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A psalm of life

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream! 
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest! 
And the grave is not its goal; 
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way; 
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle! 
Be a hero in the strife! 

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant! 
Let the dead Past bury its dead! 
Act,— act in the living Present! 
Heart within, and God o’erhead! 

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time; 

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate; 
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait. 

 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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oh because you never tried to

 bow my will or break my pride,
And nothing of the cave-man made
You want to keep me half afraid,
Nor ever with a conquering air
You thought to draw me unaware --
Take me, for I love you more
Than I ever loved before.

And since the body's maidenhood
Alone were neither rare nor good
Unless with it I gave to you
A spirit still untrammeled, too,
Take my dreams and take my mind
That were masterless as wind;
And "Master!" I shall say to you
Since you never asked me to.

Because by Sara Teasdale

 

sweet poem and strong vibe,to me!
 

Edited by paoladegliesposti

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1 hour ago, paoladegliesposti said:

I am great!

  Aren't they great,because little dogs tend to have great, big personalities

Edited by illumination70

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no more to add.

this poem 

The bird and the Ship ( From the German of Muller)

'The rivers rush into the sea, 
By castle and town they go; 
The winds behind them merrily 
Their noisy trumpets blow.                     
:)

'The clouds are passing far and high, 
We little birds in them play; 
And everything, that can sing and fly, 
Goes with us, and far away. 

'I greet thee, bonny boat! Whither, or whence, 
With thy fluttering golden band?'-- 
'I greet thee, little bird! To the wide sea 
I haste from the narrow land. 

'Full and swollen is every sail; 
I see no longer a hill, 
I have trusted all to the sounding gale, 
And it will not let me stand still. 

'And wilt thou, little bird, go with us? 
Thou mayest stand on the mainmast tall, 
For full to sinking is my house 
With merry companions all.'-- 

'I need not and seek not company, 
Bonny boat, I can sing all alone; 
For the mainmast tall too heavy am I, 
Bonny boat, I have wings of my own. 

'High over the sails, high over the mast, 
Who shall gainsay these joys? 
When thy merry companions are still, at last, 
Thou shalt hear the sound of my voice. 

'Who neither may rest, nor listen may, 
God bless them every one! 
I dart away, in the bright blue day, 
And the golden fields of the sun. 

'Thus do I sing my merry song, 
Wherever the four winds blow; 
And this same song, my whole life long, 
Neither Poet nor Printer may know.' 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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Origin of the liquid dealer

The devil in hell gave a festival,
And he called his imps from their wine-
Called them up from the ruddy cup,
And marshalled them into line.
And each to his place sprang the imps apace,
And they stood there, side by side.
'Now, listen well, O ye hosts of hell!
And mark me,' the devil cried.
'There is work to do for all of you,
Held for this night in store.
Then stir up the fire, till it burneth higher
Than ever it burned before.
When the coals glow hot, set ye the pot
Half full of the best brimstone.
And three of the worst and the most accursed
Hell claimeth as its own
Of demons bring, when the pot shall sing,
And cast them into the boil.'
Then over the region scattered the legion
Away to the fiendish toil.


They work with a will, and they work until
Three imps are aboil in the pot;
And the devil stands, and stirs with his hands
The liquid, seething hot;
And the demons revel around the devil
With many a fiendish shout,
Till he cries 'Ho, ho!' and the demons go
And turn the liquid out.


Turn it in, to a lake of gin,
Where the devil bathes, to cool.
Then lift it up, and turn on a cup
Of wine they dip from a pool.
Then they dip it in ale, till it turneth pale,
In beer, till it gloweth red.
It? nay, HE! for the thing they see
Is a man, from heel to head.


And he clasps the hands of the devil who stands
Bowing before his face.
And he says, 'Dear friend, will you please to send
A lad to show me my place?'


And the devil winks sly: and he says, 'Ay, ay!'
Old fellow, I guess you'll do.
You can work more wrong with that oily tongue
Than all my malicious crew.


'You must go to the earth! In th' halls of mirth,
In the teeming city's heart-
In any place that you show your face
I will help you do your part.

I will give you a name-it is steeped in shame,
But the world will use you well.
It is 'Liquor Dealer.' It means 
soul stealer

And Major-General of Hell.
Go forth, my friend, and work to the end,
I will pay you in gleaming gold;
For every soul you drown in the bowl,
I will give you wealth untold.'


Then forth he went, this fiend hell-sent,
And he doeth his work to-day-
Doeth it well; and the hosts of hell
Are singing his praise alway. 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox
 

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Darkness

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moon­less air; 
Morn came and went--and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires--and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings--the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
Forests were set on fire--but hour by hour
They fell and faded--and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash--and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky, 
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd
And twined themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless--were slain for food.
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again:--a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought--and that was death
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails--men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,
Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a Gorse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer'd not with a caress--he died.
The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they raked up,
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects--saw, and shriek'd, and died--
Even of their mutual hideousness they
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless,
A lump of death--a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd
They slept on the abyss without a surge
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expired before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them--She was the Universe.

Diodati, July 1816. 

George Gordon Byron
Edited by paoladegliesposti

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Song. Despair

Ask not the pallid stranger's woe,
With beating heart and throbbing breast,
Whose step is faltering, weak, and slow,
As though the body needed rest.--

Whose 'wildered eye no object meets, 
Nor cares to ken a friendly glance,
With silent grief his bosom beats,--
Now fixed, as in a deathlike trance.

Who looks around with fearful eye,
And shuns all converse with man kind, 
As though some one his griefs might spy,
And soothe them with a kindred mind.

A friend or foe to him the same,
He looks on each with equal eye;
The difference lies but in the name, 
To none for comfort can he fly.--


'Twas deep despair, and sorrow’s trace,
To him too keenly given,
Whose memory, time could not efface--
His peace was lodged in Heaven.--

He looks on all this world bestows,
The pride and pomp of power,
As trifles best for pageant shows
Which vanish in an hour.

When torn is dear affection's tie,
Sinks the soft heart full low;
It leaves without a parting sigh,
All that these realms bestow.

JUNE, 1810. 

Percy Bisshey Shelley
 

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From Muse to Bryon to Shelly and back to Muse?    I love it but am confused.  May I ask a couple questions?

- Is it cool to include a link to a poem or song?  I presume so as I've seen it done and enjoyed many of the ones which were posted.

-It seems people are writing their own verse, yes?  If so, is one's own writing protected?   I presume it is not.

-If a person's work has been published, albeit for a hundred years or once in a periodical, is it then protected?

Thank you for this thread and the links.  It's wonderful to hear someone else recite Caged Bird and If and Anna Belle Lee.

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From sunset to Star rise

Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not: 
I am no summer friend, but wintry cold, 
A silly sheep benighted from the fold, 
A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot. 
Take counsel, sever from my lot your lot, 
Dwell in your pleasant places, hoard your gold; 
Lest you with me should shiver on the wold, 
Athirst and hungering on a barren spot. 
For I have hedged me with a thorny hedge, 
I live alone, I look to die alone: 
Yet sometimes, when a wind sighs through the sedge, 
Ghosts of my buried years, and friends come back, 
My heart goes sighing after swallows flown 
On sometime summer's unreturning track. 

Christina Georgina Rossetti.
 
:huh:

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Mutability

We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;
How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,
Streaking the darkness radiantly!--yet soon
Night closes round, and they are lost forever:

Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings
Give various response to each varying blast,
To whose frail frame no second motion brings
One mood or modulation like the last.

We rest.--A dream has power to poison sleep;
We rise.--One wandering thought pollutes the day;
We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;
Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:

It is the same!--For, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free:
Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutability. 

Percy Bisshe Shelley

 

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Sonnett XXXI

 

Thou comest! all is said without a word. 
I sit beneath thy looks, as children do 
In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through 
Their happy eyelids from an unaverred 
Yet prodigal inward joy. Behold, I erred 
In that last doubt! and yet I cannot rue 
The sin most, but the occasion--that we two 
Should for a moment stand unministered 
By a mutual presence. Ah, keep near and close, 
Thou dovelike help! and, when my fears would rise, 
With thy broad heart serenely interpose: 
Brood down with thy divine sufficiencies 
These thoughts which tremble when bereft of those, 
Like callow birds left desert to the skies.

 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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And with what body do they come?

'And with what body do they come?' - 
Then they do come - Rejoice!
What Door - What Hour - Run - run - My Soul!
Illuminate the House!

'Body!' Then real - a Face and Eyes - 
To know that it is them!
Paul knew the Man that knew the News - 
He passed through Bethlehem - 

 

Emily Dickinson

 

:)

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On 6/13/2017 at 5:26 PM, Manohlive said:

From Muse to Bryon to Shelly and back to Muse?    I love it but am confused.  May I ask a couple questions?

- Is it cool to include a link to a poem or song?  I presume so as I've seen it done and enjoyed many of the ones which were posted.

-It seems people are writing their own verse, yes?  If so, is one's own writing protected?   I presume it is not.

-If a person's work has been published, albeit for a hundred years or once in a periodical, is it then protected?

Thank you for this thread and the links.  It's wonderful to hear someone else recite Caged Bird and If and Anna Belle Lee.

 

Hello Manohlive. Some folks do write their own poetry although it's more likely to see people post poems that they like by others. This is not legal advice about protection of one's own writing / intellectual property, & laws do change from time to time of course, but I took a 'media law' course in the past (here in the U.S.) & the general rule I learned then was that once you've published something you wrote (wherever you've published or posted it), as long as it's dated & can be shown that you're the person who published or posted it, then that serves as a sort of copyright on its own, showing it's yours - obviously as long as no one else published or posted the same thing before you did.

I recommend that if you post original work here & you want to keep track of that, then keep a copy for yourself that you can find, & make a note of when you posted it & where. For ex, if you write an original poem or post original lyrics here, keep a copy for yourself that you can find - for ex, copy-&-paste a copy into an email & send it to yourself (which I would think would date-stamp it, too). I once posted an original little poem of mine on U2.com which was not a big-deal poem, but it had sentimental value to me & I liked it, & I probably kept a copy of it but I'm not sure whether I could find it now.

As far as your last question goes - and I wish a lawyer would see your question & jump in w/ some general guidance since what I'm saying is not legal advice - I've always understood that it can depend on the kind of work & can also depend on whether someone is using someone else's work to make money from it or not. I have a question about this myself because I always heard that after a certain number of years (a long time - like, for ex, maybe after 25 yrs) songs then become part of the 'public domain' & can be sampled or recorded by other artists - but then I've also heard about the song "Happy Birthday" supposedly being copyrighted & people having to pay to use that song in certain circumstances, which doesn't make sense to me. Well, to some extent, the law doesn't have to make sense to people though, does it - it just is whatever it is, Lol. As far as copying & distributing certain works or excerpts of certain works, I've always heard there's something called 'fair use' under which a person can copy & distribute someone else's work to some extent (if it's not prohibited otherwise) as long as it's for educational purposes or other such non-money-making purposes.

You can definitely post music videos here & poetry/verse/lyrics, but I'm thinking it can't be a spam type of thing where someone is posting a link to a commercial, money-making website. People do post videos from youtube here to share w/ each other some songs they like, for ex, whether it's music of U2's or other bands (as much as we hugely love & adore U2, we scandalously listen to other music too, lol). I've seen some folks post some of their own music (& verse) & I'm happy to say I've never seen someone abuse it in a spammy/overly self-promotional/commercial way. But if you still have questions, I think Bigwave (the u2.com manager) would probably be the person to ask. I think it was good of you to ask in the first place. Btw, when you mentioned Caged Bird, were you referring to Maya Angelou's work (i.e. 'I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings')? B)

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