At Sunset Time
A DOWN the west a golden glow
Sinks burning in the sea,
And all the dreams of long ago
Come flooding back to me.
The past has writ a story strange
Upon my aching heart,
But time has wrought a subtle change,
My wounds have ceased to smart.
No more the quick delight of youth,
No more the sudden pain,
I look no more for trust or truth
Where greed may compass gain.
What, was it I who bared my heart
Through unrelenting years,
And knew the sting of misery's dart,
The tang of sorrow's tears?
'Tis better now, I do not weep,
I do not laugh nor care;
My soul and spirit half asleep
Drift aimless everywhere.
We float upon a sluggish stream,
We ride no rapids mad,
While life is all a tempered dream
And every joy half sad.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Stage Love
WHEN the game began between them for a jest,
He played king and she played queen to match the best;
Laughter soft as tears, and tears that turned to laughter,
These were things she sought for years and sorrowed after.
Pleasure with dry lips, and pain that walks by night;
All the sting and all the stain of long delight;
These were things she knew not of, that knew not of her,
When she played at half a love with half a lover.
Time was chorus, gave them cues to laugh or cry;
They would kill, befool, amuse him, let him die;
Set him webs to weave to-day and break to-morrow,
Till he died for good in play, and rose in sorrow.
What the years mean; how time dies and is not slain;
How love grows and laughs and cries and wanes again;
These were things she came to know, and take their measure,
When the play was played out so for one man’s pleasure.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Escape.
Let me escape,
From my own machinations,
From my own bitter creations,
I feel like I am in an ice cage,
There's half water and half ice,
I am half frozen and half shaky,
I am half alive and half dead,
I feel like breaking through this cage,
My soul wants to runaway,
Breaking these walls,
Out of my isolation,
Out of my despair,
In this revolution,
Out of this confusion,
And escape,
Out of this hollowness,
Out of this pain, half endured and half erupting,
With this volcanic heart, aching hard,
Out of myself,
Out of this lava I breathe...
Out of this story, untold, unread,
And escape, just escape...
poem by Ayesha Riaz
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Requiescit
I cannot tell his story. He was one
To whom the riddle of our human life
Was strangely put, and who, because of that
And that he could not read it, died. But a short hour
Before he passed, the woman who stood by,
Weeping as once she had wept to see him born,
Tired with her watching looked into his face
And saw the heavy eyelids dropping down
Loaded with sleep. And she, for all her tears,
Bent for the hundredth time to ease his bed.
And, as she almost touched him, smoothing out
The ruffled pillows, close into her ear
He whispered, never lifting up his eyes:
``No matter now. I shall be soon asleep.''
And then, as if he would pursue the thought
A little way as once he loved to do,
And yet too weak to catch it, he went on:
``And what a trouble it has been to keep
This pillow smooth! And in a little while
It will not want another touch; and then--
This aching head of mine will have done with thought.
Thought! Thought!'' But loud the aged woman sobbed,
``Poor soul, poor gentleman.'' So they remained
For a brief space, the goodwife standing there
Knotting her wrinkled hands and he hard by
Upon the bed and breathing heavily.
For he seemed sunk again in that dull trance
Through which men often pass away from life,
When death, as the lion does, has shaken his prey
And he lies numb and dumb and powerless.
She listened. He was telling slowly over
The names of those whom he had loved in youth.
Many were strange to her; and then there came
One she knew well. She started at the sound
She had not heard for years, and bending near
Heard him repeat it twice. She whispered hoarsely:
``Have you no word for her?''--yet stopped again
Because his eyes were open. Doubtingly
They wandered to her own and seemed to say
``Who, and what is it that you ask?'' And she
Spoke it again. He seemed to catch the name
And said it after her, but like a child
Which knows not what it speaks; and afterwards:
``Ah! Bridget, I have quite forgot that story,
And now, in half an hour, it is not long,
I shall have clean forgotten the name too.''
She cried, ``Oh Sir, it is a life too late.
Would God you had forgot it long ago!''
The tears stole slowly down her withered cheeks
And fell upon his hands. She did not move
While he went murmuring on: ``'Tis very well
Thus to forget. And what a wonder too
It now is''--and there came a sudden light
Into his eyes--``that one should ever care
To recollect a single day of life.
I used to think and plan and plot and scheme
How I might build my life in such a way
That I should take fine memories to my grave.
And now what a small matter 'tis to know
How the years went, when death in half an hour
Is all that is left of them! No matter now,
But only to sleep sound in any bed
And have no dreams.'' His eyes grew dim again
As he ceased speaking. And the woman knew
That he was dying. ``He is gone,'' she said.
And then she started muttering half aloud
``They cannot pass without the sacraments,
These gentle--folks.'' And so she hurried out.
The dying man smiled. When they came again,
She whispered in his ear, and looking down
Saw him still smiling; so she lit in haste
A candle by the bed and knelt aside.
They put the holy oils upon his hands,
Which closed upon the fingers of the priest.
The priest bent over him and laid his ear
To the half--open mouth and presently,
Thinking he heard some words, gave absolution.
But, when they would have gone on with the rest,
They found that he was dead. They buried him
With some small pomp to comfort the old dame,
Who said her master was a gentleman
And must be followed with a mourning coach
And mutes and weepers. There was no one else.
His name is cut upon a stone. His dreams
Were written on Time's hem; and Time has fled
And taken him and them. The grass is green
Upon his grave. I cannot doubt he sleeps.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The End
After the blast of lightning from the east,
The flourish of loud clouds, the Chariot throne,
After the drums of time have rolled and ceased
And from the bronze west long retreat is blown,
Shall Life renew these bodies? Of a truth
All death will he annul, all tears assuage?
Or fill these void veins full again with youth
And wash with an immortal water age?
When I do ask white Age, he saith not so, --
"My head hangs weighed with snow."
And when I hearken to the Earth she saith
My fiery heart sinks aching. It is death.
Mine ancient scars shall not be glorified
Nor my titanic tears the seas be dried."
poem by Wilfred Owen
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Recovered Heart and Mind
Recovered Heart and Mind
All is change; all yields its place and goes. (Euripedes)
I have thoughts of regrets - my long lost past
My heavy pain now white-feathered yet void of respite and disdain,
My mind and heart now wandering through wild sunflower fields
The memory of my misty past now glowing in my heart,
Like a sunflower's glow of the day - dried up the mist away.
And pain no longer hides behind my smiling eyes,
It left in grace and withered in the glow of the sunny day,
And so my heart that leant itself one time, unleashed its deadened
Dream and walked right back with confidence;
And reign again in my once contented heart and mind.
The elusive dreams I once embroidered over my heart
Now hustled back into my once confused - now sensible mind,
The new tomorrow that spun its way deep down into my heart
Embroidered itself deeper, this time a queen of heart. My once
Insensible and naive heart resolves to dance one music at a time.
poem by Jona PoloRamirez
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Change Myself
Half of me wants to knock you out
Half of me wants to tell you that Im sorry, so sorry
Meanwhile, half of the world wants to scream and
Shout at half of the world
Just like you and i
Just another fact of life
We plan and we scheme
til theres nothing left of our little dream
But half of the time I cant decide and
Half of the time Im petrified
I want to change the world
I want to make it well
How can I change the world
When I cant change myself
Try again tomorrow
Id love to change your mind
Capture your citadel
How could I change your mind
If I cant change myself
Try again tomorrow
Both of us want to win this fight
Both of us think the other is mistaken, so mistaken
Meanwhile, everyone wants to take up sides
So everyone helps us to fall apart
Just another fact of life
Its hard to play fair
And its so easy to pretend to care
But if nobody wants to share the blame
Then everyone gets more of the same
If I want more peace in the world
Then I must make peace with myself
If I want more trust in the world
Then Ive got to trust in myself
If I want more love in the world
I must show more love to myself
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To a Childless Woman
You think I cannot understand. Ah, but I do...
I have been wrung with anger and compassion for you.
I wonder if you’d loathe my pity, if you knew.
But you shall know. I’ve carried in my heart too long
This secret burden. Has not silence wrought your wrong—
Brought you to dumb and wintry middle-age, with grey
Unfruitful withering?—Ah, the pitiless things I say...
What do you ask your God for, at the end of day,
Kneeling beside your bed with bowed and hopeless head?
What mercy can He give you?—Dreams of the unborn
Children that haunt your soul like loving words unsaid—
Dreams, as a song half-heard through sleep in early morn?
I see you in the chapel, where you bend before
The enhaloed calm of everlasting Motherhood
That wounds your life; I see you humbled to adore
The painted miracle you’ve never understood.
Tender, and bitter-sweet, and shy, I’ve watched you holding
Another’s child. O childless woman, was it then
That, with an instant’s cry, your heart, made young again,
Was crucified for ever—those poor arms enfolding
The life, the consummation that had been denied you?
I too have longed for children. Ah, but you must not weep.
Something I have to whisper as I kneel beside you...
And you must pray for me before you fall asleep.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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East Of The Sun
Half of a letter
Tells half a story
The way I see it
It's half the worry
Where I came from
I forgot too soon...
East of the sun
And west of the moon
Money talks
And hey, I'm listening
I've lived without it
Enough to miss it
Where I'm going
I'll get there soon
East of the sun
And west of the moon
Another day leaves me aching
I try to wake up
But something's breaking
Here inside me
Deep and hollow
A sound that no other sound could follow
I know the pain
Before the wound
East of the sun
And west of the moon
song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Unhappy One
“HE is false to the heart!' she said, stern-lipped; 'he is all untruth;
He promises fair as a tree in blossom, and then
The fruit is rotten ere ripe. Tears, prayers and youth,
All withered and wasted! and still—I love this falsest of men!'
Comfort? There is no comfort when the soul sees pain like a sun:
It is better to stare at the blinding truth: if it blind, one woe is done.
We cling to a coward hope, when hope has the seed of the pain:
If we tear out the roots of the grief, it will never torment again.
Ay, even if part of our life is lost, and the deep-laid nerves
That carry all joy to the heart are wounded or killed by the knife;
When a gangrene sinks to the bone, it is only half-death that serves;
And a life with a cureless pain is only half a life.
But why unhealed must the spirit endure? There are drugs for the body's dole;
Have we wholly lived for the lower life? Is there never a balm for the soul?
O Night, cry out for the healer of woe, for the priest-physician cry,
With the pouring oil for the bleeding grief, for the life that may not die!
'He is false to the heart!' she moaned; 'and I love him and cannot hate!'
Then bitterly, fiercely —'What have I done, my God, for such a fate?'
'Poor heart!' said the Teacher; 'for thee and thy sorrow the daily parables speak.
Thy grief, that is dark, illumes for me a sign that was dim and weak.
In the heart of my garden I planted a tree —I had chosen the noblest shoot:
It was sheltered and tended, and hope reached out for the future's precious fruit.
The years of its youth flew past, and I looked on a spreading tree
All gloried with maiden blossoms, that smiled their promise to me.
I lingered to gaze on their color and shape—I knew I had chosen well;
And I smiled at the death that was promise of life as the beautiful petals fell.
But the joy was chilled, though the lip laughed on, by the withered proof to the eye:
The blossoms had shielded no tender bud, but cradled a barren lie.
Before me it lay, the mystery—the asking, the promise, the stone;
The tree that should give good fruit was bare—the cause unseen, unknown!
'But I said: ' Next year it shall bourgeon, my part shall be faithfully done;
My love shall be doubled—I trust my tree for its beautiful strength alone.'
But tenderness failed, and loving care, and the chalice of faith was dried
When the next spring blossoms had spoken their promise smiled at the sun and lied;
The heart of the petals was withered to dust. Then, for duty, I trusted again;
For who should stand if God were to frown on the twice-told failures of men?
Unloving I tended, with care increased, but never a song or smile;
For duty is love that is dead but is kept from the grave for a while.
The third year came, with the sweet young leaves, and I could not fear or doubt;
But the petals smiled at the sun and lied,—and the curse in my blood leaped out!
'This corpse,' I cried, 'that has cumbered the earth, let it hence to the waste be torn!'
That moment of wrath beheld its death—while to me was a life-truth born:
The straight young trunk at my feet lay prone; and I bent to scan the core,
And there read the pitiful secret the noble sapling bore.
Through the heart of the pith, in its softest youth, it had bored its secret way,
A gnawing worm, a hideous grief,—and the life it had tortured lay
Accursed and lost for the cruel devil that nestled its breast within.
Ah, me, poor heart! had I known in time, I had cut out the clinging sin,
And saved the life that was all as good and as noble as it seemed!'
He ceased, and she rose, the unresigned, as one who had slept and dreamed;
Her face was radiant with insight: 'It is true! it is true!' she said;
'And my love shall not die, like your beautiful tree, till the hidden pain is dead!'
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Growing Old
What is it to grow old?
Is it to lose the glory of the form,
The lustre of the eye?
Is it for beauty to forego her wreath?
Yes, but not for this alone.
Is it to feel our strength
Not our bloom only, but our strength decay?
Is it to feel each limb
Grow stiffer, every function less exact,
Each nerve more weakly strung?
Yes, this, and more! but not,
Ah, 'tis not what in youth we dreamed 'twould be!
'Tis not to have our life
Mellowed and softened as with sunset-glow,
A golden day's decline!
'Tis not to see the world
As from a height, with rapt prophetic eyes,
And heart profoundly stirred;
And weep, and feel the fulness of the past,
The years that are no more!
It is to spend long days
And not once feel that we were ever young.
It is to add, immured
In the hot prison of the present, month
To month with weary pain.
It is to suffer this,
And feel but half, and feebly, what we feel:
Deep in our hidden heart
Festers the dull remembrance of a change,
But no emotion none.
It is last stage of all
When we are frozen up within, and quite
The phantom of ourselves,
To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost
Which blamed the living man.
poem by Matthew Arnold (1867)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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East Of The Sun, West Of The Moon
(pal waaktaar)
Half of a letter
Tells half a story
The way I see it
Its half the worry
Where I came from
I forgot too soon...
East of the sun
And west of the moon
Money talks
And hey, Im listening
Ive lived without it
Enough to miss it
Where Im going
Ill get there soon
East of the sun
And west of the moon
Another day leaves me aching
I try to wake up
But somethings breaking
Here inside me
Deep and hollow
A sound that no other sound could follow
I know the pain
Before the wound
East of the sun
And west of the moon
song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Strange Delight
(ferry/manzanera)
So there goes your life
Disappeared from ever loving friends
And now a slave to obsession
Your strange delight
You lie awake
How your senses ache
Shaking off the night
Is there more strange delight?
There goes your self
In the clear forever out of line
And there youll stay through obsession
Your strange delight
Cant bear this heat
You poor heart skips a beat
Tearing off the years
To when you really cared
So where's your soul?
In the field where every story ends
And then how plain your obsession
Your strange delight
So this is hell
Not so hard to tell
Better men than i
Have tried your strange delight
Is there no strange delight?
song performed by by Roxy Music
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Change
Dont you ever wonder why, nothing ever seems to change
If it does its for the worse, seems its just a modern curse
Sometimes when I take a peek outside of my little cage,
Everyone looks so asleep, will they die before they wake
And, hey. . . dont you know? were just products of our time and hey . . .
What dya say? show me yours, Ill show you mine
Better dumb and happy than smart and without any friends
Better cute and better loud, better join up with the crowd
Keep up or be left behind, theres a dust storm in my mind
Seems I cant see straight these days, doesnt matter anyway
Hey . . . dont you know? were just products of our times and
Hey, what dya say? show me yours, Ill show you mine
Hey, what dya say? hey, what dya say? please dont ever -
Oh god, heres that question now. the one that makes me go insane
Id gladly tear my heart out if you never, never, never, never change
Do you want to change? do you want to change right now?
Do you want to change . . . I like my stupid life, just the way it is
And I wouldnt even change it for a thousand flying pigs
And I like you just the way you are, I like your face just the way it is
And I wouldnt even change it for a herd of screaming kids
And I like you just the way you are, I like you though you may not like me back
I would dazzle you with brilliance, if I only had the knack
cause I like you just the way you are, I like this life just the way it is
And the castles all around me, have been melting now for years
And it kills my brain to think of all the time I wasted here
All the efforts, sweat, and broken hearts, the screaming and the tears
And Im dreaming again . . . floating in a pool of mud
Try to get back where I was and I dont really care
Got a little talking to, by the mirror in my room, and I dont really care . . .
Whispering voices from the dead, come from underneath my bed
And I dont really care . . .
I like my stupid life just the way it is
And the chaos that surrounds me like a flock of screaming pigs
And it hurts my brain to think of all the stupid things Ive said
And if I could change the future I would change the past instead
And Im dreaming again . . . and Im dreaming again . . .
Baby - sometimes I worry about you
Sometimes youre so far away, tell me what to do
I say, baby . . . sometimes I worry about you
Sometimes I just cant believe everything you do
I say, baby . . . sometimes I worry about you
Every day I feel the same, dont you feel it too
I say, baby . . . sometimes I worry about me
Seems Im falling down a lot, in between the scenes
I say, baby . . . sometimes I worry about me
Getting harder all the time, harder now to see
I say, baby . . . sometimes I worry about me
Light another cigarette, have another dream
Its the same thing every day, nothing ever seems to change and I . . .
Do you really want to change?
Testaments and growing pains. tranquilizers for the soul.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained - evolutions cruelest joke
Why is everyone upset? I once knew but I forget. something happened,
Something strange, something it appears has changed
Hey . . . dont you know? were just products of our times
And hey, what dya say? show me yours, Ill show you mine
Hey, what dya say? hey, what dya say? please dont ever -
Oh god, heres that question now, the one that makes me go insane
Id gladly tear my heart out if you never, never, never, never change
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pen And The Album
'I am Miss Catherine's book,' the album speaks;
'I've lain among your tomes these many weeks;
I'm tired of their old coats and yellow cheeks.
'Quick, Pen! and write a line with a good grace:
Come! draw me off a funny little face;
And, prithee, send me back to Chesham Place.'
PEN.
'I am my master's faithful old Gold Pen;
I've served him three long years, and drawn since then
Thousands of funny women and droll men.
'O Album! could I tell you all his ways
And thoughts, since I am his, these thousand days,
Lord, how your pretty pages I'd amaze!'
ALBUM.
'His ways? his thoughts? Just whisper me a few;
Tell me a curious anecdote or two,
And write 'em quickly off, good Mordan, do!'
PEN.
'Since he my faithful service did engage
To follow him through his queer pilgrimage,
I've drawn and written many a line and page.
'Caricatures I scribbled have, and rhymes,
And dinner-cards, and picture pantomimes;
And merry little children's books at times.
'I've writ the foolish fancy of his brain;
The aimless jest that, striking, hath caused pain;
The idle word that he'd wish back again.
. . . . . .
'I've help'd him to pen many a line for bread;
To joke with sorrow aching in his head;
And make your laughter when his own heart bled.
'I've spoke with men of all degree and sort—
Peers of the land, and ladies of the Court;
Oh, but I've chronicled a deal of sport!
'Feasts that were ate a thousand days ago,
Biddings to wine that long hath ceased to flow,
Gay meetings with good fellows long laid low;
'Summons to bridal, banquet, burial, ball,
Tradesman's polite reminders of his small
Account due Christmas last—I've answered all.
'Poor Diddler's tenth petition for a half-
Guinea; Miss Bunyan's for an autograph;
So I refuse, accept, lament, or laugh,
'Condole, congratulate, invite, praise, scoff.
Day after day still dipping in my trough,
And scribbling pages after pages off.
'Day after day the labor's to be done,
And sure as comes the postman and the sun,
The indefatigable ink must run.
. . . . .
'Go back, my pretty little gilded tome,
To a fair mistress and a pleasant home,
Where soft hearts greet us whensoe'er we come!
'Dear, friendly eyes, with constant kindness lit,
However rude my verse, or poor my wit,
Or sad or gay my mood, you welcome it.
'Kind lady! till my last of lines is penn'd,
My master's love, grief, laughter, at an end,
Whene'er I write your name, may I write friend!
'Not all are so that were so in past years;
Voices, familiar once, no more he hears;
Names, often writ, are blotted out in tears.
'So be it:—joys will end and tears will dry—
Album! my master bids me wish good-by,
He'll send you to your mistress presently.
'And thus with thankful heart he closes you;
Blessing the happy hour when a friend he knew
So gentle, and so generous, and so true.
'Nor pass the words as idle phrases by;
Stranger! I never writ a flattery,
Nor sign'd the page that register'd a lie.'
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Good For Your Soul
Have you ever felt that somehow
You were not yourself
That your body was the same
But everything around you wasnt right
And images so strange and foreign
Flooded in like raging water
Have you ever been in love
With someone you hardly knew
Whereas every time you closed your eyes,
You saw this person come alive
It kept you wide awake at night
You felt like you were burning up
In pain, you want to scream
Then you passed out in a dream
Chorus
Just once or twice is good for your soul
Just once or twice is good for your soul
If you dont stop, youll lose control
Just once or twice is good for your soul
Every lay there half asleep all hours of the night
With some nagging demon tugging at that tiny bell
Inside your mind
When suddenly that strange idea
Bursts into an inspiration
You grab for it and then
The whole thing slips right through your fingers
Chorus
Just once or twice is good for your soul
Just once or twice is good for your soul
Just once or twice is good for your soul
Just once or twice is good for your soul
Its good for your soul
Its good for your soul
Its good for your soul
Its good for your soul
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Will Forget Me
You will forget me. The years are so tender,
They bind up the wounds which we think are so deep,
This dream of our youth will fade out as the splendour
Fades from the skies when the sun sinks to sleep,
The cloud of forgetfulness, over and over
Will banish the last rosy colours away,
And the fingers of time will weave garlands to cover
The scar which you think is a life-mark today.
You will forget me. The one boon you covet
Now above all things will soon. seem no prize,
And the heart, which you hold not in keeping to prove it
True or untrue, will lose worth in your eyes.
The one drop to-day, that you deem only wanting
To fill your life-cup to the brim, soon will seem
But a valueless mite; and the ghost that is haunting
The aisles of your heart will pass out with the dream.
You will forget me, will thank me for saying
The words which you think are so pointed with pain.
Time loves a new lay, and the dirge he is playing
Will change for you soon to a livelier strain.
I shall pass from your life, I shall pass out forever,
And these hours we have spent will be sunk in the past.
Youth buries its dead, grief kills seldom or never
And forgetfulness covers all sorrows at last.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Don't Want You Around Me Anymore
Writers Dolly Parton, Bill Owens
Copyright 1967
You think you're so smart you think I should throw my heart
Down at your feet every time that you walk by
But I I've got news for you cause I don't care for you
And I don't care honey if you love me or not
If you were half as smart as you think you are
The world would be a standin' at your door
But I I won't be there cause I no longer care
And I don't want you around me anymore
Because you can't have your way you tell me everyday
I should grow up stop acting like a child
But I I think it's you that's got some growing to do
And honey I think it's gonna take you quite a while
If you were half as smart...
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poor Withered Rose
_A Song_
Poor withered rose, she gave it me,
Half in revenge and half in glee;
Its petals not so pink by half
As are her lips when curled to laugh,
As are her cheeks when dimples gay
In merry mischief o'er them play.
_Chorus_
Forgive, forgive, it seems unkind
To cast thy petals to the wind;
But it is right, and lest I err
So scatter I all thought of her.
Poor withered rose, so like my heart,
That wilts at sorrow's cruel dart.
Who hath not felt the winter's blight
When every hope seemed warm and bright?
Who doth not know love unreturned,
E'en when the heart most wildly burned?
Poor withered rose, thou liest dead;
Too soon thy beauty's bloom hath fled.
'Tis not without a tearful ruth
I watch decay thy blushing youth;
And though thy life goes out in dole,
Thy perfume lingers in my soul.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Epitaph on her Son H. P.
WHat on Earth deserves our trust ?
Youth and Beauty both are dust.
Long we gathering are with pain,
What one moment calls again.
Seven years childless, marriage past,
A Son, a son is born at last :
So exactly lim'd and fair.
Full of good Spirits, Meen, and Air,
As a long life promised,
Yet, in less than six weeks dead.
Too promising, too great a mind
In so small room to be confin'd :
Therefore, as fit in Heav'n to dwell,
He quickly broke the Prison shell.
So the subtle Alchimist,
Can't with Hermes Seal resist
The powerful spirit's subtler flight,
But t'will bid him long good night.
And so the Sun if it arise
Half so glorious as his Eyes,
Like this Infant, takes a shrowd,
Buried in a morning Cloud.
poem by Katherine Philips
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ride Away
Orbison/dees
Two wheels a turnin
One girl a yearnin
Big motor burnin the road
Ill ride the highway
Im going my way
Ill leave a story untold
Pretty girls behind me but pretty girls are everywhere
Big motor wind up, ride away from here
Ride away
She wont approve of things I do or what I am
And I dont really give a ...... I understand
But shell never see that Ill never be
Any one but me
She thinks she needs me, she cries for me
But I know shes lying, crying for others to see
What can I say, Ill just ride away
Big motor run run (background) ride ride away
Ride on away from big motor run run
Heart-ache and misery
Im bound to wander
Way over yonder
Someone be waitin just for me
True love to cling to, I need a dream to share
Someone to know me, someone to show me they care
Ride away, ride away
>from tears and sorrow
Like theres no tomorrow
Tonight Ill ride away
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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