The Two Workmen
MILO. BATTUS.
MILO.
Well, my poor ploughman, and what ails thee now?
Thy furrow lies not even as of yore:
They fellows leave behind thy lagging plough,
As the flock leaves a ewe whose feet are sore:
By noon and midday what will be thy plight
If now, so soon, thy coulter fails to bite?
BATTUS.
Hewn from hard rocks, untired at set of sun,
Milo, didst ne'er regret some absent one?
MILO.
Not I. What time have workers for regret?
BATTUS.
Hath love ne'er kept thee from thy slumbers yet?
MILO.
Nay, heaven forbid! If once the cat taste cream!
BATTUS.
Milo, these ten days love hath been my dream.
MILO.
You drain your wine, while vinegar's scarce with me.
BATTUS.
-Hence since last spring untrimmed my borders be.
MILO.
And what lass flouts thee?
BATTUS.
She whom we heard play
Amongst Hippocoon's reapers yesterday.
MILO.
Your sins have found you out-you're e'en served right:
You'll clasp a corn-crake in your arms all night.
BATTUS.
You laugh: but headstrong Love is blind no less
Than Plutus: talking big is foolishness.
MILO.
I don't talk big. But lay the corn-ears low
And sing the while some love-song-easier so
Will seem your toil: you used to sing, I know.
BATTUS.
Maids of Pieria, of my slim lass sing!
One touch of yours ennobles everything. [Sings.]
My sweet! on thy complexion men remark;
Call thee shrunk, swart: I call thee olive-brown.
Violets and pencilled hyacinths are dark,
Yet first of flowers they're chosen for a crown.
As goats pursue the clover, wolves the goat,
And cranes the ploughman, upon thee I dote.
Had I but Croesus' wealth, we twain should stand,
Gold-sculptured, in Love's temple: thou should'st play
Thy pipe, a rose or apple in thy hand,
I flaunt my minstrel's robe and sandals gay.
Bombyca! twinkling ebony are thy feet,
Honey thy mouth, thy ways none knows how sweet!
MILO.
Fine verses can this unknown herdsman make-
How shone the artist in each measured line!
Why, lad, that beard grew on thee by mistake!
List to this stave, by Lytierse the divine. [Sings.]
O rich in fruit and cornblade: be this field
Tilled well, Demeter, and fair fruitage yield!
Bind the sheaves, reapers: lest one, passing, say-
'A fig for these, they're never worth their pay.'
Let the mown swathes look northward, ye who mow,
Or westward-for the ears grow fattest so.
Avoid a noontide nap, ye threshing men:
The chaff flies thickest from the corn-ears then.
Wake when the lark wakes; when he slumbers, close
Your work, ye reapers: and at noontide doze.
Boys, the frogs' life for me! They need not him
Who fills the flagon, for in drink they swim.
Better boil herbs, thou toiler after gain,
Than, splitting cummin, split thy hand in twain.
This that I've sung thee, ploughman, is a tune
For men to sing that swelter in the sun.
Thy meagre love-tale is a thing to croon
In thy mamma's ear when her dreams are done.
poem by Theocritus
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The Herdsmen
BATTUS.
Who owns these cattle, Corydon? Philondas? Prythee say.
CORYDON.
No, AEgon: and he gave them me to tend while he's away.
BATTUS.
Dost milk them in the gloaming, when none is nigh to see?
CORYDON.
The old man brings the calves to suck, and keeps an eye on me.
BATTUS.
And to what region then hath flown the cattle's rightful lord?
CORYDON.
Hast thou not heard? With Milo he vanished Elis-ward.
BATTUS.
How! was the wrestler's oil e'er yet so much as seen by him?
CORYDON.
Men say he rivals Heracles in lustiness of limb.
BATTUS.
I'm Polydeuces' match (or so my mother says) and more.
CORYDON.
-So off he started; with a spade, and of these ewes a score.
BATTUS.
This Milo will be teaching wolves how they should raven next.
CORYDON.
-And by these bellowings his kine proclaim how sore they're vexed.
BATTUS.
Poor kine! they've found their master a sorry knave indeed.
CORYDON.
They're poor enough, I grant you: they have not heart to feed.
BATTUS.
Look at that heifer! sure there's naught, save bare bones, left of her.
Pray, does she browse on dewdrops, as doth the grasshopper?
CORYDON.
Not she, by heaven! She pastures now by AEsarus' glades,
And handfuls fair I pluck her there of young and green grass-blades;
Now bounds about Latymnus, that gathering-place of shades.
BATTUS.
That bull again, the red one, my word but he is lean!
I wish the Sybarite burghers aye may offer to the queen
Of heaven as pitiful a beast: those burghers are so mean!
CORYDON.
Yet to the Salt Lake's edges I drive him, I can swear;
Up Physcus, up Neaethus' side-he lacks not victual there,
With dittany and endive and foxglove for his fare.
BATTUS.
Well, well! I pity AEgon. His cattle, go they must
To rack and ruin, all because vain-glory was his lust.
The pipe that erst he fashioned is doubtless scored with rust?
CORYDON.
Nay, by the Nymphs! That pipe he left to me, the self-same day
He made for Pisa: I am too a minstrel in my way:
Well the flute-part in 'Pyrrhus' and in 'Glauca' can I play.
I sing too 'Here's to Croton' and 'Zacynthus O 'tis fair,'
And 'Eastward to Lacinium:'-the bruiser Milo there
His single self ate eighty loaves; there also did he pull
Down from its mountain-dwelling, by one hoof grasped, a bull,
And gave it Amaryllis: the maidens screamed with fright;
As for the owner of the bull he only laughed outright.
BATTUS.
Sweet Amaryllis! thou alone, though dead, art unforgot.
Dearer than thou, whose light is quenched, my very goats are not.
Oh for the all-unkindly fate that's fallen to my lot!
CORYDON.
Cheer up, brave lad! tomorrow may ease thee of thy pain:
Aye for the living are there hopes, past' hoping are the slain:
And now Zeus sends us sunshine, and now he sends us rain.
BATTUS.
I'm better. Beat those young ones off! E'en now their teeth attack
That olive's shoots, the graceless brutes! Back, with your white face,
back!
CORYDON.
Back to thy hill, Cymaetha! Great Pan, how deaf thou art!
I shall be with thee presently, and in the end thou'lt smart.
I warn thee, keep thy distance. Look, up she creeps again!
Oh were my hare-crook in nay hand, I'd give it to her then!
BATTUS.
For heaven's sake, Corydon, look here! Just now a bramble-spike
Ran, there, into my instep-and oh how deep they strike,
Those lancewood-shafts! A murrain light on that calf, I say!
I got it gaping after her. Canst thou discern it, pray?
CORYDON.
Ay, ay; and here I have it, safe in my finger-nails.
BATTUS.
Eh! at how slight a matter how tall a warrior quails!
CORYDON.
Ne'er range the hill-crest, Battus, all sandal-less and bare:
Because the thistle and the thorn lift aye their plumed heads there.
BATTUS.
-Say, Corydon, does that old man we wot of (tell me please!)
Still haunt the dark-browed little girl whom once he used to tease?
CORYDON.
Ay my poor boy, that doth he: I saw them yesterday
Down by the byre; and, trust me, loving enough were they.
BATTUS.
Well done, my veteran light-o'-love! In deeming thee mere man,
I wronged thy sire: some Satyr he, or an uncouth-limbed Pan.
poem by Theocritus
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The song Venus de Milo, the whole subject of it is Love is a drug.
quote by Tom Verlaine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sometimes I'm an ass, sometimes I'm sweet as peaches.
quote by Milo Ventimiglia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'd love to hold a koala. They sleep 22 hours a day, eat eucalyptus leaves and just hang out. I want to spend some time with that guy.
quote by Milo Ventimiglia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part IV: Vita Nova: CII
THE VENUS OF MILO
What art thou? Woman? Goddess? Aphrodite?
Yet never such as thou from the cold foam
Of ocean, nor from cloudy heaven might come,
Who wast begotten on her bridal night
In passionate Earth's womb by Man's delight,
When Man was young. I cannot trace in thee
Time's handiwork. Say, rather, where is he
For whom thy face was red which is so white?
Thou standest ravished, broken, and thy face
Is writ with ancient passions. Thou art dumb
To my new love. Yet, whatsoe'er of good,
Of crime, of pride, of passion, or of grace
In woman is, thou, woman, hast in sum.
Earth's archetypal Eve. All Womanhood.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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You have to pay attention to the work on the page and make it as good as possible because it could be your last.
quote by Milo Ventimiglia
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I Await Thee
When thou art gone;
I sing my lonely song.
When thou art gone;
My waking hours are filled only with thoughts of thee.
When I sleep,
My dreams are filled with thee-
As I long for thee.
My love;
I await thee-
Lonely day,
After lonely day.
Lonely night,
After lonely night.
When The sun shines bright,
And the songbirds sing their joyous chorus-
I remember our love-
As I long for thee.
I await thee,
My love-
Throughout the lonely day-
Till the setting sun dwindles in dusk’s twilight-
Beyond golden pastures-
Fading in the night.
My love;
I long for thee.
My love;
I await thee-
Throughout the lonely night,
As the crickets chirp their symphony,
And in the darkness,
Like floating candles,
The fireflies glow.
And I remember our love,
As I gaze at the silver moon,
And diamond stars.
And I Forever embrace this love of ours.
As I sleep at night,
I dream only of being with thee,
My love.
As I awake,
And the sun rises at dawn over the emerald mountain tops,
I await thee,
My love.
Longing for thee-
Day through day,
Night through night-
I await thee,
My love.
My love;
When thou art gone;
I sing my lonely song…
poem by Philip Alarie
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Awaiting Thee
When thou art gone;
I sing my lonely song.
When thou art gone;
My waking hours are filled only with thoughts of thee.
When I sleep,
My dreams are filled with thee-
As I long for thee.
My love;
I await thee-
Lonely day,
After lonely day.
Lonely night,
After lonely night.
When The sun shines bright,
And the songbirds sing their joyous chorus-
It reminds me of this love of ours-
As I long for thee.
I await thee,
My love-
Throughout the lonely day-
Till the setting sun dwindles in dusk’s twilight-
Beyond golden pastures-
Fading in the night.
My love;
I long for thee.
My love;
I await thee-
Throughout the lonely night,
As the crickets chirp their symphony,
And in the darkness,
Like floating candles,
The fireflies glow.
And I remember our love,
As I gaze at the silver moon,
And diamond stars.
Forever embracing this love of ours.
As I sleep at night,
I dream only of being with thee,
My love.
As I awake,
And the sun rises at dawn over the emerald mountain tops,
I await thee,
My love.
Longing for you-
Day through day,
Night through night-
I await thee,
My love.
My love;
When thou art gone;
I sing my lonely song…
poem by Philip Alarie
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Enjoy every moment.
quote by Milo Ventimiglia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Devotion, Captain Tobias Hume's The First Part of Airs, &c.
FAIN would I change that note
To which fond Love hath charm'd me
Long, long to sing by rote,
Fancying that that harm'd me:
Yet when this thought doth come,
'Love is the perfect sum
Of all delight,'
I have no other choice
Either for pen or voice
To sing or write.
O Love! they wrong thee much
That say thy sweet is bitter,
When thy rich fruit is such
As nothing can be sweeter.
Fair house of joy and bliss,
Where truest pleasure is,
I do adore thee:
I know thee what thou art,
I serve thee with my heart,
And fall before thee.
They Shall Not Know
When thou art happy, thou dear heart of pleasure,
Because men love thee and the feasts are spread,
And Fortune in thy lap has poured her treasure,
And Spring is there and roses crown thy head,
Then think of one who loved thee for his woe,
And, if thou sigh
With others by,
They shall not know.
When thou art silent in thy day of trouble,
Because fools vex and thou hast rivals found
And love has played thee falser than a bubble
And memory stings and grief is as a wound,
Then think of one whose hand first soothed thy brow,
And, if a smile
Thy tears beguile,
These shall not know.
When all is ended, thou pale ghost of sorrow,
And time's last flower is gathered from the grove,
And yesterday to thee is as to--morrow
And there is none to speak to thee of love,
Then sing these songs one made thee long ago,
And men shall swear
Thou still art fair--
Yet shall not know.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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I'm tough on the outside and soft on the inside... I'm really a shy guy.
quote by Milo Ventimiglia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Mary in Heaven
I.
I met thee first in May, Mary!
The flower-crowned month of May;
But now thou art away, Mary!
Away from me—away!
Thou wert that all to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
II.
Ah! then thine eyes were mild, Mary!
Thy deep blue eyes were mild;
For thou wert then a child, Mary!
And I another child.
Thou wert that all to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
III.
Thy face was then so meek, Mary!
So saintly mild, so meek,
Thy lily-form seemed weak, Mary!
And mine for thine grew weak
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
IV.
You led me through the meads, Mary!
The flower-enameled meads,
By brooks of rustling reeds, Mary!
By brooks of rustling reeds—
Where thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
V.
Wherever you then went, Mary!
No matter where you went—
I followed with content, Mary!
Because you were content.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
VI.
I recollect the morn, Mary!
The beautiful May-Morn,
Beside the Field of Corn, Mary!
The rustling reeds of Corn—
That thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
VII.
Ah! then I took thy hand, Mary!
Thy lily snow-white hand;
And walked along the sand, Mary!
The milk-white road of sand.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
VIII.
I caught thee round the waist, Mary!
The slender Sylph-like waist,
And felt my heart beat fast, Mary!
Because thine own beat fast.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
IX.
Such words fell from thy tongue, Mary!
Such sweet words from thy tongue,
That when you talked you sung, Mary!
You never talked but sung.
Then thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
X.
Thus through the month of May, Mary!
The flower-crowned month of May,
We, courting, went to play, Mary!
And courted in our play.
The years were then to me, Mary!
As hours are now to me;
As time is now to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
XI.
For Love knows nought of years, Mary!
Love nothing knows of years;
And sheds no bitter tears, Mary!
Time measured is by tears.
Thus thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
XII.
What thou art now above, Mary!
I was, as if above;
For Heaven is made of love, Mary!
And I was full of love.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
XIII.
But now these days are gone, Mary!
These halcyon days are gone!
And I am left alone, Mary!
Alone on earth-- alone!
What would I give to see, Mary!
Thy precious form to see?
All thou wouldst give to be, Mary!
In this dark world with me.
poem by Thomas Holley Chivers from Eonchs of Ruby (1851)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I'm a homebody, I'd rather be in the kitchen cooking than hanging out in a bar.
quote by Milo Ventimiglia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Love Thee
I love thee—I love thee!
'Tis all that I can say;—
It is my vision in the night,
My dreaming in the day;
The very echo of my heart,
The blessing when I pray:
I love thee—I love thee!
Is all that I can say.
I love thee—I love thee!
Is ever on my tongue;
In all my proudest poesy
That chorus still is sung;
It is the verdict of my eyes,
Amidst the gay and young:
I love thee—I love thee!
A thousand maids among.
I love thee—I love thee!
Thy bright hazel glance,
The mellow lute upon those lips,
Whose tender tones entrance;
But most, dear heart of hearts, thy proofs
That still these words enhance,
I love thee—I love thee!
Whatever be thy chance.
poem by Thomas Hood
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The first sign of a nervous breakdown is when you start thinking your work is terribly important.
quote by Milo Bloom
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm happy to be on a show that's bridging that gap of 'Okay, I'm not a teenager anymore, I'm a man.'
quote by Milo Ventimiglia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My sisters and mom raised me to respect women and open doors for them.
quote by Milo Ventimiglia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When archaeologists discover the missing arms of Venus de Milo, they will find she was wearing boxing gloves.
quote by John Barrymore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Intrigue
THOU art my love
And thou art the peace of sundown
When the blue shadows soothe
And the grasses and the leaves sleep
To the song of the little brooks
Woe is me.
Thou art my love,
And thou art a storm
That breaks black in the sky
And, sweeping headlong,
Drenches and cowers each tree
And at the panting end
There is no sound
Save the melancholy cry of a single owl
Woe is me!
Thou art my love
And thou art a tinsel thing
And I in my play
Broke thee easily
And from the little fragments
Arose my long sorrow
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a weary violet
Drooping from sun-caresses.
Answering mine carelessly
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art the ashes of other men's love
And I bury my face in these ashes
And I love them
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art the beard
On another man's face
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a temple
And in this temple is an altar
And on this altar is my heart
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a wretch.
Let these sacred love-lies choke thee
For I am come to where I know your lies as truth
And your truth as lies
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a priestess
And in thy hand is a bloody dagger
And my doom comes to me surely
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art a skull with ruby eyes
And I love thee
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And I doubt thee
And if peace came with my murder
Then would I murder
Woe is me.
Thou art my love
And thou art death
Aye, thou art death
Black and yet black
But I love thee
I love thee
Woe, welcome woe, to me.
poem by Stephen Crane
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