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Love is a Mighty Power

 

Love is a mighty power, a great and complete good.

Love alone lightens every burden, and makes rough places smooth.

It bears every hardship as though it were nothing, and renders all bitterness sweet and acceptable.

 

Nothing is sweeter than love,

Nothing stronger,

Nothing higher,

Nothing wider,

Nothing more pleasant,

Nothing fuller or better in heaven or earth; for love is born of God.

 

Love flies, runs and leaps for joy.

It is free and unrestrained.

Love knows no limits, but ardently transcends all bounds.

Love feels no burden, takes no account of toil,

attempts things beyond its strength.

 

Love sees nothing as impossible,

for it feels able to achieve all things.

It is strange and effective,

while those who lack love faint and fail.

 

Love is not fickle and sentimental,

nor is it intent on vanities.

Like a living flame and a burning torch,

it surges upward and surely surmounts every obstacle.

by Thomas à Kempis.

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8866408ff671ee0d0ddbc8854672cbbc.jpg
DC raw love
Jan 10

i come with roses to your grave threw rain or shine
with a tear drop in my eye, so sad but my hearts alive

i come to tell you, how much i love you
you were my first and you will be my last

i stand here and think of our memerious of love
so vivid, so bright, so happy, with you in my life

i built my life around you and now i'm getting older
yet my love is fresh for you and always will

i would climb a moutain, just to say i love you
and to sit by your side

i now have a snow covered life from your tears of joy above
a life of happiness, love and forgiveness in heaven

20 years later i still feel the same
it feels like the first time i said

i love you

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8866408ff671ee0d0ddbc8854672cbbc.jpg
DC raw love
Jan 10

i come with roses to your grave threw rain or shine

with a tear drop in my eye, so sad but my hearts alive

 

i come to tell you, how much i love you

you were my first and you will be my last

 

i stand here and think of our memerious of love

so vivid, so bright, so happy, with you in my life

 

i built my life around you and now i'm getting older

yet my love is fresh for you and always will

 

i would climb a moutain, just to say i love you

and to sit by your side

 

i now have a snow covered life from your tears of joy above

a life of happiness, love and forgiveness in heaven

 

20 years later i still feel the same

it feels like the first time i said

 

i love you

 

beautiful, evocative and hopeful

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The rose of battle

 

Rose of all roses - rose of all the world !

the tall thought -  woven sails, the flap unfolded

above the tide of hours, troubled the air

and God's bell buoyed to be the water care

while hushed with fear, or loud with hope, a band

with blown, spray dabbled, hair gathered at hand.

 

Turn if you may from battles never done

I call as they go by me one by one

 

Danger no refuge holds, and war no peace,

for him who hears love sing and never cease,

beside her calm swept hearth, her quiet shade:

but gather all for whom no love hath made

a woven silence, or but come to cast

a song into the air, and singing past

to smile on the pale dawn, and gather you

 

Who has sought more than is in rain or dew

or in the sun and moon, or on the earth

or sighs amid the wandering starry mirth

or comes in laughter from the sea's sad lips;

and wage God's battle in long grey ships

The sad, the lonely, the insatiable,

to these Old Night, shall her mysteries tell

God's bell has claimed them by the little cry

of their hearts, that may not live or die

 

Rose of  all roses- rose of all the world!

You too, have come, where the dim tides we all hurled,

upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring,

the bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing

Beauty grown sad with it's eternity

made you of us, and the dim grey sea 

our long ship, loose thought- woven sails and wait

for God has bid their share an equal fate;

and when at last defeated in his wars,

they have gone down under the same white stars

we shall no longer hear the little cry

of our sad hearts that may not live or die.

 

William butler Yeats 

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The rose of battle

 

Rose of all roses - rose of all the world !

the tall thought -  woven sails, the flap unfolded

above the tide of hours, troubled the air

and God's bell buoyed to be the water care

while hushed with fear, or loud with hope, a band

with blown, spray dabbled, hair gathered at hand.

 

Turn if you may from battles never done

I call as they go by me one by one

 

Danger no refuge holds, and war no peace,

for him who hears love sing and never cease,

beside her calm swept hearth, her quiet shade:

but gather all for whom no love hath made

a woven silence, or but come to cast

a song into the air, and singing past

to smile on the pale dawn, and gather you

 

Who has sought more than is in rain or dew

or in the sun and moon, or on the earth

or sighs amid the wandering starry mirth

or comes in laughter from the sea's sad lips;

and wage God's battle in long grey ships

The sad, the lonely, the insatiable,

to these Old Night, shall her mysteries tell

God's bell has claimed them by the little cry

of their hearts, that may not live or die

 

Rose of  all roses- rose of all the world!

You too, have come, where the dim tides we all hurled,

upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring,

the bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing

Beauty grown sad with it's eternity

made you of us, and the dim grey sea 

our long ship, loose thought- woven sails and wait

for God has bid their share an equal fate;

and when at last defeated in his wars,

they have gone down under the same white stars

we shall no longer hear the little cry

of our sad hearts that may not live or die.

 

William butler Yeats 

Beautiful rhymes!

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The second coming

 

TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of i{Spiritus Mundi}
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at laSt,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

 

William Butler Yeats

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The Two Tree's:

 

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart,

the holy tree is growing there;

from joy the holy branches start

and all the trembling branches they bear

the changing colors of it's fruit

have dowered the stars with merry light;

the surety of hidden root

has planted quiet in the night;

the shaking of it's leafy head

has given the waves their melody,

and made lips and music wed,

murmuring a wizard song for thee.

there the loves a circle go,

the flaming circle of our days,

gyring, spiring, to and fro

in these great ignorant leafy ways;

remembering all the shaken hair

and how the wings sandals dart,

thine eyes grow full of tender care;

beloved, gaze in thine own heart.

 

Gaze no more in the bitter glass

the demons with their subtle guile,

or only gaze a little while;

for there a fatal image grows

that the stormy night receives,

roots half hidden under snows,

broken boughs, and blackened leaves.

for all things turn to barrenness

in the dim glass the demons hold,

the glass of outer weariness,

made when god slept in times of old.

There through the broken branches go,

the ravens of unresting thought;

flying, crying to, and fro

cruel claw and  hungry throat,

or else they stand and sniff the wind,

and shake their ragged wings; alas!

thy eyes grow all unkind;

gaze no more in the bitter glass.

 

W.B. Yeats

Edited by littlejoe3

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The Two Tree's:

 

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart,

the holy tree is growing there;

from joy the holy branches start

and all the trembling branches they bear

the changing colors of it's fruit

have dowered the stars with merry light;

the surety of hidden root

has planted quiet in the night;

the shaking of it's leafy head

has given the waves their melody,

and made lips and music wed,

murmuring a wizard song for thee.

there the loves a circle go,

the flaming circle of our days,

gyring, spiring, to and fro

in these great ignorant leafy ways;

remembering all the shaken hair

and how the wings sandals dart,

thine eyes grow full of tender care;

beloved, gaze in thine own heart.

 

Gaze no more in the bitter glass

the demons with their subtle guile,

or only gaze a little while;

for there a fatal image grows

that the stormy night receives,

roots half hidden under snows,

broken boughs, and blackened leaves.

for all things turn to barrenness

in the dim glass the demons hold,

the glass of outer weariness,

made when god slept in times of old.

There through the broken branches go,

the ravens of unresting thought;

flying, crying to, and fro

cruel claw and  hungry throat,

or else they stand and sniff the wind,

and shake their ragged wings; alas!

thy eyes grow all unkind;

gaze no more in the bitter glass.

 

W.B. Yeats

very beautiful, nature and circle of life, enchantment in full

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pale light
shadow on my right
meadows
silver ring
abandoned dreams
surfolk
land
lifting
glaze
on a bench
neither
a sigh
nor
a cry
but
instant
reverber
in my eyes
of your
immense
courage

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cards,

are not

or forgotten

on the table,

everything is at its place

and an antique smell

of roses

waves in the air,

gold painted drapes.

they
flutter through
the window that is open

i am not there,

far from the

green extension.

i sit

and my eyes

are closed,

heart

is at its place

quiet.

it beats now well and regular,

tension

is not,

where peace

reigns

and love

nourishes

thoughts

of the mind,

cards on

the desk

and the drink,

a glass of wine,

one.

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"Song", by Seamus Heaney

 

A rowan like a lipstick girl

Between the by-road and the main road

Alder trees at a wet and dripping distance

stand off along the rushes

There are the mud-flowers of dialect

And the immortelles of perfect pitch

And that moment when the bird sings very close

to the music of what happens

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I don't cry anymore,

it has happened before

to have not tears upon my cheeks

some one may dry,

If i look at the sky

i may call a name

tender,

actually

i am not able to spell,

scented and no

sound from lips,

despair

or sorrow?

echo

of love

echo of love.

Foot is fast

roots of the wide

tree's trunk

still  discovered.

Keeps the mistery

of life in this land

the silence,

the lover i imagine

has wide

eyes opened

and a pure

heart.

 

(it's me writing)

Edited by paoladegliesposti

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"Os Pinos" ("The Pines") is the official anthem of Galicia. The lyrics were written by Eduardo Pondal (the two first parts of his poem "Queixumes dos pinos", "Moan of the Pines"). It was composed in Havana, Cuba, where it was performed for the first time in 1907.   

 

Os Pinos

 

¿Qué din os rumorosos
na costa verdecente
ao raio transparente
do prácido luar?

¿Qué din as altas copas

de escuro arume arpado
co seu ben compasado
monótono fungar?

 

Do teu verdor cinguido
e de benignos astros
confín dos verdes castros
e valeroso chan,
non des a esquecemento 
da inxuria o rudo encono;
desperta do teu sono
fogar de Breogán.

 

Os bos e xenerosos
a nosa voz entenden
e con arroubo atenden
o noso ronco son,
mais sóo os iñorantes
e féridos e duros, 
imbéciles e escuros
non nos entenden, non.

 

Os tempos son chegados 
dos bardos das edades
que as vosas vaguedades
cumprido fin terán;
pois, donde quer, xigante
a nosa voz pregoa
a redenzón da boa
nazón de Breogán.

 

 

 

The Pines 

 

What do the murmurers say

in the verdant coast

to the transparent ray

of the calm moonlight?

What do the lofty treetops

of dark bent pine needle say

with their harmonious

monotonous buzzing?

 

Girded by your greenness,

and by benign stars,

confine of the green hill forts

and brave land,

do not let into oblivion

the rough spite of insult;

wake up from your slumbers,

home of Breoghan.

 

The good and generous

our voice do understand,

and with enthrallment they hearken

to our hoarse sound;

but only the ignorant,

and barbaric and hard,

stupid and dark

do not understand us, no.

 

The times are upon us

of the bards of the ages,

that all your dreams

achieved end will have;

as wherever, gigantic,

our voice proclaims

the redemption of the good

nation of Breoghan.     

Edited by tan_lejos_tan_cerca

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