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When a man starts out with nothing,
When a man starts out with his hands
Empty, but clean,
When a man starts to build a world,
Beautiful Black Men
(With compliments and apologies to all not mentioned by name)
i wanta say just gotta say something
bout those beautiful beautiful beautiful outasight
Is it not strange? A year ago to-day,
With scarce a thought beyond the hum-drum round,
I did my decent job and earned my pay;
Was averagely happy, I'll be bound.
A Life To Feel Pity Upon!
Is it what we mean by life?,
A life with a dramatic attitude,
A life with a hypocratic character,
Always acting as if playing in a stage show,
D E A T H
Death is but a second stage
Sanctified by God for eternal bliss.
A stage in paradise with a dulcet slumber,
That everyone get ere the judgement.
Life Is A Circus
A young lad blossoms from a petal,
Many challenges to come and yet to settle.
Here begins life's crazy circus,
To be happy but yet sometimes serious.
To Think Of Time
To think of time, of all that retrospection!
To think of to-day, and the ages continued henceforward!
Have you guess'd you yourself would not continue?
The Twins Of Lucky Strike
I've sung of Violet de Vere, that slinky, minky dame,
Of Gertie of the Diamond Tooth, and Touch-the-Button Nell,
And Maye Lamore,-at eighty-four I oughta blush wi' shame
That in my wild and wooly youth I knew them ladies well.
HOW very hard it is to be
A Christian! Hard for you and me,
â??Not the mere task of making real
That duty up to its ideal,
The waves of Lethe wash till we forget
Our earthy life and love; and 'twould appear
Before Time's tune possessed us, before we
Let fall the shadow of our meaning here â??
Love!-what is love? a mere machine, a spring
For freaks fantastic, a convenient thing,
A point to which each scribbling wight most steer,
Or vainly hope for food or favour here;
World! to arms!
Do you shrink?
What! shrink when the hoofs of the Cossack are crushing
The bosom of mother, the tonsure of priest,
On The Stage
Lights, in a multi-coloured mist,
From indigo to amethyst,
A whirling mist of multi-coloured lights;
And after, wigs and tights,
The murmurs ebb; onto the stage I enter.
I am trying, standing in the door,
To discover in the distant echoes
What the coming years may hold in store.
Happy, O Happy He
Happy, O happy he, who not affecting
The endless toils attending worldly cares,
With mind repos'd, all discontents rejecting,
In silent peace his way to heav'n prepares;
Once I’ve been young like you,
Strong and energetic to do anything;
Sooner or later you will be like me,
Weak and without energy to hold our body.
In ev'ry age, and each profession,
Men err the most by prepossession;
But when the thing is clearly shown,
And fairly stated, fully known,
Sweet garden, wreathed in fruits and flowers,
And domed by blue Tyrolean skies,
Within thy rose-encircled bowers,
Secluded from all curious eyes,
John L. Stoddard
Woman of weeping eye, ah! for thy wretched lot,
Putting on smiles to lure the lewd passenger,
Smiling while anguish gnaws at thy heavy heart;
Henry Kirk White
Scots Prologue For Mr. Sutherland
WHAT needs this din about the town o' Lon'on,
How this new play an' that new sang is comin?
Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted?
Does nonsense mend, like brandy, when imported?
O man, with your wonderful dower,
O woman, with genius and grace,
You can teach the whole world with your power,
If you are but worthy the place.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Answer To Tait
The mounted disk of ebonite
Has whirled before, nor whirled in vain;
Rowland of Troy, that doughty knight,
Convection currents did obtain
James Clerk Maxwell
A WONDERFUL age
Is now on the stage:
I'll sing you a song, if I can,
How modern Whigs,
Savitri. Part V.
As consciousness came slowly back
He recognised his loving wife--
"Who was it, Love, through regions black
Where hardly seemed a sign of life
Open Stage Poetry Reading
After the one that sings, and after the one
that can make up poems of a kind right on the spot;
after a girl who didn't . . . walk very well,
took five minutes to get from her seat to the stage
Can we stifle the old, long-lived Remorse,
that lives, writhes, heaves,
feeds on us, like a worm on a corpse,
like oak-gall on the oak-trees?
To A Friend
Who prop, thou ask'st in these bad days, my mind?-
He much, the old man, who, clearest-souled of men,
Saw The Wide Prospect, and the Asian Fen,
And Tmolus hill, and Smyrna bay, though blind.
As every flower fades and as all youth
Departs, so life at every stage,
So every virtue, so our grasp of truth,
Blooms in its day and may not last forever.
Beautiful Lofty Things
Beautiful lofty things: O'Leary's noble head;
My father upon the Abbey stage, before him a raging crowd:
‘This Land of Saints,' and then as the applause died out,
‘Of plaster Saints'; his beautiful mischievous head thrown back.
William Butler Yeats