Alchimie de la douleur (The Alchemy of Sorrow)
L'un t'éclaire avec son ardeur,
L'autre en toi met son deuil, Nature!
Ce qui dit à l'un: Sépulture!
Dit à l'autre: Vie et splendeur!
Hermès inconnu qui m'assistes
Et qui toujours m'intimidas,
Tu me rends l'égal de Midas,
Le plus triste des alchimistes;
Par toi je change l'or en fer
Et le paradis en enfer;
Dans le suaire des nuages
Je découvre un cadavre cher,
Et sur les célestes rivages
Je bâtis de grands sarcophages.
The Alchemy of Sorrow
One man lights you with his ardor,
Another puts you in mourning, Nature!
That which says to one: sepulcher!
Says to another: life! glory!
You have always frightened me,
Hermes the unknown, you who help me.
You make me the peer of Midas,
The saddest of all alchemists;
Through you I change gold to iron
And make of paradise a hell;
In the winding sheet of the clouds
I discover a beloved corpse,
And on the celestial shores
I build massive sarcophagi.
— Translated by William Aggeler
Alchemy of Sorrow
One puts all nature into mourning,
One lights her like a flaring sun —
What whispers 'Burial' to the one
Cries to the other, 'Life and Morning.'
The unknown Hermes who assists
The role of Midas to reverse,
And makes me by a subtle curse
The saddest of all alchemists —
By him, my paradise to hell,
And gold to slag, is changed too well.
The clouds are winding-sheets, and I,
Bidding some dear-loved corpse farewell,
Along the shore-line of the sky,
Erect my vast sarcophagi.
— Translated by Roy Campbell
Alchimie de la douleur
one lights thee with his flame, another
puts in thee — Nature! — all his gloom!
what says to this man: lo! the tomb!
cries: life and splendour! to his brother.
o mage unknown whose powers assist
my art, and whom I always fear,
thou makest me a Midas — peer
of that most piteous alchemist;
for 'tis through thee I turn my gold
to iron, and in heaven behold
my hell: beneath her cloud-palls I
uncover corpses loved of old;
and where the shores celestial die
I carve vast tombs against the sky.
— Translated by Lewis Piaget Shanks
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Related quotes
King Midas In Reverse
The Hollies
King Midas In Reverse
(Allan Clarke/Tony Hicks/but mainly Graham Nash)
Single release 1967
If you could only see me
I know exactly where I am
You wouldn't want to be me
Oh, I can assure you of that
I'm not the guy to run with
'Cos I'll throw you off the line
I'll break you and destroy you
Given time.
He's King Midas with a curse
He's King Midas in reverse
He's King Midas with a curse
He's King Midas in reverse
It's plain to see it's hopeless
Going on the way we are
So even though I'd lose you
You'd be better off by far
He's not the man to hold your trust
Everything he touches turns to dust
In his hands
Nothing he can do is right
He'd even like to sleep at night
But he can't.
{Interlude with 'all he touches turns to dust' 4x}
I wish someone would find me
And help me gain control
Before I lose my reason
And my soul
He's King Midas with a curse
He's King Midas in reverse
He's King Midas with a curse (all he touches turns to dust)
He's King Midas in reverse (all he touches turns to dust)
{fade out}
He's King Midas with a curse (all he touches turns to dust)
He's King Midas in reverse (all he touches turns to dust)
He's King Midas with a curse....
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Horreur sympathique (Sympathetic Horror)
De ce ciel bizarre et livide,
Tourmenté comme ton destin,
Quels pensers dans ton âme vide
Descendent? réponds, libertin.
— Insatiablement avide
De l'obscur et de l'incertain,
Je ne geindrai pas comme Ovide
Chassé du paradis latin.
Cieux déchirés comme des grèves
En vous se mire mon orgueil;
Vos vastes nuages en deuil
Sont les corbillards de mes rêves,
Et vos lueurs sont le reflet
De l'Enfer où mon coeur se plaît.
Reflected Horror
From that sky, bizarre and livid,
Distorted as your destiny,
What thoughts into your empty soul
Descend? Answer me, libertine.
— Insatiably avid
For the dark and the uncertain,
I shall not whimper like Ovid
Chased from his Latin paradise.
Skies torn like the shores of the sea,
You are the mirror of my pride;
Your vast clouds in mourning
Are the black hearses of my dreams,
And your gleams are the reflection
Of the Hell which delights my heart.
— Translated by William Aggeler
Sympathetic Horror
From livid skies that, without end,
As stormy as your future roll,
What thoughts into your empty soul
(Answer me, libertine!) descend?
— Insatiable yet for all
That turns on darkness, doom, or dice,
I'll not, like Ovid, mourn my fall,
Chased from the Latin paradise.
Skies, torn like seacoasts by the storm!
In you I see my pride take form,
And the huge clouds that rush in streams
Are the black hearses of my dreams,
And your red rays reflect the hell,
In which my heart is pleased to dwell.
— Translated by Roy Campbell
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Welcome Change
Change is inevitable,
But yet we fight it, just the same.
Change is essential to our evolution.
Change is going to happen,
In fact, it happens every day,
Maybe it is too small to see, or perhaps we would rather not see it.
We fight change, because we fight the unknown,
We fight the unknown, because we are scared,
Scared of change, scared of the unknown.
If we were to allow change to happen freely,
We might find solutions to the problems that exist around us,
But instead, we are hung - up on controlling everything around us.
Maybe this is the problem with the world today.
Everyone assumes control of everything and does not allow nature to run her course.
Maybe this is why, we have devastating fall out from Nature,
Natural catastrophic disasters, such as fire and flooding.
We fight change, therefore we are fighting nature and her natural being and her existence
in the world that she has created by God's hand and has graciously allowed us to be a
part of .
We should welcome change and allow nature to control our destiny.
Change is uncontrollable,
Change is inevitable,
Change is the unknown.
Nature takes pride in being one of life's illusive wonders, the unknown.
poem by Gina Whitacre
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Ballad III
Now in good sooth my joy is vanished clean,
And all my gladness changed to grievous ire :
What profits it, dear flower ! since I have seen
Thy going hence, that I could never tire
When thou wast here
To greet thee every day in every year ?
Delight that was is grown disaster fell :
Alas ! How can I bid thee now farewell !
My love, my choice, my lady and my queen,
For whom my heart is kindled in desire,
What shall I do when love from what hath been
Taketh the gold and leaveth me the mire ?
Nor far nor near
Is comfort found, nor any pleasant cheer.
Gone is thy beauty, that did all excel :
Alas ! How can I bid thee now farewell !
Thine is the deed, O evil tongue and keen !
Forged for my fate upon an anvil dire :
Fortune, that loveth not my hand, I ween,
Nor yet my pen, did in the task conspire.
No help is clear
Save Death, when God shall grant him to appear
Else thou alone could'st win me out of hell.
Alas ! How can I bid thee now farewell !
Ah, simple and dear !
At least behold me and my mourning drear.
Thy loss is torment more than I can tell.
Alas ! How can I bid thee now farewell !
poem by Christine de Pizan
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Waiting
Don't you tire of waiting
for the day that men will see
that no one person is here
to change your destiny?
You can wait and wait forever
and never will you see
someone with the Midas touch
to shine his face on thee.
For the super elite have ruled this world
since the world began.
And all the world around you
is not for the normal man.
Life's a tragedy played on a stage
filled with intrigue and lies.
And we, the actors in it
are also the audience that cries.
Cries for hope, cries for change
Don't you think that strange?
I do.
I'm tired of waiting. It brings me down,
down where they want me to be.
No more, no more I shout out loud.
I wait no more. I'm free.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Desire
The sun
Blowing the moon away
Lights me up for
One more day
The streets are naked
In the morning sun
The night lifts behind me
I run and run
Morning heat
Puts a thin film of sweat on my face
A little man, his eyes half closed
Puts chairs on tables
Admires his work
And collects a quarter from the floor
I head over to broadway
Where I watch myself
Having a slow breakfast
Trying to impress the barman with a fresh voice
When I ask for the bill
The sun
Blowing the moon away
Lights me up for
One more day
The streets are naked
In the morning sun
The night lifts behind me
I run and run
Desire
Desire for the unknown eyes
Desire for the unknown name
Im burning in the morning sun, I want to run
Desire for the unknown name
Desire for the unknown love
Im burning in the morning sun
song performed by by Yello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Desire
The sun
Blowing the moon away
Lights me up for
One more day
The streets are naked
In the morning sun
The night lifts behind me
I run and run
Morning heat
Puts a thin film of sweat on my face
A little man, his eyes half closed
Puts chairs on tables
Admires his work
And collects a quarter from the floor
I head over to broadway
Where I watch myself
Having a slow breakfast
Trying to impress the barman with a fresh voice
When I ask for the bill
The sun
Blowing the moon away
Lights me up for
One more day
The streets are naked
In the morning sun
The night lifts behind me
I run and run
Desire
Desire for the unknown eyes
Desire for the unknown name
Im burning in the morning sun, I want to run
Desire for the unknown name
Desire for the unknown love
Im burning in the morning sun
song performed by by Yello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wrestling Jacob
FIRST PART.
Come, O thou Traveller unknown,
Whom still I hold, but cannot see;
My company before is gone,
And I am left alone with thee;
With thee all night I mean to stay,
And wrestle till the break of day.
I need not tell thee who I am;
My sin and misery declare;
Thyself hast called me by my name;
Look on thy hands, and read it there;
But who, I ask thee, who art thou?
Tell me thy name, and tell me now.
In vain thou strugglest to get free;
I never will unloose my hold:
Art thou the Man that died for me?
The secret of thy love unfold;
Wrestling, I will not let thee go
Till I thy name, thy nature know.
Wilt thou not yet to me reveal
Thy new, unutterable name?
Tell me, I still beseech thee, tell;
To know it now resolved I am;
Wrestling, I will not let thee go
Till I thy name, thy nature know.
What though my shrinking flesh complain
And murmur to contend so long?
I rise superior to my pain;
When I am weak, then am I strong!
And when my all of strength shall fail,
I shall with the God-man prevail.
SECOND PART.
Yield to me now, for I am weak,
But confident in self-despair;
Speak to my heart, in blessings speak;
Be conquered by my instant prayer;
Speak, or thou never hence shalt move,
And tell me if thy name be Love.
'T is Love! 't is Love! Thou diedst for me;
I hear thy whisper in my heart;
The morning breaks, the shadows flee;
Pure, universal Love thou art;
To me, to all, thy bowels move;
Thy nature and thy name is Love.
My prayer hath power with God; the grace
Unspeakable I now receive;
Through faith I see thee face to face;
I see thee face to face and live!
In vain I have not wept and strove;
Thy nature and thy name is Love.
I know thee, Saviour, who thou art,
Jesus, the feeble sinner's friend;
Nor wilt thou with the night depart,
But stay and love me to the end;
Thy mercies never shall remove;
Thy nature and thy name is Love.
The Sun of Righteousness on me
Hath risen, with healing in his wings;
Withered my nature's strength; from thee
My soul its life and succor brings;
My help is all laid up above;
Thy nature and thy name is Love.
Contented now upon my thigh
I halt till life's short journey end;
All helplessness, all weakness, I
On thee alone for strength depend;
Nor have I power from thee to move;
Thy nature and thy name is Love.
Lame as I am, I take the prey;
Hell, earth, and sin with ease o'ercome;
I leap for joy, pursue my way,
And, as a bounding hart, fly home;
Through all eternity to prove
Thy nature and thy name is Love.
poem by Charles Wesley
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Midas Touches
This I will handle in another way.
To keep the scent fresh and away from decay.
Like a new hip beat,
That...
Will move your feet.
And...
Up on your list.
I want this lifted.
To crush all fussing.
With a must that's hushed!
You need that midas...
Touch that rushes!
You know it's needed.
And I'm here to feed it.
Needed...
Are my midas touches.
Don't blush and gush.
I'm gonna give that midas rush.
Needed...
Are my midas touches.
Don't blush and gush.
I'm gonna give that midas rush.
This I will handle in another way.
To keep the scent fresh and away from decay.
Like a new hip beat,
That...
Will move your feet.
And...
You need that midas...
Touch that rushes!
You know it's needed.
And I'm here to feed it.
Needed...
Are my midas touches.
Don't blush and gush.
I'm gonna give that midas rush.
You need that midas...
Touch,
That rushes!
You know it's needed.
And I'm here to feed it.
Needed...
Are my midas touches.
Don't blush and gush.
I'm gonna give that midas rush.
Needed...
Are my midas touches.
Like a new hip beat,
That...
Will move your feet.
And...
Needed...
Are my midas touches.
Like a new hip beat,
That...
Will move your feet.
And...
Needed...
Are my midas touches.
Don't rush or cuss...
With a fussing that doesn't do much!
Needed...
Are my midas touches.
Like a new hip beat,
That...
Will move your feet.
And...
Needed...
Are my midas touches.
Don't rush or cuss...
With a fussing that doesn't do much!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The inner magnet sings like flower to bee, like bee to flower
The inner magnet sings
like flower to bee; like bee to flower -
Some traditions say, that
we all have an inner sound; which
we can train; or can leave it be..
as gold for Midas; Midas, so, for gold;
and this, it's said, calls pupil to their teacher;
teacher to their pupil; it is
that yearning to know more
that draws the two to unity;
anmd so the holy men
show no surprise to see you there
(unsure, nonplussed, and wondering..)
at their holy feet which are not theirs..
holy chicken, holy egg...
so here I sit, pen down, and silent, still,
loving this idea; asking nothing;
treasuring, now, this sound
I cannot hear as yet;
and yet, may be as loud
as pindropp silence in the heart:
the lovely sound
of listening itself.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Happiness, Happiness, You are that happiness!
Happiness, happiness,
is it everywhere?
The mirage that life shows,
That runs away and laughs somewhere,
On those run after it,
Soiling hands by toiling with trifles,
Hoping for catching flying birds,
Letting those in their hands!
And that hope make it happen,
Faith that makes all the difference,
only a step at time can make it possible,
Possible, that were looking impossible
Happiness is not in running for some thing great,
When one learn nothing is great,
It will be too late to be happy!
The colourful stars not give us anything,
wonderfull clouds may not give us anything,
Colourful singing birds,
Colourful fragment flowers,
Or trees with full of fruits,
Green mountains and mountain dews,
nothing they give than that strange impulses!
Some flickering thoughts makes us happy,
And some thoughts, selfish and ego centred,
Such thoughts and actions when click!
All that happiness is untrue,
It is a curse in disguise,
But sometime sorrow that brings out the best of one,
And sorrow is blessing in disguise!
Delusion of ego throws in illusion,
Most of us are schizophrenic,
And ignorant, about happiness,
Tree if swing to wind may break or fall!
Either we should be elastic, and we should be rigid,
Yet happiness is neither earned,
Happiness is not gained,
Yet can be lost easily
Paradise is neither can be gained nor attained,
Yet easily can be lost and slip into hell!
Soul is that in paradise and happiness reside,
Soul is that in which all sorrow and hell too reside,
Self is that abode of one where no hell or no paradise lies,
But Self is paradise of paradise,
The supreme paradise is that SELF
out of reach of all paradoxes
Parity
and beyond all parodies!
Happiness is your another name,
As god is your another name,
Your name and shape
is painted on that colourless,
Vacuum,
Which is the source of all happiness.
All life and your dreams!
Look at yourself, thy nature is happiness,
And you can only make all happy,
You art that, who can be all the time happy
What ever happen anywhere,
You are that,
You are that bring all happiness,
All, all, all happiness to all!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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When First I Met Thee
When first I met thee, warm and young,
There shone such truth about thee,
And on thy lip such promise hung,
I did not dare to doubt thee.
I saw thee change, yet still relied,
Still clung with hope the fonder,
And thought, though false to all beside,
From me thou couldst not wander.
But go, deceiver! go,
The heart, whose hopes could make it
Trust one so false, so low,
Deserves that thou shouldst break it.
When every tongue thy follies named,
I fled the unwelcome story,
Or found, in even the faults they blamed,
Some gleams of future glory.
I still was true, when nearer friends
Conspired to wrong, to slight thee;
The heart that now thy falsehood rends
Would then have bled to right thee.
But go, deceiver! go --
Some day, perhaps, thou'lt waken
From pleasure's dream, to know
The grief of hearts forsaken.
Even now, though youth its bloom has shed,
No lights of age adorn thee;
The few who loved thee once have fled,
And they who flatter scorn thee.
Thy midnight cup is pledged to slaves,
No genial ties enwreath it;
The smiling there, like light on graves,
Has rank cold hearts beneath it.
Go -- go -- though worlds were thine,
I would not now surrender
One taintless tear of mine
For all thy guilty splendour!
And days may come, thou false one! yet,
When even those ties shall sever!
When thou wilt call, with vain regret,
On her thou'st lost for ever;
On her who, in thy fortune's fall,
With smiles had still received thee,
And gladly died to prove thee all
Her fancy first believed thee.
Go -- go -- 'tis vain to curse,
'Tis weakness to upbraid thee;
Hate cannot wish thee worse
Than guilt and shame have made thee.
poem by Thomas Moore
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To an Early Daffodil
Thou yellow trumpeter of laggard Spring!
Thou herald of rich Summer's myriad flowers!
The climbing sun with new recovered powers
Does warm thee into being, through the ring
Of rich, brown earth he woos thee, makes thee fling
Thy green shoots up, inheriting the dowers
Of bending sky and sudden, sweeping showers,
Till ripe and blossoming thou art a thing
To make all nature glad, thou art so gay;
To fill the lonely with a joy untold;
Nodding at every gust of wind to-day,
To-morrow jewelled with raindrops. Always bold
To stand erect, full in the dazzling play
Of April's sun, for thou hast caught his gold.
poem by Amy Lowell
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L'Envoi
Thou art the goal for which my spirit longs;
As dove on dove,
Bound for one home, I send thee all my songs
With all my love.
Thou art the haven with fair harbour lights;
Safe locked in thee,
My heart would anchor after stormful nights
Alone at sea.
Thou art the rest of which my life is fain,
The perfect peace;
Absorbed in thee the world, with all its pain
And toil, would cease.
Thou art the heaven to which my soul would go!
O dearest eyes,
Lost in your light you would turn hell below
To Paradise.
Thou all in all for which my heart-blood yearns!
Yea, near or far--
Where the unfathomed ether throbs and burns
With star on star,
Or where, enkindled by the fires of June,
The fresh earth glows,
Blushing beneath the mystical white moon
Through rose on rose--
Thee, thee, I see, thee feel in all live things,
Beloved one;
In the first bird which tremulously sings
Ere peep of sun;
In the last nestling orphaned in the hedge,
Rocked to and fro,
When dying summer shudders in the sedge,
And swallows go;
When roaring snows rush down the mountain-pass,
March floods with rills
Or April lightens through the living grass
In daffodils;
When poppied cornfields simmer in the heat
With tare and thistle,
And, like winged clouds above the mellow wheat,
The starlings whistle;
When stained with sunset the wide moorlands glare
In the wild weather,
And clouds with flaming craters smoke and flare
Red o'er red heather;
When the bent moon, on frostbound midnights waking,
Leans to the snow
Like some world-mother whose deep heart is breaking
O'er human woe.
As the round sun rolls red into the ocean,
Till all the sea
Glows fluid gold, even so life's mazy motion
Is dyed with thee:
For as the wave-like years subside and roll,
O heart's desire,
Thy soul glows interfused within my soul,
A quenchless fire.
Yea, thee I feel, all storms of life above,
Near though afar;
O thou my glorious morning star of love,
And evening star.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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I praise Thee, creator God
I praise Thee, creator God
whose lightning’s roam
the storm clouds unchecked
and set laws
all of nature respect.
I praise Thee, God
when I see Thy lights at night
and they hang above me
twinkling and bright
and everything that Thou have created
has an order and logic to it
and a beauty of construct
and a design
that mere chance
has no grasp to make.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Fable Of Midas
Midas, we are in story told,
Turn'd every thing he touch'd to gold:
He chipp'd his bread; the pieces round
Glitter'd like spangles on the ground:
A codling, ere it went his lip in,
Would straight become a golden pippin.
He call'd for drink; you saw him sup
Potable gold in golden cup:
His empty paunch that he might fill,
He suck'd his victuals thro' a quill.
Untouch'd it pass'd between his grinders,
Or't had been happy for gold-finders:
He cock'd his hat, you would have said
Mambrino's helm adorn'd his head;
Whene'er he chanced his hands to lay
On magazines of corn or hay,
Gold ready coin'd appear'd instead
Of paltry provender and bread;
Hence, we are by wise farmers told
Old hay is equal to old gold:
And hence a critic deep maintains
We learn'd to weigh our gold by grains.
This fool had got a lucky hit;
And people fancied he had wit,
Two gods their skill in music tried
And both chose Midas to decide:
He against Ph[oelig]bus' harp decreed,
And gave it for Pan's oaten reed:
The god of wit, to show his grudge,
Clapt asses' ears upon the judge,
A goodly pair, erect and wide,
Which he could neither gild nor hide.
And now the virtue of his hands
Was lost among Pactolus' sands,
Against whose torrent while he swims
The golden scurf peels off his limbs:
Fame spreads the news, and people travel
From far, to gather golden gravel;
Midas, exposed to all their jeers,
Had lost his art, and kept his ears.
This tale inclines the gentle reader
To think upon a certain leader;
To whom, from Midas down, descends
That virtue in the fingers' ends.
What else by perquisites are meant,
By pensions, bribes, and three per cent.?
By places and commissions sold,
And turning dung itself to gold?
By starving in the midst of store,
As t'other Midas did before?
None e'er did modern Midas chuse
Subject or patron of his muse,
But found him thus their merit scan,
That Phoebus must give place to Pan:
He values not the poet's praise,
Nor will exchange his plums for bays.
To Pan alone rich misers call;
And there's the jest, for Pan is ALL.
Here English wits will be to seek,
Howe'er, 'tis all one in the Greek.
Besides, it plainly now appears
Our Midas, too, has ass's ears:
Where every fool his mouth applies,
And whispers in a thousand lies;
Such gross delusions could not pass
Thro' any ears but of an ass.
But gold defiles with frequent touch,
There's nothing fouls the hand so much;
And scholars give it for the cause
Of British Midas' dirty paws;
Which, while the senate strove to scour,
They wash'd away the chemic power.
While he his utmost strength applied,
To swim against this popular tide,
The golden spoils flew off apace,
Here fell a pension, there a place:
The torrent merciless imbibes
Commissions, perquisites, and bribes,
By their own weight sunk to the bottom;
Much good may't do 'em that have caught 'em!
And Midas now neglected stands,
With ass's ears, and dirty hands.
poem by Jonathan Swift
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Opifex
As I was carving images from clouds,
And tinting them with soft ethereal dyes
Pressed from the pulp of dreams, one comes, and cries:--
"Forbear!" and all my heaven with gloom enshrouds.
"Forbear!" Thou hast no tools wherewith to essay
The delicate waves of that elusive grain:
Wouldst have due recompense of vulgar pain?
The potter's wheel for thee, and some coarse clay!
"So work, if work thou must, O humbly skilled!
Thou hast not known the Master; in thy soul
His spirit moves not with a sweet control;
Thou art outside, and art not of the guild."
Thereat I rose, and from his presence passed,
But, going, murmured:--"To the God above,
Who holds my heart, and knows its store of love,
I turn from thee, thou proud iconoclast."
Then on the shore God stooped to me, and said:--
"He spake the truth: even so the springs are set
That move thy life, nor will they suffer let,
Nor change their scope; else, living, thou wert dead.
"This is thy life: indulge its natural flow,
And carve these forms. They yet may find a place
On shelves for them reserved. In any case,
I bid thee carve them, knowing what I know."
poem by Thomas Edward Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Golden Lights
Golden lights displaying your name
Golden lights its a terrible shame
But oh my darling
Why did you change ?
Boy in a million, idol, a big star
I didnt tell you how great you were
I didnt grovel and scream
And rip your brand new jacket at the seams
You made a record, they liked your singing
All of a sudden the phone stops ringing
Ah ... I never thought that you would let
The glory make you forget
Golden lights displaying your name
Golden lights its a terrible shame
But oh my darling
Why did you change ?
Top ten idol, king of your age
Who do you turn to when youre backstage ?
Dont you remember you once knew a girl
You loved her more than the world
Is life always like this, brother ?
Good for one side but bad for another
I must put you behind me tonight
cause you belong to the lights
Those golden lights displaying your name
Golden lights its a terrible shame
But oh my darling
Why did you change ?
Oh, oh my darling
Why ?
Why did you change ?
Oh ...
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lay Of Christine
TRANSLATED FROM THE ICELANDIC.
Of silk my gear was shapen,
Scarlet they did on me,
Then to the sea-strand was I borne
And laid in a bark of the sea.
O well were I from the World away.
Befell it there I might not drown,
For God to me was good;
The billows bare me up a-land
Where grew the fair green-wood.
O well were I from the World away.
There came a Knight a-riding
With three swains along the way
And he took me up, the little-one,
On the sea-sand as I lay.
O well were I from the World away.
He took me up, and bare me home
To the house that was his own,
And there bode I so long with him
That I was his love alone.
O well were I from the World away.
But the very first night we lay abed
Befell his sorrow and harm,
That thither came the King’s ill men,
And slew him on mine arm.
O well were I from the World away.
There slew they Adalbright the King,
Two of his swains slew they,
But the third sailed swiftly from the land
Sithence I saw him never a day.
O well were I from the World away.
O wavering hope of this world’s bliss,
How shall men trow in thee?
My Grove of Gems is gone away
For mine eyes no more to see!
O well were I from the World away.
Each hour the while my life shall last
Remembereth him alone,
Such heavy sorrow have I got
From our meeting long agone.
O well were I from the World away.
O, early in the morning-tide
Men cry: “Christine the fair,
Art thou well content with that true love
Thou sittest loving there?”
O well were I from the World away.
Ah, yea, so well I love him,
And so dear my love shall be,
That the very God of Heaven aloft
Worshippeth him and me.
O well were I from the World away.
“Ah, all the red gold I have got
Well would I give to-day,
Only for this and nothing else
From the world to win away.”
O well were I from the World away.
“Nay, midst all folk upon the earth
Keep thou thy ruddy gold,
And love withal the mighty lord
That wedded thee of old.”
O well were I from the World away.
poem by William Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hymn 23 part 2
A hopeful youth falling short of heaven.
Mark 10:21.
Must all the charms of nature, then,
So hopeless to salvation prove?
Can hell demand, can heav'n condemn,
The man whom Jesus deigns to love?
The man who sought the ways of truth,
Paid friends and neighbors all their due;
A modest, sober, lovely youth,
And thought he wanted nothing new.
But mark the change; thus spake the Lord-
"Come, part with earth for heav'n today:"
The youth, astonished at the word,
In silent sadness went his way.
Poor virtues that he boasted so,
This test unable to endure;
Let Christ, and grace, and glory go,
To make his land and money sure!
Ah, foolish choice of treasures here!
Ah, fatal love of tempting gold!
Must this base world be bought so dear?
Are life and heav'n so cheaply sold?
In vain the charms of nature shine,
If this vile passion govern me:
Transform my soul, O love divine!
And make me part with all for thee.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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