Senator Douglas was very small, not over four and a half feet height, and there was a noticeable disproportion between the long trunk of his body and his short legs. His chest was broad and indicated great strength of lungs.
quote by Henry Villard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
The lofty legs are the beauty.
Short legs and short waist are the ducks.
Long legs and short waists are the geese.
Short legs and long waists are the penguins.
Lofty legs without waists are cranes
Who is graceful?
The crane stands out; the tall woman stands out.
29.04.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The one noticeable similarity with almost all serial killer victims is their short height and low weight.
The Daddy Long-Legs and the Fly
Once Mr Daddy Long-Legs,
Dressed in brown and gray,
Walked about upon the sands
Upon a summer's day;
And there among the pebbles,
When the wind was rather cold,
He met with Mr Floppy Fly,
All dressed in blue and gold.
And as it was too soon to dine,
They drank some Periwinkle-wine,
And played an hour or two, or more,
At battlecock and shuttledore.
Said Mr Daddy Long-legs
To Mr Floppy Fly,
'Why do you never come to court?
I wish you'd tell me why.
All gold and shine, in dress so fine,
You'd quite delight the court.
Why do you never go at all?
I really think you ought!
And if you went, you'd see such sights!
Such rugs! and jugs! and candle-lights!
And more than all, the King and Queen,
One in red, and one in green!'
'O Mr Daddy Long-Legs,'
Said Mr Floppy Fly,
'It's true I never go to court,
And I will tell you why.
If I had six long legs like yours,
At once I'd go to court!
But Oh! I can't, because my legs
Are so extremely short.
And I'm afraid the King and Queen
(One in red and one in green)
Would say aloud, 'You are not fit,
You Fly, to come to court a bit.'
O Mr Daddy Long-Legs,'
Said Mr Floppy Fly,
'I wish you'd sing one little song!
One mumbian melody!
You used to sing so awful well
In former days gone by,
But now you never sing at all;
I wish you'd tell me why:
For if you would, the silvery sound
Would please the shrimps and cockles round,
And all the crabs would gladly come
To hear you sing, 'Ah, Hum di Hum!''
Said Mr Daddy Long-Legs,
'I can never sing again!
And if you wish, I'll tell you why,
Although it gives me pain.
For years I could not hum a bit,
Or sing the smallest song;
And this the dreadful reason is,
My legs are grown too long!
My six long legs, all here and there,
Oppress my bosom with despair;
And if I stand, or lie, or sit,
I cannot sing one single bit!'
So Mr Daddy Long-Legs
And Mr Floppy Fly
Sat down in silence by the sea,
And gazed upon the sky.
They said, 'This is a dreadful thing!
The world has all gone wrong,
Since one has legs too short by half,
The other much too long!
One never more can go to court,
Because his legs have grown too short;
The other cannot sing a song,
Because his legs have grown too long!'
Then Mr Daddy Long-Legs
And Mr Floppy Fly
Rushed downward to the foaming sea
With one sponge-taneous cry;
And there they found a little boat
Whose sails were pink and gray;
And off they sailed among the waves
Far, and far away.
They sailed across the silent main
And reached the great Gromboolian plain;
And there they play for evermore
At battlecock and shuttledore.
poem by Edward Lear
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Why is it not just as likely that there were as many small general nearly at first as now, and as great a disproportion in the number of their species?
Show Tune II
That's the long and short of it
now you know
how I've been waiting all these years
where I'm coming from
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you see
just how hot hot jazz was
how it turned about, my bookcase
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you know
that my arrest record's
not my best record
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you see
how the Past's like a love
you can neither leave nor live
that's the long and short of it
That's the long and short of it
now you know
it was no gun in my pocket
it was a rocket
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
and you're wond'ring dear
how I kept so pure
hull, it was easy
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you see
so bounce your head
into bed
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
read the blues
in these tattoos
make a song of it
that's the short and long of it.
How I wish
there was a bridge-
then I could burn it;
or the train
of a refrain
then I could board it
but there isn't
no there isn't, so...
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Who You Calling Shorty
I am the short girl who
is always at the end of the line
looking up at the shoulders of others
and I don't' like that.
All the models are tall and have long legs
me, I'm short and made to feel like a child
especially when standing in line staring at backs.
I am the short girl.
So I stand back when tall people approach
so as to not have to crane my neck looking up
I like shorter men most times for the same reasons and more
I have learned to resent the tall shelves built into my kitchen
and subway straps which stop too short
for me to reach.
Overly tall heels make me look like a stork walking
and hurt my feet;
I am the short girl
and I see guys
looking over my head
at other girls
when we talk.
So I make up for it by being smart
and putting cushions on my chair
by being a good dancer on the dance floor
although they told me I didn't have 'good lines'
in my ballerina class.
I am the short girl
and don't know what to do.
What would you do
if you were me?
I guess I could stop complaining
and grow up
but only if I could;
see what I mean?
Short people are the unseen minority
and please tell the rap people
to stop calling me shortie;
that is rubbing it in.
Some of us have bone implants
put into our shins
to gain an inch
but that is not me
that seems drastic and risky.
So I will relax into my navel landscape
and looking up at chins;
I suppose life could be worse
than merely being always called shortie.
But folks keep in mind
true though that might be
us short people
don't like that only our height is being seen
as the most important thing
people see.
So all you storks
gangly and tottering
know by aged 60
you will all lose height
and you tall folks
will sink right down
to the same height
as the rest of us.
Then you and I will
come to see eye to eye.
Until then
see this as the short person's manifesto.
(Smile)
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Too Late
Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas,
In the old likeness that I knew,
I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.
Never a scornful word should grieve ye,
I'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do:
Sweet as your smile on me shone ever,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.
Oh, to call back the days that are not!
My eyes were blinded, your words were few:
Do you know the truth now, up in heaven,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true?
I never was worthy of you, Douglas;
Not half worthy the like of you:
Now all men beside seem to me like shadows -
I love you, Douglas, tender and true.
Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas,
Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew;
As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true!
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Too Late
COULD ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas,
In the old likeness that I knew,
I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.
Never a scornful word should grieve ye,
I'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do;--
Sweet as your smile on me shone ever,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.
O to call back the days that are not!
My eyes were blinded, your words were few
Do you know the truth now up in heaven,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true?
I never was worthy of you, Douglas;
Not half worthy the like of you:
Now all men beside seem to me like shadows--
I love you, Douglas, tender and true.
Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas
Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew;
As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Short People
Short people
Short people got no reason
Short people got no reason
Short people got no reason
To live
They got little hands
Little eyes
They walk around
Tellin great big lies
They got little noses
And tiny little teeth
They wear platform shoes
On their nasty little feet
Well, I dont want no short people
Dont want no short people
Dont want no short people
'round here
Short people are just the same
As you and i
(a fool such as I)
All men are brothers
Until the day they die
(its a wonderful world)
Short people got nobody
Short people got nobody
Short people got nobody
To love
They got little baby legs
That stand so low
You got to pick em up
Just to say hello
They got little cars
That go beep, beep, beep
They got little voices
Goin peep, peep, peep
They got grubby little fingers
And dirty little minds
Theyre gonna get you every time
Well, I dont want no short people
Dont want no short people
Dont want no short people
round here
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ten Feet Tall
Happy Im floating
Around on my feet now
You make me go dizzy
Im weak at the knees
I feel like Im walking
Round ten feet tall
Well you say Im faking
And I say dont worry
The way that I bubble
Theres something in the make
I feel like Im walking
Round ten feet tall
Right, the chemistry is right
This boy has reached his height
The feeling just goes on and on...
From strength to strength
Im ten feet long
I feel like Im walking
Round ten feet tall
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Marriage On A Sunday
the man is albanian
we think he is British, bloody british they'd say.
at six feet five, his built is horrendous,
if horrible means the same as that,
broad shoulders, pluffy, peachy cheeks
glowing in Philippine summer. He is the groom.
the woman is a Filipina, chinky, brownish,
short, petite, too small for his huge kind of
affection, they call it love. she is a mere five feet
long black hair, small arms,
frail, she is beautiful and too innocent
for this kind of an important affair. Marriage.
Her chatmate finally now her groom.
Her saviour from poverty, and family honour.
It is none of my business really. But i have
doubts on this discrepancy.
Love, is this love? Can love bloom
between tall and short, between white
and brown, between the rich and the poor,
between an innocent Filipina girl and
and a bloody britisher? Forgive the word.
Tell me, who's the lucky one?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Running On The Beach
Early just after dawn
there is salt in the air,
a light wind pulls at my hair
while I race on the beach
clothed in only bathing trunks,
trying to outrun the incoming surf,
which at times splashes against my body.
I pass some big rocks
while the white sand of Clifton
clings to my feet and legs,
the air starts to burn in my lungs,
while I pick up the pace,
finding new energy under the summer sun,
with the sea only touching at my feet.
In the distance stark naked
two young women tan,
the one is lying on her stomach
the other is sitting up and facing me
and I notice that her stomach is flat,
her breasts are DD sized with nipples hard,
she says something to the other girl and is smiling.
I want to avoid them, keep to the solitude,
the freedom of racing at speed,
with the sun and the wind touching my body,
while all thoughts are stripped from me
but one of them have got other plans,
gets up and steps right into my way
with legs wide and eyes bluer than the sky.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Summertime
(Dean Sams/Rivers Rutherford/Tom Shapiro)
I like your look in that sweater
All warm and bundled up tight
But I keep picturing something a little different tonight
I see you in a bikini
One lazy toe in the pool
Layed back and sippin' on something long, tall and cool.
Yeah, I can't wait for a warm breeze blowin'
Green grass growin' and the bright sunshine
Short sundress with your long legs showin'
I can't wait for the summertime
Oh, the summertime.
I'm gonna find us some tickets
To a tropical isle
You just see if your mama can keep the kids for awhile
We'll take our drinks with umbrellas
We'll take a room with a view
I'm gonna take my sweet time makin' love to you
That's what I'm gonna do.
I can't wait for a warm breeze blowin'
Green grass growin' and the bright sunshine
Short sundress with your long legs showin'
I can't wait for the summertime
Feel your body next to mine
In the summertime.
Yeah, I can't wait for a warm breeze blowin'
Green grass growin' and the bright sunshine
Short sundress with your long legs showin'
I can't wait for the summertime
Oh I can't wait for a warm breeze blowin'
Green grass growin' and the bright sunshine
Short sundress with your long legs showin'
I can't wait for the summertime
Feel your body next to mine
In the summertime.
Summertime.
Summertime.
In the summertime...
song performed by by Lonestar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Supermodels Are People Too
The long legs, the long eyebrows
The short skirts, the absence of bras
The silky hair, the flat chest
The short nails, the long nose
The small hole, the long toes
And they fail to wear their Sunday’s best
Supermodels are people too.
They eat like the exotic pelicans
They walk like the rowdy drunks
Who kicked the old beer cans
Next to the illegally parked vans
Supermodels are people too.
The angels of the nights
The exquisite sights
The retired pimps of the streets
They refused to eat the hot beats
Who shed blood not tears
The walking style of the hungry deers
Supermodels are people too.
All men want one
All men want to win
The sugar daddy behaves like a teenager
Who is not afraid of the lonely stranger
Supermodels are people too.
They grow old occasionally
They belong to a special crew
Sometimes, they forget to be pretty
At the carnival, they jump and dance
In the middle of the crowd, they dropp top and pants.
Supermodels are people too.
poem by Hebert Logerie
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Small frame great strength
You spent a lifetime wallowing in self pity
trying to find that inner peace
and when you fell the lowest
and in the darkest of places
a small framed woman comes your way
calmness and peace glows from her
a grace and elegance you have never seen
she look at you right in the eyes
and from the one stare you gain strength
small frame great strength all it take it the love
of a small framed woman
to give a giant of a man great strength
poem by Jason Luneau
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democracy in the Philippine islands
there is this little boy
who is practicing to ride a big bike
his feet are short
and so are his hands
and always
in this predicament
does he fall and tumble
the years passed
and it is the same boy again
practicing to ride his
big bicycle
sometimes i am just curious
what is this boy
eating and drinking
since his feet are still short
and his hands are still small
he never had the guts
riding his bicycle to the full
it is the same situation all over again
he falls and bleeds
and cries that the bicycle is always too big for his
short feet and small hands
he falls and he tumbles
he bleeds and he fails
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Weaving at Night
Lampwick turned up, the room glows white.
The looms moves easily all night long
as feet work and push below.
Nimbly the shuttle flies in and out,
wide or narrow, big or small, sliding in snug.
Long or short, it glides out smoothly.
Girls who do it right, let it soak.
Here is another translation of the same poem:
Light turned on, it is found such a white,
The stalk moves slightly and repeatedly all night.
Pushing with the feet, but lightly release,
Shuttle passing through brings joy and ease.
Large or narrow, small or big they all fit,
Long and short, size and form so be it.
To make it best, girl needs to soak it with care .
The cloth color won't fade before three whole years.
poem by Ho Xuan Huong
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Motion
My body’s always in motion
running through unseen routines
forcing air, chest rising and falling,
heart-blood coursing
through a million small chambers
to glow red again.
Even at rest
my chest rises to cold air
and drinks it in, clean and clear,
and with heady ambition,
I run,
my aging legs pounding
this treadmill
to nowhere.
But I know this
is a temporary condition.
Soon enough
my blood will congeal and
pool into still, cool wells.
No more will I wake
though bright morning itself
should shake my shoulder
and with swelling song
bid me rise,
for I am not made
for eternity’s day.
Death waits
and will not
be turned away.
poem by Steven Federle
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Crowde By Thousands Of Forms Of Gods
crowded by thousands of forms of gods,
each hovering over my head in mad circles,
yes, i have lost my meditation and devotion;
my lips cry for a god
and my heart seeks another
and my intellect runs after another;
i am at a loss to determine which of this pantheon
may rush for my help in my hour of distress;
confusion stirs me to stupidity and turbidity-
i politely send them all away
and i think of the one god
who has no face, no trunk
but only two feet for me to grab on
and hold them on to my chest;
i am in terrible fears to lift my head up
lest i may see a body or a face;
for i know with only his feet in vision
i reach my nameless and formless god
in seconds of my submerging into meditation!
--s.chandra kalaadhar
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Short Peoople
Short People got no reason
Short People got no reason
Short People got no reason
To live
They got little hands
And little eyes
And they walk around
Tellin' great big lies
They got little noses
And tiny little teeth
They wear platform shoes
On their nasty little fett
Well I don't want no Short People
Don't want no Short People
Don't want no Short People
Round here
Short People are just the same
As you and I
(A Fool Such As I)
All men are brothers
Until the day they die
(It's A Wonderful World)
Short People got nobody
Short People got nobody
Short People got nobody
To love
They got little baby legs
And they stand so low
You got to pick 'em up
Just to say hello
They got little cars
That got beep, beep, beep
They got little voices
Goin' peep, peep, peep
They got grubby little fingers
And dirty little minds
They're gonna get you every time
Well, I don't want no Short People
Don't want no Short People
Don't want no Short People
'Round here
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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