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The shutter of my eyes
have crossed all thier lines
into endless peace
but have cost me my scars
The Rivers Prayer
Someone pass by and drive this person away from me,
May you please stop; you are hurting me,
Are you mad that you forgetting am the source of those breezes that warms your body at night?
During the summer time!
Letters To The Roman Friend
Now is windy and the waves are cresting over
Fall is soon to come to change the place entirely.
Change of colors moves me, Postum, even stronger
King of the perennial holly-groves, the riven sandstone: overlord of the M5: architect of the historic rampart and ditch, the citadel at Tamworth, the summer hermitage in Holy Cross: guardian of the Welsh Bridge and the Iron Bridge: contractor to the desirable new estates: saltmaster: moneychanger: commissioner for oaths: martyrologist: the friend of Charlemagne.
The lions who ate the Christians on the sands of the arena
By indulging native appetites played was now been seen a
Not entirely negligible part
In consolidating at the very start
contend in a sea which the land partly encloses
shielding them from the too-heavy blows
of an ungoverned ocean which when it chooses
William Carlos Williams
Arena dust rusted by four bulls' blood to a dull redness,
The afternoon at a bad end under the crowd's truculence,
The ritual death each time botched among dropped capes, ill-judged
Canto De Otoà±o
Bien: ya lo sÃ©!:â?? la Muerte estÃ¡ sentada
A mis umbrales: cautelosa viene,
Porque sus llantos y su amor no apronten
En mi defensa, cuando lejos viven
sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think,
I'm not going to make it, but you laugh inside
remembering all the times you've felt that way, and
you walk to the bathroom, do your toilet, see that face
Sancho Sanchez lay a--dying in the house of Mariquita,
For his life ebbed with the ebbing of the red wound in his side.
And he lay there as they left him when he came from the Corrida
In his gold embroidered jacket and his red cloak and his pride.
Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Cupid In Ambush
It oft to many has successful been
Upon his arm to let his mistress lean,
Or with her airy fan to cool her heat,
Or gently squeeze her knees, or press her feet.
Three Pictures Continued
The first, a woman, nobly limbed and fair,
Standeth at sunset by a famed far sea.
Red are her lips as Love's own kisses were,
Yet speak they never though they smile on me.
Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A Song Of Joys
O to make the most jubilant song!
Full of music-full of manhood, womanhood, infancy!
Full of common employments-full of grain and trees.
NOT with the splendors of the days of old,
The spoil of nations, and barbaric gold;
No weapons wrested from the fields of blood,
Where dark and stern the unyielding Roman stood,
John Greenleaf Whittier
My House, I Say
My house, I say. But hark to the sunny doves
That make my roof the arena of their loves,
That gyre about the gable all day long
And fill the chimneys with their murmurous song:
Robert Louis Stevenson
Has time come? Iâ??m fully ready.
If weâ??ve sinned â?? thereâ??s no a chanceâ?¦
We â?? to prisons, they â?? to gladnessâ?¦
Give to children â?? sun and grass!
Innokenty Fedorovich Annensky
Como nacen las palmas en la arena,
Y la rosa en la orilla al mar salobre,
AsÃ de mi dolor mis versos surgen
Convulsos, encendidos, perfumados.
Oh, ritmo de la carne, oh melodÃa,
Oh licor vigorante, oh filtro dulce
De la hechicera forma! â??no hay milagro
En el cuento de LÃ¡zaro, si Cristo
Sylvan, they say, and nymph are gone;
And yet I saw the two last night,
When overhead the moon sailed white,
And through the mists, her light made wan,
Madison Julius Cawein
I tried my very best
I have exhausted
All that can be required from my capabilities
Beyond power and strength
Rose Marie Juan Austin
The Reign Of Reason
The day of truth is dawning. I behold
O'er darksome hills the trailing robes of gold
And silent footsteps of the gladsome dawn.
The morning breaks by sages long foretold;
Hanford Lennox Gordon
Dead Are My People
Gone are my people, but I exist yet,
Lamenting them in my solitude...
Dead are my friends, and in their Death my life is naught but great
Starting From Paumanok
STARTING from fish-shape Paumanok, where I was born,
Well-begotten, and rais'd by a perfect mother;
After roaming many lands--lover of populous pavements;
Dweller in Mannahatta, my city--or on
The Fable About A Nail
For lack of a nail the kingdom has fallen
â??according to the wisdom of nursery schoolsâ??but in our kingdom
there have been no nails for a long time there arenâ??t and wonâ??t be
either the small ones for hanging a picture
Scene: Federal Political Arena
A darkened cave. In the middle, a cauldron, boiling.
Enter the three witches.
1ST WITCH: Thrice hath the Federal Jackass brayed.