thy royal state!
Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!

VI.

I am not proud--meek angels, ye invest
New meeknesses to hear such utterance rest
On mortal lips,--"I am not proud"--not proud!
Albeit in my flesh God sent His Son,
Albeit over Him my head is bowed
As others bow before Him, still mine heart
Bows lower than their knees. O centuries
That roll, in vision, your futurities
My future grave athwart,--
Whose murmurs seem to reach me while I keep
Watch o'er this sleep,--
Say of me as the heavenly said,--"Thou art
The blessedest of women!"--blessedest,
Not holiest, not noblest,--no high name,
Whose height misplaced may pierce me like a shame,
When I sit meek in heaven!

VII.

For me--for me--
God knows that I am feeble like the rest!--
I often wandered forth, more child than maiden,
Among the midnight hills of Galilee,
Whose summits looked heaven-laden;
Listening to silence as it seemed to be
God's voice, so soft yet strong--so fain to press
Upon my heart as heaven did on the height,
And waken up its shadows by a light,
And show its vileness by a holiness.
Then I knelt down most silent like the night,
Too self-renounced for fears,
Raising my small face to the boundless blue
Whose stars did mix and tremble in my tears.
God heard them falling after--with His dew.

VIII.

So, seeing my corruption, can I see.
This Incorruptible now born of me
This fair new Innocence no sun did chance
To shine on, (for even Adam was no child,)
Created from my nature all defiled,
This mystery from out mine ignorance--
Nor feel the blindness, stain, corruption, more
Than others do, or I did heretofore?--
Can hands wherein such burden pure has been,
Not open with the cry, "Unclean, unclean!"
More oft than any else beneath the skies?
Ah King, ah Christ, ah Son!
The kine, the shepherds, the abased wise,
Must all less lowly wait
Than I, upon thy state!--
Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!

IX.

Art Thou a King, then? Come, His universe,
Come, crown me Him a king!
Pluck rays from all such stars as never fling
Their light where fell a curse.
And make a crowning for this kingly brow!--
What is my word?--Each empyreal star
Sits in a sphere afar
In shining ambuscade:
The child-brow, crowned by none,
Keeps its unchildlike shade.
Sleep, sleep, my crownless One!

X.
Unchildlike shade!--no other babe doth wear
An aspect very sorrowful, as Thou.--
No small babe-smiles, my watching heart has seen,
To float like speech the speechless lips between;
No dovelike cooing in the golden air,
No quick short joys of leaping babyhood.
Alas, our earthly good
In heaven thought evil, seems too good for Thee:
Yet, sleep, my weary One!

XI.
And then the drear, sharp tongue of prophecy,
With the dread sense of things which shall be done,
Doth smite me inly, like a sword--a sword?--
(That "smites the Shepherd!") then I think aloud
The words "despised,"--"rejected,"--every word
Recoiling into darkness as I view
The darling on my knee.
Bright angels,--move not!--lest ye stir the cloud
Betwixt my soul and His futurity!
I must not die, with mother's work to do,
And could not live--and see.

XII.

It is enough to bear
This image still and fair--
This holier in sleep,
Than a saint at prayer:
This aspect of a child
Who never sinned or smiled--
This presence in an infant's face:
This sadness most like love,
This love than love more deep,
This weakness like omnipotence,
It is so strong to move!
Awful is this watching place,
Awful what I see from hence--
A king, without regalia,
A God, without the thunder,
A child, without the heart for play;
Ay, a Creator rent asunder
From His first glory and cast away
On His own world, for me alone
To hold in hands created, crying--Son!

XIII.

That tear fell not on Thee
Beloved, yet Thou stirrest in Thy slumber!
Thou, stirring not for glad sounds out of number
Which through the vibratory palm-trees run
From summer wind and bird,
So quickly hast Thou heard
A tear fall silently?--
Wak'st Thou, O loving One?

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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LINGUISTMARCIE's Photo LINGUISTMARCIE Posts: 2,854
12/25/09 4:45 A

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"The Birth of Christ"
Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The time draws near the birth of Christ;
The moon is hid--the night is still;
The Christmas bells from hill to hill
Answer each other in the mist.

Four voices of four hamlets round,
From far and near, on mead and moor,
Swell out and fail, as if a door
Were shut between me and the sound.

Each voice four changes on the wind,
That now dilate and now decrease,
Peace and good-will, good-will and peace,
Peace and good-will to all mankind.

Rise, happy morn! rise, holy morn!
Draw forth the cheerful day from night;
O Father! touch the east, and light
The light that shone when hope was born!

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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CANNOTFATHOM's Photo CANNOTFATHOM Posts: 22,101
11/11/09 11:22 A

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Nice!

Penny ( a whole lot easier than saying Penelope )



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LITTLE_QUEEN's Photo LITTLE_QUEEN Posts: 41,421
11/10/09 10:27 P

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I watched a rosebud very long

Brought on by dew and sun and shower,

Waiting to see the perfect flower:

Then, when I thought it should be strong,

It opened at the matin hour

And fell at evensong.



I watched a nest from day to day,

A green nest full of pleasant shade,

Wherein three speckled eggs were laid:

But when they should have hatched in May,

The two old birds had grown afraid

Or tired, and flew away.



Then in my wrath I broke the bough

That I had tended so with care,

Hoping its scent should fill the air;

I crushed the eggs, not heeding how

Their ancient promise had been fair:

I would have vengeance now.



But the dead branch spoke from the sod,

And the eggs answered me again:

Because we failed dost thou complain?

Is thy wrath just? And what if God,

Who waiteth for thy fruits in vain,

Should also take the rod?


Coleader of Rootin For Ruby, And proud to be a Ruby Lite

www.sparkpeople.com/myspark/groups_individual.asp?gid=27277

PLEASE EXCUSE THE CAPS AND MISTAKES AS I HAVE VISION ISSUES
THANK YOU



"To be a winner, all you have to give is all you have." -Unknown



Hot on the presses today - little queen

Making your passion play - little queen

Nobody knows your melancholy mind -

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CANNOTFATHOM's Photo CANNOTFATHOM Posts: 22,101
11/1/09 8:37 P

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The Phantom Wooer

A ghost, that loved a lady fair,
Ever in the starry air
Of midnight at her pillow stood;
And, with a sweetness skies above
The luring words of human love,
Her soul the phantom wooed.
Sweet and sweet is their poisoned note, The little snakes of silver throat,
In mossy skulls that nest and lie,
Ever singing, 'Die, oh! die.'

Young soul put off your flesh, and come With me into the quiet tomb,
Our bed is lovely, dark and sweet;
The earth will swing us, as she goes, Beneath our coverlid of snows,
And the warm leaden sheet.
Dear and dear is their poisoned note,
The little snakes of silver throat,
In mossy skulls that nest and lie,
Ever singing, 'Die, oh! die.'

Thomas Lovell Beddoes

Penny ( a whole lot easier than saying Penelope )



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LINGUISTMARCIE's Photo LINGUISTMARCIE Posts: 2,854
10/21/09 12:48 P

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Oh, yes. But dark and GOOD!

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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CANNOTFATHOM's Photo CANNOTFATHOM Posts: 22,101
10/19/09 8:49 P

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Thanks Marcie! I love Hardy...but he was definitely dark :)

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LINGUISTMARCIE's Photo LINGUISTMARCIE Posts: 2,854
10/19/09 8:32 P

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Hap

IF but some vengeful god would call to me
From up the sky, and laugh: "Thou suffering thing,
Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy,
That thy love's loss is my hate's profiting!"

Then would I bear, and clench myself, and die,
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;
Half-eased, too, that a Powerfuller than I
Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.

But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain,
And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?
--Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain,
And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan....
These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown
Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.

Thomas Hardy

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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LINGUISTMARCIE's Photo LINGUISTMARCIE Posts: 2,854
10/19/09 8:31 P

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Doom and She


I

There dwells a mighty pair -
Slow, statuesque, intense -
Amid the vague Immense:
None can their chronicle declare,
Nor why they be, nor whence.

II

Mother of all things made,
Matchless in artistry,
Unlit with sight is she. -
And though her ever well-obeyed
Vacant of feeling he.

III

The Matron mildly asks -
A throb in every word -
"Our clay-made creatures, lord,
How fare they in their mortal tasks
Upon Earth's bounded bord?

IV

"The fate of those I bear,
Dear lord, pray turn and view,
And notify me true;
Shapings that eyelessly I dare
Maybe I would undo.

V

"Sometimes from lairs of life
Methinks I catch a groan,
Or multitudinous moan,
As though I had schemed a world of strife,
Working by touch alone."

VI

"World-weaver!" he replies,
"I scan all thy domain;
But since nor joy nor pain
Doth my clear substance recognize,
I read thy realms in vain.

VII

"World-weaver! what IS Grief?
And what are Right, and Wrong,
And Feeling, that belong
To creatures all who owe thee fief?
What worse is Weak than Strong?" . . .

VIII

--Unlightened, curious, meek,
She broods in sad surmise . . .
--Some say they have heard her sighs
On Alpine height or Polar peak
When the night tempests rise.

Thomas Hardy

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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LINGUISTMARCIE's Photo LINGUISTMARCIE Posts: 2,854
10/19/09 8:22 P

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Oh, that's a great one Penny!

It's not Victorian, but that's in a fantastically good (and sad, but in a good way) movie called "The Namesake." It's about a couple from India who move to America and start a family and name their son after Nicolai Gogol the author.

You should think about checking it out, I think!

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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LITTLE_QUEEN's Photo LITTLE_QUEEN Posts: 41,421
10/17/09 10:32 A

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another poem that I can vision, thank-you

Coleader of Rootin For Ruby, And proud to be a Ruby Lite

www.sparkpeople.com/myspark/groups_individual.asp?gid=27277

PLEASE EXCUSE THE CAPS AND MISTAKES AS I HAVE VISION ISSUES
THANK YOU



"To be a winner, all you have to give is all you have." -Unknown



Hot on the presses today - little queen

Making your passion play - little queen

Nobody knows your melancholy mind -

Little queen



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CANNOTFATHOM's Photo CANNOTFATHOM Posts: 22,101
10/17/09 9:40 A

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"Daffodils" (1804)

I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the Milky Way,

They stretch'd in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

By William Wordsworth (1770-1850).



Penny ( a whole lot easier than saying Penelope )



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LITTLE_QUEEN's Photo LITTLE_QUEEN Posts: 41,421
10/14/09 8:09 P

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Lovely, I can just picture it in my mind

Coleader of Rootin For Ruby, And proud to be a Ruby Lite

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PLEASE EXCUSE THE CAPS AND MISTAKES AS I HAVE VISION ISSUES
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"To be a winner, all you have to give is all you have." -Unknown



Hot on the presses today - little queen

Making your passion play - little queen

Nobody knows your melancholy mind -

Little queen



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CANNOTFATHOM's Photo CANNOTFATHOM Posts: 22,101
10/14/09 7:59 P

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Winter Winds Cold And Blea

Winter winds cold and blea
Chilly blows o'er the lea:
Wander not out to me,
Jenny so fair,
Wait in thy cottage free.
I will be there.

Wait in thy cushioned chair
Wi' thy white bosom bare.
Kisses are sweetest there:
Leave it for me.
Free from the chilly air
I will meet thee.

How sweet can courting prove,
How can I kiss my love
Muffled in hat and glove
From the chill air?
Quaking beneath the grove,
What love is there!

Lay by thy woollen vest,
Drape no cloak o'er thy breast,
Where my hand oft hath pressed
Pin nothing there:
Where my head droops to rest,
Leave its bed bare.

John Clare

Penny ( a whole lot easier than saying Penelope )



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LITTLE_QUEEN's Photo LITTLE_QUEEN Posts: 41,421
10/9/09 1:51 P

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Loved it Penny, I need to get a volume of victorian poetry

Coleader of Rootin For Ruby, And proud to be a Ruby Lite

www.sparkpeople.com/myspark/groups_individual.asp?gid=27277

PLEASE EXCUSE THE CAPS AND MISTAKES AS I HAVE VISION ISSUES
THANK YOU



"To be a winner, all you have to give is all you have." -Unknown



Hot on the presses today - little queen

Making your passion play - little queen

Nobody knows your melancholy mind -

Little queen



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CANNOTFATHOM's Photo CANNOTFATHOM Posts: 22,101
10/9/09 1:50 P

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Nice one Lori!


If The Past Year Were Offered Me Again

If the past year were offered me again,
And choice of good and ill before me set
Would I accept the pleasure with the pain
Or dare to wish that we had never met?
Ah! could I bear those happy hours to miss
When love began, unthought of and unspoke
That summer day when by a sudden kiss
We knew each other's secret and awoke?
Ah no! not even to escape the pain,
Debate and anguish that I underwent
Flying from thee and my own self in vain
With trouble wasted, till my strength all spent
I knew at last that thou or love or fate
Had conquered and repentance was too late.

Augusta, Lady Gregory

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LITTLE_QUEEN's Photo LITTLE_QUEEN Posts: 41,421
9/28/09 12:20 A

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The Violet

Why better than the lady rose,
Love I this little flower?
Because its fragrant leaves are those
I loved in childhood's hour.
Though many a flower may win my praise,
The Violet has my love;
I did not pass my childish days
In garden or in grove:
My garden was the window seat,
Upon whose edge was set
A little vase, the fair, the sweet,
It was the Violet.
It was my pleasure and my pride:
How I did watch its growth!
For health and bloom what plans I tried,
And often injured both.
I placed it in the summer shower,
I placed it in the sun;
And ever, at the evening hour,
My work seem'd half undone.
The broad leaves spread, the small buds grew;
How slow they seem'd to be:
At last there came a tinge of blue,
'Twas worth the world to me.

Coleader of Rootin For Ruby, And proud to be a Ruby Lite

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PLEASE EXCUSE THE CAPS AND MISTAKES AS I HAVE VISION ISSUES
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"To be a winner, all you have to give is all you have." -Unknown



Hot on the presses today - little queen

Making your passion play - little queen

Nobody knows your melancholy mind -

Little queen



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LITTLE_QUEEN's Photo LITTLE_QUEEN Posts: 41,421
8/20/09 12:47 P

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Beautiful Marcie! thanks, I always think of my grandma when I read these.

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PLEASE EXCUSE THE CAPS AND MISTAKES AS I HAVE VISION ISSUES
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"To be a winner, all you have to give is all you have." -Unknown



Hot on the presses today - little queen

Making your passion play - little queen

Nobody knows your melancholy mind -

Little queen



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LINGUISTMARCIE's Photo LINGUISTMARCIE Posts: 2,854
8/20/09 11:03 A

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The Miracles
By: Rudyard Kipling

I sent a message to my dear --
A thousand leagues and more to Her --
The dumb sea-levels thrilled to hear,
And Lost Atlantis bore to Her.

Behind my message hard I came,
And nigh had found a grave for me;
But that I launched of steel and flame
Did war against the wave for me.

Uprose the deep, by gale on gale,
To bid me change my mind again --
He broke his teeth along my rail,
And, roaring, swung behind again.

I stayed the sun at noon to tell
My way across the waste of it;
I read the storm before it fell
And made the better haste of it.

Afar, I hailed the land at night --
The towers I built had heard of me --
And, ere my rocket reached its height,
Had flashed my Love the word of me.

Earth sold her chosen men of strength
(They lived and strove and died for me)
To drive my road a nation's length,
And toss the miles aside for me.

I snatched their toil to serve my needs --
Too slow their fleetest flew for me --
I tired twenty smoking steeds,
And bade them bait a new for me.

I sent the lightnings forth to see
Where hour by hour She waited me.
Among ten million one was She,
And surely all men hated me!

Dawn ran to meet me at my goal --
Ah, day no tongue shall tell again!
And little folk of little soul
Rose up to buy and sell again!

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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The Lady of Shallot

www.youtube.com/watch?v=bUuZBXNw0O8

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Celestial Love


Higher far,
Upward, into the pure realm,
Over sun or star,
Over the flickering Dæmon film,
Thou must mount for love,—
Into vision which all form
In one only form dissolves;
In a region where the wheel,
On which all beings ride,
Visibly revolves;
Where the starred eternal worm
Girds the world with bound and term;
Where unlike things are like,
When good and ill,
And joy and moan,
Melt into one.
There Past, Present, Future, shoot
Triple blossoms from one root
Substances at base divided
In their summits are united,
There the holy Essence rolls,
One through separated souls,
And the sunny Æon sleeps
Folding nature in its deeps,
And every fair and every good
Known in part or known impure
To men below,
In their archetypes endure.

The race of gods,
Or those we erring own,
Are shadows flitting up and down
In the still abodes.
The circles of that sea are laws,
Which publish and which hide the Cause.
Pray for a beam
Out of that sphere
Thee to guide and to redeem.
O what a load
Of care and toil
By lying Use bestowed,
From his shoulders falls, who sees
The true astronomy,
The period of peace!
Counsel which the ages kept,
Shall the well-born soul accept.
As the overhanging trees
Fill the lake with images,
As garment draws the garment's hem
Men their fortunes bring with them;
By right or wrong,
Lands and goods go to the strong;
Property will brutely draw
Still to the proprietor,
Silver to silver creep and wind,
And kind to kind,
Nor less the eternal poles
Of tendency distribute souls.
There need no vows to bind
Whom not each other seek but find.
They give and take no pledge or oath,
Nature is the bond of both.
No prayer persuades, no flattery fawns,
Their noble meanings are their pawns.
Plain and cold is their address,
Power have they for tenderness,
And so thoroughly is known
Each others' purpose by his own,
They can parley without meeting,
Need is none of forms of greeting,
They can well communicate
In their innermost estate;
When each the other shall avoid,
Shall each by each be most enjoyed.
Not with scarfs or perfumed gloves
Do these celebrate their loves,
Not by jewels, feasts, and savors,
Not by ribbons or by favors,
But by the sun-spark on the sea,
And the cloud-shadow on the lea,
The soothing lapse of morn to mirk,
And the cheerful round of work.
Their cords of love so public are,
They intertwine the farthest star.
The throbbing sea, the quaking earth,
Yield sympathy and signs of mirth;
Is none so high, so mean is none,
But feels and seals this union.
Even the tell Furies are appeased,
The good applaud, the lost are eased.

Love's hearts are faithful, but not fond,
Bound for the just, but not beyond;
Not glad, as the low-loving herd,
Of self in others still preferred,
But they have heartily designed
The benefit of broad mankind.
And they serve men austerely,
After their own genius, clearly,
Without a false humility;
For this is love's nobility,
Not to scatter bread and gold,
Goods and raiment bought and sold,
But to hold fast his simple sense,
And speak the speech of innocence,
And with hand, and body, and blood,
To make his bosom-counsel good:
For he that feeds men, serveth few,
He serves all, who dares be true.


Ralph Waldo Emerson

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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Compensation

Why should I keep holiday,
When other men have none?
Why but because when these are gay,
I sit and mourn alone.

And why when mirth unseals all tongues
Should mine alone be dumb?
Ah! late I spoke to silent throngs,
And now their hour is come.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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My Star

All, that I know
Of a certain star
Is, it can throw
(Like the angled spar)
Now a dart of red,
Now a dart of blue
Till my friends have said
They would fain see, too,
My star that dartles the red and the blue!
Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled:
They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it.
What matter to me if their star is a world?
Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it.

Robert Browning

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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A Farewell



Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,
Thy tribute wave deliver:
No more by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,
A rivulet then a river;
No where by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

But here will sigh thine alder tree,
And here thine aspen shiver;
And here by thee will hum the bee,
For ever and for ever.

A thousand suns will stream on thee,
A thousand moons will quiver;
But not by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.


--Alfred, Lord Tennyson

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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The Maenad's Grave
By: Sir Edmund William Gosse

The girl who once, on Lydian heights,
Around the sacred grove of pines,
Would dance through whole tempestuous nights
Where no moon shines,
Whose pipe of lotos featly blown
Gave airs as shrill as Cotys' own,

Who, crowned with buds of ivy dark,
Three times drained deep with amorous lips,
The wine-fed bowl of willow bark,
With silver tips,
Nor sank, nor ceased, but shouted still
Like some wild wind from hill to hill,

She lies at last where poplars wave
Their sad gray foliage all day long;
The river murmurs near her grave
A soothing song:
Farewell, it saith! Her days have done
With shouting at the set of sun.

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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The Sisters
By: Alfred, Lord Tennyson

We were two daughters of one race;
She was the fairest in the face.
The wind is blowing in turret and tree.
They were together, and she fell;
Therefore revenge became me well.
O, the earl was fair to see!

She died; she went to burning flame;
She mix’d her ancient blood with shame.
The wind is howling in turret and tree.
Whole weeks and months, and early and late,
To win his love I lay in wait.
O, the earl was fair to see!

I made a feast; I bade him come;
I won his love, I brought him home,
The wind is roaring in turret and tree.
And after supper on a bed,
Upon my lap he laid his head.
O, the earl was fair to see!

I kiss’d his eyelids into rest,
His ruddy cheeks upon my breast.
The wind is raging in turret and tree.
I hated him with the hate of hell,
But I loved his beauty passing well.
O, the earl was fair to see!

I rose up in the silent night;
I made my dagger sharp and bright.
The wind is raving in turret and tree.
As half-asleep his breath he drew,
Three time I stabb’d him thro’ and thro’.
O, the earl was fair to see!

I curl’d and comb’d his comely head,
He looked so grand when he was dead.
The wind is blowing in turret and tree.
I wrapt his body in the sheet,
And laid him at his mother’s feet.
O, the earl was fair to see!

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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Magdalen Walks

The little white clouds are racing over the sky,
And the fields are strewn with the gold of the flower of March,
The daffodil breaks under foot, and the tasselled larch
Sways and swings as the thrush goes hurrying by.

A delicate odour is borne on the wings of the morning breeze,
The odour of deep wet grass, and of brown new-furrowed earth,
The birds are singing for joy of the Spring's glad birth,
Hopping from branch to branch on the rocking trees.

And all the woods are alive with the murmur and sound of Spring,
And the rose-bud breaks into pink on the climbing briar,
And the crocus-bed is a quivering moon of fire
Girdled round with the belt of an amethyst ring.

And the plane to the pine-tree is whispering some tale of love
Till it rustles with laughter and tosses its mantle of green,
And the gloom of the wych-elm's hollow is lit with the iris sheen
Of the burnished rainbow throat and the silver breast of a dove.

See! the lark starts up from his bed in the meadow there,
Breaking the gossamer threads and the nets of dew,
And flashing adown the river, a flame of blue!
The kingfisher flies like an arrow, and wounds the air

--Oscar Wilde

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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A Dream


Hear now a curious dream I dreamed last night

Each word whereof is weighed and sifted truth.



I stood beside Euphrates while it swelled

Like overflowing Jordan in its youth:

It waxed and coloured sensibly to sight;

Till out of myriad pregnant waves there welled

Young crocodiles, a gaunt blunt-featured crew,

Fresh-hatched perhaps and daubed with birthday dew.

The rest if I should tell, I fear my friend

My closest friend would deem the facts untrue;

And therefore it were wisely left untold;

Yet if you will, why, hear it to the end.



Each crocodile was girt with massive gold

And polished stones that with their wearers grew:

But one there was who waxed beyond the rest,

Wore kinglier girdle and a kingly crown,

Whilst crowns and orbs and sceptres starred his breast.

All gleamed compact and green with scale on scale,

But special burnishment adorned his mail

And special terror weighed upon his frown;

His punier brethren quaked before his tail,

Broad as a rafter, potent as a flail.



So he grew lord and master of his kin:

But who shall tell the tale of all their woes?

An execrable appetite arose,

He battened on them, crunched, and sucked them in.

He knew no law, he feared no binding law,

But ground them with inexorable jaw:

The luscious fat distilled upon his chin,

Exuded from his nostrils and his eyes,

While still like hungry death he fed his maw;

Till every minor crocodile being dead

And buried too, himself gorged to the full,

He slept with breath oppressed and unstrung claw.

Oh marvel passing strange which next I saw:

In sleep he dwindled to the common size,

And all the empire faded from his coat.

Then from far off a wingèd vessel came,

Swift as a swallow, subtle as a flame:

I know not what it bore of freight or host,

But white it was as an avenging ghost.

It levelled strong Euphrates in its course;

Supreme yet weightless as an idle mote

It seemed to tame the waters without force

Till not a murmur swelled or billow beat:

Lo, as the purple shadow swept the sands,

The prudent crocodile rose on his feet

And shed appropriate tears and wrung his hands.



What can it mean? you ask. I answer not

For meaning, but myself must echo, What?

And tell it as I saw it on the spot





- Christina Rossetti

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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The Rhodora
Ralph Waldo Emerson

On Being Asked Whence Is The Flower
In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and sluggish brook.
The purple petals, fallen in the pool,
Made the black water with their beauty gay;
Here might the redbird come his plumes to cool,
And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Rhodora! If the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,
Then beauty is its own excuse for being:
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
I never thought to ask, I never knew:
But, in my simple ignorance, suppose
The self-same Power that brought me there brought you.

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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6/15/09 7:24 P

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I'm glad you liked it. It's one I hadn't read from him before and I liked it too!

Here is another by Robert Browning:


In Three Days

I.

So, I shall see her in three days
And just one night, but nights are short,
Then two long hours, and that is morn.
See how I come, unchanged, unworn!
Feel, where my life broke off from thine,
How fresh the splinters keep and fine,---
Only a touch and we combine!

II.

Too long, this time of year, the days!
But nights, at least the nights are short.
As night shows where ger one moon is,
A hand's-breadth of pure light and bliss,
So life's night gives my lady birth
And my eyes hold her! What is worth
The rest of heaven, the rest of earth?

III.

O loaded curls, release your store
Of warmth and scent, as once before
The tingling hair did, lights and darks
Outbreaking into fairy sparks,
When under curl and curl I pried
After the warmth and scent inside,
Thro' lights and darks how manifold---
The dark inspired, the light controlled
As early Art embrowns the gold.

IV.

What great fear, should one say, ``Three days
``That change the world might change as well
``Your fortune; and if joy delays,
``Be happy that no worse befell!''
What small fear, if another says,
``Three days and one short night beside
``May throw no shadow on your ways;
``But years must teem with change untried,
``With chance not easily defied,
``With an end somewhere undescried.''
No fear!---or if a fear be born
This minute, it dies out in scorn.
Fear? I shall see her in three days
And one night, now the nights are short,
Then just two hours, and that is morn.

Robert Browning

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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LITTLE_QUEEN's Photo LITTLE_QUEEN Posts: 41,421
6/14/09 1:39 P

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That was beautiful Marcie

Coleader of Rootin For Ruby, And proud to be a Ruby Lite

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PLEASE EXCUSE THE CAPS AND MISTAKES AS I HAVE VISION ISSUES
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Making your passion play - little queen

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Confessions

What is he buzzing in my ears?
"Now that I come to die,
Do I view the world as a vale of tears?"
Ah, reverend sir, not I!

What I viewed there once, what I view again
Where the physic bottles stand
On the table's edge, -is a suburb lane,
With a wall to my bedside hand.

That lane sloped, much as the bottles do,
From a house you could descry
O'er the garden-wall: is the curtain blue
Or green to a healthy eye?

To mine, it serves for the old June weather
Blue above lane and wall;
And that farthest bottle labelled "Ether"
Is the house o'ertopping all.

At a terrace, somewhere near the stopper,
There watched for me, one June,
A girl; I know, sir, it's improper,
My poor mind's out of tune.

Only, there was a way... you crept
Close by the side, to dodge
Eyes in the house, two eyes except:
They styled their house "The Lodge".

What right had a lounger up their lane?
But, by creeping very close,
With the good wall's help, -their eyes might strain
And stretch themselves to Oes,

Yet never catch her and me together,
As she left the attic, there,
By the rim of the bottle labelled "Ether",
And stole from stair to stair,

And stood by the rose-wreathed gate. Alas,
We loved, sir -used to meet:
How sad and bad and mad it was -
But then, how it was sweet!

--Robert Browning

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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6/11/09 2:52 P

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No I mean the girl on Les Miserables?
I think it started with a C

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Making your passion play - little queen

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CANNOTFATHOM's Photo CANNOTFATHOM Posts: 22,101
6/11/09 2:48 P

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I don't think they say....he is just speaking of an unreliable love

Penny ( a whole lot easier than saying Penelope )



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6/11/09 2:45 P

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Oh duh! I knew that, What was her name then?

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6/11/09 2:37 P

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I doubt it...a coquette is a woman who loves the admiration of men but she leads them on

Penny ( a whole lot easier than saying Penelope )



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6/11/09 2:36 P

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Change Upon Change
Five months ago the stream did flow,
The lilies bloomed within the sedge,
And we were lingering to and fro,
Where none will track thee in this snow,
Along the stream, beside the hedge.
Ah, Sweet, be free to love and go!
For if I do not hear thy foot,
The frozen river is as mute,
The flowers have dried down to the root:
And why, since these be changed since May,
Shouldst thou change less than they.


And slow, slow as the winter snow
The tears have drifted to mine eyes;
And my poor cheeks, five months ago
Set blushing at thy praises so,
Put paleness on for a disguise.
Ah, Sweet, be free to praise and go!
For if my face is turned too pale,
It was thine oath that first did fail, --
It was thy love proved false and frail, --
And why, since these be changed enow,
Should I change less than thou.


Elizabeth Barrett Browning


Edited by: LITTLE_QUEEN at: 6/11/2009 (14:37)
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Making your passion play - little queen

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6/11/09 2:35 P

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Was that her name Penny?

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Making your passion play - little queen

Nobody knows your melancholy mind -

Little queen



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6/11/09 2:34 P

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I first saw the title I thought of Les Miserables!

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"To be a winner, all you have to give is all you have." -Unknown



Hot on the presses today - little queen

Making your passion play - little queen

Nobody knows your melancholy mind -

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CANNOTFATHOM's Photo CANNOTFATHOM Posts: 22,101
6/11/09 2:33 P

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A sad one for love lost eh Lori :)

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6/11/09 2:23 P

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Victorian Love Poetry: Coquette's Rose

By "REA" 1883



We two have spent some happy days
By brooklet, stream, and fountain,
We two have trodden rocky ways
And climbed a misty mountain

And we have whispered soft and low
Many a time together,
And thought it very sweet to go
And seek for fern and heather

And once you found a pale wild rose-
I shall forget it never-
And said some words my heart well knows
For ever and for ever.

I used to think you very fair,
And oh! so very simple,
Because you had a childlike air
And such a saucy dimple!

I used to think you loved the birds
And lived among the flowers,
And that you meant the whispered words
You said in twilight hours.

And oh! I thought you would be true,
Although you were so never;
And yet I will be true to you
For ever and for ever.

I wonder if you quite forget
The days We spent together,
Or if you think with vague regret
Of tangled grass and heather.

I wonder if your eyes are still
as blue as when we parted-
I saw them turn away and fill,
And thought you broken-hearted.

Ah well! you were a sad coquette,
But I'll never forget you never;
I'll keep your rose ('tis treasured yet)
For ever and for ever.


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CANNOTFATHOM's Photo CANNOTFATHOM Posts: 22,101
5/23/09 10:39 P

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Thanks Lori!

Penny ( a whole lot easier than saying Penelope )



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LITTLE_QUEEN's Photo LITTLE_QUEEN Posts: 41,421
5/23/09 10:07 P

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emoticon

Memorial Day
Edgar Guest




The finest tribute we can pay
Unto our hero dead to-day,
Is not a rose wreath, white and red,
In memory of the blood they shed;
It is to stand beside each mound,
Each couch of consecrated ground,
And pledge ourselves as warriors true
Unto the work they died to do.

Into God's valleys where they lie
At rest, beneath the open sky,
Triumphant now o'er every foe,
As living tributes let us go.
No wreath of rose or immortelles
Or spoken word or tolling bells
Will do to-day, unless we give
Our pledge that liberty shall live.

Our hearts must be the roses red
We place above our hero dead;
To-day beside their graves we must
Renew allegiance to their trust;
Must bare our heads and humbly say
We hold the Flag as dear as they,
And stand, as once they stood, to die
To keep the Stars and Stripes on high.

The finest tribute we can pay
Unto our hero dead to-day
Is not of speech or roses red,
But living, throbbing hearts instead,
That shall renew the pledge they sealed
With death upon the battlefield:
That freedom's flag shall bear no stain
And free men wear no tyrant's chain.




Coleader of Rootin For Ruby, And proud to be a Ruby Lite

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PLEASE EXCUSE THE CAPS AND MISTAKES AS I HAVE VISION ISSUES
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Making your passion play - little queen

Nobody knows your melancholy mind -

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CANNOTFATHOM's Photo CANNOTFATHOM Posts: 22,101
4/25/09 9:25 A

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Nice Marcie!

Penny ( a whole lot easier than saying Penelope )



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LINGUISTMARCIE's Photo LINGUISTMARCIE Posts: 2,854
4/25/09 8:48 A

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LOWLINESS.
A SONNET.

THE violet in thy shade all meekly lies,
And spends its hidden life in sweet perfume,
Till, meekly shutting up its dying eyes,
It yields to fresher buds a space to bloom.
The apple stands not on the wind-swept hill,
Where storms may toss its branches to and fro,
And nip its blossoms with untimely chill,
In their first crimson flush, ere pale they grow,
To their white death; but in the vale it dwells,
Spreading its cloud of bloom, delicious show!
And golden green and ruddy fruitage swells,
Till heavy hangs the richly-laden bough:

And thus within the heart that lieth low,
The fruits of love to all their fulness grow.

ISA CRAIG

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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LINGUISTMARCIE's Photo LINGUISTMARCIE Posts: 2,854
4/23/09 3:20 P

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I like that one you posted, Penny!

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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4/23/09 3:19 P

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A Farewell

With all my will, but much against my heart,
We two now part.
My Very Dear,
Our solace is, the sad road lies so clear.
It needs no art,
With faint, averted feet
And many a tear,
In our opposed paths to persevere.
Go thou to East, I West,
We will not say
There's any hope, it is so far away.
But O my Best,
When the one darling of our widowhead,
The nursling Grief,
Is dead,
And no dews blur our eyes
To see the peach-bloom come in evening skies,
Perchance we may
Where now this night is day,
And even through faith of still averted feet,
Making full circle of our banishment,
Amazed meet;
The bitter journey to the bourne so sweet
Seasoning the termless feast of our content
With tears of recognition never dry.

Coventry Patmore

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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4/23/09 3:17 P

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The Gift

What can I give you, my lord, my lover,
You who have given the world to me,
Showed me the light and the joy that cover
The wild sweet earth and the restless sea?

All that I have are gifts of your giving
If I give them again, you would find them old,
And your soul would weary of always living
Before the mirror my life would hold.

What shall I give you, my lord, my lover?
The gift that breaks the heart in me:
I bid you awake at dawn and discover
I have gone my way and left you free.

Sara Teesdale

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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CANNOTFATHOM's Photo CANNOTFATHOM Posts: 22,101
4/23/09 12:08 P

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Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill. - Robert Lewis Stevenson

Penny ( a whole lot easier than saying Penelope )



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LINGUISTMARCIE's Photo LINGUISTMARCIE Posts: 2,854
3/25/09 11:06 P

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This one's a little early for the Victorians, but I like it, so I'm still posting it.

The World is too Much with Us; Late and Soon
By: William Wordsworth

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. -Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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3/25/09 11:02 P

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The Choice

Think thou and act; to-morrow thou shalt die.
Outstretch’d in the sun’s warmth upon the shore,
Thou say’st: ‘Man’s measured path is all gone o’er:
Up all his years, steeply, with strain and sigh,
Man clomb until he touch’d the truth; and I,
Even I, am he whom it was destined for.’
How should this be? Art thou then so much more
Than they who sow’d, that thou shouldst reap thereby?

Nay, come up hither. From this wave-wash’d mound
Unto the furthest flood-brim look with me;
Then reach on with thy thought till it be drown’d.
Miles and miles distant though the last line be,
And though thy soul sail leagues and leagues beyond,—
Still, leagues beyond those leagues, there is more sea.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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LINGUISTMARCIE's Photo LINGUISTMARCIE Posts: 2,854
3/25/09 9:57 A

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Thanks -- Proserpine is one of my favorites!

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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LITTLE_QUEEN's Photo LITTLE_QUEEN Posts: 41,421
3/24/09 11:02 P

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Oh Marcie, I love your new profile pic.!

Coleader of Rootin For Ruby, And proud to be a Ruby Lite

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PLEASE EXCUSE THE CAPS AND MISTAKES AS I HAVE VISION ISSUES
THANK YOU



"To be a winner, all you have to give is all you have." -Unknown



Hot on the presses today - little queen

Making your passion play - little queen

Nobody knows your melancholy mind -

Little queen



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LINGUISTMARCIE's Photo LINGUISTMARCIE Posts: 2,854
3/24/09 9:45 P

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Whoa, Lori--that is COOL! Lucky you!

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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3/24/09 9:45 P

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Meeting at Night
By: Robert Browning

I.
The grey sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.

II.
Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match,
And a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears,
Than the two hearts beating each to each!

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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LITTLE_QUEEN's Photo LITTLE_QUEEN Posts: 41,421
3/24/09 9:42 P

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I liked that, and I have some Manley lineage from Ireland

Coleader of Rootin For Ruby, And proud to be a Ruby Lite

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PLEASE EXCUSE THE CAPS AND MISTAKES AS I HAVE VISION ISSUES
THANK YOU



"To be a winner, all you have to give is all you have." -Unknown



Hot on the presses today - little queen

Making your passion play - little queen

Nobody knows your melancholy mind -

Little queen



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LINGUISTMARCIE's Photo LINGUISTMARCIE Posts: 2,854
3/24/09 9:40 P

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Pied Beauty
By: Gerard Manley Hopkins


Glory be to God for dappled things
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced--fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.


All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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3/21/09 12:06 P

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Each and All...by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown,
Of thee, from the hill-top looking down;
And the heifer, that lows in the upland farm,
Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm;
The sexton tolling the bell at noon,
Dreams not that great Napoleon
Stops his horse, and lists with delight,
Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height;
Nor knowest thou what argument
Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent:
All are needed by each one,
Nothing is fair or good alone.

I thought the sparrow's note from heaven,
Singing at dawn on the alder bough;
I brought him home in his nest at even;—
He sings the song, but it pleases not now;
For I did not bring home the river and sky;
He sang to my ear; they sang to my eye.

The delicate shells lay on the shore;
The bubbles of the latest wave
Fresh pearls to their enamel gave;
And the bellowing of the savage sea
Greeted their safe escape to me;
I wiped away the weeds and foam,
And fetched my sea-born treasures home;
But the poor, unsightly, noisome things
Had left their beauty on the shore
With the sun, and the sand, and the wild uproar.

The lover watched his graceful maid
As 'mid the virgin train she strayed,
Nor knew her beauty's best attire
Was woven still by the snow-white quire;
At last she came to his hermitage,
Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage,—
The gay enchantment was undone,
A gentle wife, but fairy none.

Then I said, "I covet Truth;
Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat,—
I leave it behind with the games of youth."
As I spoke, beneath my feet
The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath,
Running over the club-moss burrs;
I inhaled the violet's breath;
Around me stood the oaks and firs;
Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground;
Above me soared the eternal sky,
Full of light and deity;
Again I saw, again I heard,
The rolling river, the morning bird;—
Beauty through my senses stole,
I yielded myself to the perfect whole.

Penny ( a whole lot easier than saying Penelope )



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LINGUISTMARCIE's Photo LINGUISTMARCIE Posts: 2,854
3/19/09 9:55 P

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March
By: William Morris

Slayer of the winter, art thou here again?
O welcome, thou that's bring'st the summer nigh!
The bitter wind makes not thy victory vain,
Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky.
Welcome, O March! whose kindly days and dry
Make April ready for the throstle's song,
Thou first redresser of the winter's wrong!

Yea, welcome March! and though I die ere June,
Yet for the hope of life I give thee praise,
Striving to swell the burden of the tune
That even now I hear thy brown birds raise,
Unmindful of the past or coming days;
Who sing: 'Oh joy! a new year is begun:
What happiness to look upon the sun!'

Ah, what begetteth all this storm of bliss
But death himself, who crying solemnly,
E'en from the heart of sweet Forgetfulness,
Bids us 'Rejoice, lest pleasureless ye die,
Within a little time must ye go by.
Stretch forth your open hands, and while ye live
Take all the gifts that Death and Life may give.'

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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I especially like this one as my hubby calls me his flower!

Coleader of Rootin For Ruby, And proud to be a Ruby Lite

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PLEASE EXCUSE THE CAPS AND MISTAKES AS I HAVE VISION ISSUES
THANK YOU



"To be a winner, all you have to give is all you have." -Unknown



Hot on the presses today - little queen

Making your passion play - little queen

Nobody knows your melancholy mind -

Little queen



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3/19/09 9:54 P

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Love is enough
By: William Morris

LOVE is enough: though the World be a-waning,
And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,
Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover
The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder,
Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark wonder,
And this day draw a veil over all deeds pass'd over,
Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter;
The void shall not weary, the fear shall not alter
These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover.


"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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The Broken Flower
By: Felicia Hemans

Oh! wear it on thy heart, my love!
Still, still a little while!
Sweetness is lingering in its leaves,
Though faded be their smile.
Yet, for the sake of what hath been,
Oh, cast it not away!
'T was born to grace a summer scene,
A long, bright, golden day,
My love!
A long, bright, golden day!

A little while around thee, love!
Its fragrance yet shall cling,
Telling, that on thy heart hath lain
A fair, though faded thing.
But not even that warm heart hath power
To win it back from fate, -
Oh! I am like thy broken flower,
Cherish'd too late, too late,
My love!
Cherish'd alas! too late!

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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3/17/09 9:16 P

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Nice poem

Coleader of Rootin For Ruby, And proud to be a Ruby Lite

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PLEASE EXCUSE THE CAPS AND MISTAKES AS I HAVE VISION ISSUES
THANK YOU



"To be a winner, all you have to give is all you have." -Unknown



Hot on the presses today - little queen

Making your passion play - little queen

Nobody knows your melancholy mind -

Little queen



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LINGUISTMARCIE's Photo LINGUISTMARCIE Posts: 2,854
3/17/09 9:15 P

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This one is required to be at the end of any collection of Alfred, Lord Tennyson's works.

"Crossing the Bar"

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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"Dover Beach" By: Matthew Arnold

The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the A gaean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.


Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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LINGUISTMARCIE's Photo LINGUISTMARCIE Posts: 2,854
3/15/09 8:43 A

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I did and he was my maternal grandfather too. Thanks, Lori.

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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Don't tell me you called your grandfater Pop Pop, I though my family was the only family that did that!
It was my maternal grandfather.

I really liked that poem.

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Okay, this one isn't the most uplifting, but it is a favorite and reminds me of my grandfather's death. I visited his grave when I was home today.
RIP Pop-Pop




Dark house, by which once more I stand

Here in the long unlovely street,

Doors, where my heart was used to beat

So quickly, waiting for a hand,



A hand that can be clasp'd no more—

Behold me, for I cannot sleep,

And like a guilty thing I creep

At earliest morning to the door.



He is not here; but far away

The noise of life begins again,

And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain

On the bald street breaks the blank day.



Alfred, Lord Tennyson

emoticon

"For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived
Makes every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every To-morrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day! "
--From Kalidasa's "Salutation of the Dawn"


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Nice Lori!

Penny ( a whole lot easier than saying Penelope )



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2/22/09 12:21 P

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THE DAY IS DONE
~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time,

For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And tonight I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have a power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And comes like the benediction
That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.



DEPARTED YOUTH



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2/18/09 3:25 P

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Sonnet One;

By Elizabeth Barret Browning

I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young;
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightaway I was 'ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,--
Guess now who holds thee?--Death, I said, But, there,
The silver answer rang,--Not Death, but Love.




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The following is a love letter I found in a book titled Love Letters: An Anthology of Passion by Michelle Lovric. It is a really neat book with facsimiles of real letters and quotations from lovers' correspondence throughout the ages. If you are a romantic, you might want to check out a copy of this book. I have tried to copy the letter to the best of my ability. I hope you enjoy it.



January 10th, 1845
New Cross, Hatcham, Surrey

I love your verses with all my heart, dear Miss Barrett, -- and this is no off-hand complimentary letter that I shall write, --whatever else, no prompt matter-of-course recognition of your genius and there a graceful and natural end of the thing: since the day last week when I first read your poems, I quite laugh to remember how I have been turning again in my mind what I should be able to tell you of their effect upon me -- for in the first flush of delight I though I would this once get out of my habit of purely passive enjoyment, when I do really enjoy, and thoroughly justify my admiration -- perhaps even, as a loyal fellow-craftsman should, try and find fault and do you some little good to be proud of herafter! -- but nothing comes of it

all -- so into me has it gone, and part of me has it become, this great living poetry of yours, not a flower of which but took root and grew ... oh, how different that is from lying to be dried and pressed flat and prized highly and put in a book with a proper account at bottom, and shut up and put away ... and the book called a 'Flora', besides! After all, I need not give up the thought of doing that, too, in time; because even now, talking with whoever is worthy, I can give reason for my faith in one and another excellence, the fresh strange music, the affluent language, the exquisite pathos and true new brave thought -- but in this addressing myself to you, your

own self, and for the first time, my feeling rises altogher. I do, as I say, love these Books with all my heart -- and I love you too: do you know I was once seeing you? Mr. Kenyon said to me one morning "would you like to see Miss Barrett?" -- then he went to announce me, -- then he returned ... you were too unwell -- and now it is years ago -- and I feel as at some untorward passage in my travels -- as if I had been close, so close, to some world's-wonder in chapel

on crypt, ... only a screen to push and I might have entered -- but there was some slight ... so it now seems ... slight and just-sufficient bar to admission, and the half-opened door shut, and I went home my thousands of miles, and the sight was never to be!

Well, these Poems were to be -- and this true thankful joy and pride with which I feel myself.

Yours ever faithfully
Robert Browning




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Robert Browning

1812-1889


Robert Browning was born in Camberwell, a suburb of London. Young Robert spent much of his time in his father's private library of 6000 volumes in several languages. The chief source of his education



Browning became an admiror of Elizabeth's Barretts poetry in 1844. He began corresponding with her by letter. This was the start of one of the world's most famous romances. Their courtship lasted until 1846 when they were married. The couple moved to Italy that same year and had a son, Pen, later in 1849.



Robert did not become recognized as a poet, until after Elizabeth's death in 1861. After which, he was honored for the rest of his life as a literary figure.



Robert is perhaps best-known for his dramatic monologue technique. In his monologues, he spoke in the voice of an imaginary or historical character. Robert had a fondness for people who lived during the Renaissance. Most of his monologues portray persons at dramatic moments in their lives.


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2/18/09 3:18 P

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1806-1861


Elizabeth Barrett was born at Coxhoe Hall, Durham, England. Elizabeth was educated at home, learning Greek, Latin, and several modern languages at an early age. In 1819, her father arranged for the printing of one of her poems (she was 13 at the time.)



In 1821, Elizabeth injured her spine as a result of a fall. When her brother died in 1838, she seemingly became a permanent invalid. She spent the majority of her time in her room writing poetry. In 1844, Robert Browning wrote to Elizabeth admiring her Poems. He continued to write to her and they were engaged in 1845.



Elizabeth's father disapproved of the courtship and engagement. In 1846, Elizabeth and Robert were secretly wed. Soon the couple ran off to Italy where Elizabeth's health improved. She continued to live in the villa of Casa Guidi for the remainder of her life.



In 1850, Elizabeth's best known book of poems was published Sonnets from the Portugese. They are not translations, but a sequence of 44 sonnets recording the growth of her love for Robert. He often called her "my little Portuguese" because of her dark complextion.



Elizabeth's poems have a diction and rhythm evoking an attractive, spontaneouse quallity though some may seem sentimental. Many of her poems protest what she considered unjust social conditions. She also wrote poems appealing for political freedom for Italy and other countries controlled by foreign nations.



In 1861, Elizabeth Barrett Browning died at the age of 55. Her son, born 1849, and husband returned to England after her death.


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2/18/09 2:58 P

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She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

~ Lord Byron



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CANNOTFATHOM's Photo CANNOTFATHOM Posts: 22,101
1/29/09 12:28 P

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Nice Pixie!

Penny ( a whole lot easier than saying Penelope )



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1/29/09 9:45 A

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We are classy!

I finally remembered...that poem is by Emily Dickinson.



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1/29/09 9:40 A

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That is nice Pixie, Are we just becoming classy or what?

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1/29/09 5:33 A

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I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody too?
Then theres a pair of us
Don't tell!
They'd banish us you know.

How dreary to be somebody
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!


I think thats how it goes! I've always liked that poem.Although my mind is drawing a blank on her name! And I DO know it!



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1/27/09 5:15 P

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Yes, It is nice, but sorry it was so long.

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1/27/09 5:14 P

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I haven't read that in years :) Love Tennyson

Penny ( a whole lot easier than saying Penelope )



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"The Lady of Shalott"
Part I
On either side of the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road runs by
To many-towered Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.1

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veiled
Slide the heavy barges trailed
By slow horses; and unhailed
The shallop flitteth silken-sailed
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand? 25
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,
Down to towered Camelot:
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott."

Part II

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hands before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot: 50
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the curly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-haired page in crimson clad,
Goes by to towered Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

Part III
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling through the leaves, 75
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneeled
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glittered free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazoned baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burned like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often through the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; 100
On burnished hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flowed
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lira," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She looked down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror cracked from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

Part IV
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
Over towered Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote 125
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance —
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right —
The leaves upon her falling light —
Through the noises of the night
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turned to towered Camelot.
For ere she reached upon the tide 150
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the knights at Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."


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1/27/09 10:46 A

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Oh yes, Please post wherever you want.

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CANNOTFATHOM's Photo CANNOTFATHOM Posts: 22,101
1/27/09 9:25 A

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Thanks Lori! I figured it was ok to post some here :)

Penny ( a whole lot easier than saying Penelope )



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1/26/09 6:50 P

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Oh Penny, That is beautiful, and thanks for posting it.

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1/26/09 6:19 P

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If The Past Year Were Offered Me Again

If the past year were offered me again,
And choice of good and ill before me set
Would I accept the pleasure with the pain
Or dare to wish that we had never met?
Ah! could I bear those happy hours to miss
When love began, unthought of and unspoke
That summer day when by a sudden kiss
We knew each other's secret and awoke?
Ah no! not even to escape the pain,
Debate and anguish that I underwent
Flying from thee and my own self in vain
With trouble wasted, till my strength all spent
I knew at last that thou or love or fate
Had conquered and repentance was too late.

Augusta, Lady Gregory

Penny ( a whole lot easier than saying Penelope )



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PINKYHSN's Photo PINKYHSN Posts: 62
1/6/09 12:13 P

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That's beautiful!

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The Violet

by Miss Landon

The Lady's Book of Flowers and Poetry, 1842



Why better than the lady rose,
Love I this little flower?
Because its fragrant leaves are those
I loved in childhood's hour.
Though many a flower may win my praise,
The Violet has my love;
I did not pass my childish days
In garden or in grove:
My garden was the window seat,
Upon whose edge was set
A little vase, the fair, the sweet,
It was the Violet.
It was my pleasure and my pride:
How I did watch its growth!
For health and bloom what plans I tried,
And often injured both.
I placed it in the summer shower,
I placed it in the sun;
And ever, at the evening hour,
My work seem'd half undone.
The broad leaves spread, the small buds grew;
How slow they seem'd to be:
At last there came a tinge of blue,
'Twas worth the world to me.


emoticon

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