Elvira
Elvira, Elvira
My hear's on fire for Elvira
We look like dought, lips like sherry wine
She can sure enough make my little light shine
I get a funny feelin' up and down my spine
'Cause I know that my Elvira's mine
Giddy up oom poppa omm poppa mow mow
Giddy up oom poppa omm poppa mow mow
Heigh-ho silver, away
Elvira, Elvira
My hear's on fire for Elvira
Tonight I'm gonna meet her to hungry house cafe
And I'm gonna give her all the love I can
She's gonna jump and holler
'Cause I saved up two dollars
She's gonna search and find that preacher man
Elvira, Elvira
My hear's on fire for Elvira
Elvira, Elvira
Elvira, na, na, na, na, na, na, na
Elvira, na, na, na, na, na, na, na
Elvira, na, na, na, na, na, na, na
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
His Inspiration
His Inspiration
A-And dwell in life
from your grandest heart,
I- I pray to God
we'll never depart,
L-Love, understanding
and care,
Y-You have these all -
beyond compare;
N-Nothing can contrast you
My AILYN dear!
poem by Elvira Marchan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Maria By Callas
Fanny Ardant, Maria Callas, Aristotle Onassis, Vittorio De Sica, Pier Paolo Pasolini, Luchino Visconti, Omar Sharif, Brigitte Bardot, Elvira de Hidalgo, Jacqueline Kennedy, Giovanni Battista Meneghini
from Maria By Callas (2017)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Dont You Know? ? ?
Trust in me my love
That what I feel for you is more than lust
Don't you know that my love for you is innocent as a white dove
And I don't want your money, all I want and need is your trust
Don't you know that my love for you burns within me like fire
So trust in me mi amor, don't be mean naughty boy be kind
Don't you know I love you and I'm melting with desire
I desire you my darling, and you're always on my mind
Don't you know that I don't care about the money
I'll be your queen, if you'll be my king
And we'll live happily ever after my sweet honey
Don't you worry, that I don't need no fancy ring
I love you with all your virtues and all your flaws
Don't you know that you're my muse, you're my inspiration
And I would fight for your love with my fangs and claws
Don't you know all I want is your trust and love and in return I'll give you my love and all my dedication
poem by Elvira A Gasser
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ferdinando and Elvira
PART I.
At a pleasant evening party I had taken down to supper
One whom I will call ELVIRA, and we talked of love and TUPPER,
MR. TUPPER and the Poets, very lightly with them dealing,
For I've always been distinguished for a strong poetic feeling.
Then we let off paper crackers, each of which contained a motto,
And she listened while I read them, till her mother told her not
to.
Then she whispered, "To the ball-room we had better, dear, be
walking;
If we stop down here much longer, really people will be talking."
There were noblemen in coronets, and military cousins,
There were captains by the hundred, there were baronets by dozens.
Yet she heeded not their offers, but dismissed them with a
blessing,
Then she let down all her back hair, which had taken long in
dressing.
Then she had convulsive sobbings in her agitated throttle,
Then she wiped her pretty eyes and smelt her pretty smelling-
bottle.
So I whispered, "Dear ELVIRA, say, - what can the matter be with
you?
Does anything you've eaten, darling POPSY, disagree with you?"
But spite of all I said, her sobs grew more and more distressing,
And she tore her pretty back hair, which had taken long in
dressing.
Then she gazed upon the carpet, at the ceiling, then above me,
And she whispered, "FERDINANDO, do you really, REALLY love me?"
"Love you?" said I, then I sighed, and then I gazed upon her
sweetly -
For I think I do this sort of thing particularly neatly.
"Send me to the Arctic regions, or illimitable azure,
On a scientific goose-chase, with my COXWELL or my GLAISHER!
"Tell me whither I may hie me - tell me, dear one, that I may know
-
Is it up the highest Andes? down a horrible volcano?"
But she said, "It isn't polar bears, or hot volcanic grottoes:
Only find out who it is that writes those lovely cracker mottoes!"
PART II.
"Tell me, HENRY WADSWORTH, ALFRED POET CLOSE, or MISTER TUPPER,
Do you write the bon bon mottoes my ELVIRA pulls at supper?"
But HENRY WADSWORTH smiled, and said he had not had that honour;
And ALFRED, too, disclaimed the words that told so much upon her.
"MISTER MARTIN TUPPER, POET CLOSE, I beg of you inform us;"
But my question seemed to throw them both into a rage enormous.
MISTER CLOSE expressed a wish that he could only get anigh to me;
And MISTER MARTIN TUPPER sent the following reply to me:
"A fool is bent upon a twig, but wise men dread a bandit," -
Which I know was very clever; but I didn't understand it.
Seven weary years I wandered - Patagonia, China, Norway,
Till at last I sank exhausted at a pastrycook his doorway.
There were fuchsias and geraniums, and daffodils and myrtle,
So I entered, and I ordered half a basin of mock turtle.
He was plump and he was chubby, he was smooth and he was rosy,
And his little wife was pretty and particularly cosy.
And he chirped and sang, and skipped about, and laughed with
laughter hearty -
He was wonderfully active for so very stout a party.
And I said, "O gentle pieman, why so very, very merry?
Is it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven sherry?"
But he answered, "I'm so happy - no profession could be dearer -
If I am not humming 'Tra! la! la!' I'm singing 'Tirer, lirer!'
"First I go and make the patties, and the puddings, and the
jellies,
Then I make a sugar bird-cage, which upon a table swell is;
"Then I polish all the silver, which a supper-table lacquers;
Then I write the pretty mottoes which you find inside the
crackers." -
"Found at last!" I madly shouted. "Gentle pieman, you astound me!"
Then I waved the turtle soup enthusiastically round me.
And I shouted and I danced until he'd quite a crowd around him -
And I rushed away exclaiming, "I have found him! I have found
him!"
And I heard the gentle pieman in the road behind me trilling,
"'Tira, lira!' stop him, stop him! 'Tra! la! la!' the soup's a
shilling!"
But until I reached ELVIRA'S home, I never, never waited,
And ELVIRA to her FERDINAND'S irrevocably mated!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Consalvo
Approaching now the end of his abode
On earth, Consalvo lay; complaining once,
Of his hard fate, but now quite reconciled,
When, in the midst of his fifth lustre, o'er
His head oblivion, so longed-for, hung.
As for some time, so, on his dying day,
He lay, abandoned by his dearest friends:
For in the world, few friends to _him_ will cling,
Who shows that he is weary of the world.
Yet _she_ was at his side, by pity led,
In his lone wretchedness to comfort him,
Who was alone and ever in his thought;
Elvira, for her loveliness renowned;
And knowing well her power; that a look,
A single sweet and gracious word from _her_,
A thousand-fold repeated in the heart,
Devoted, of her hapless lover, still
His consolation and support had been,
Although no word of love had she from him
E'er heard. For ever in his soul the power
Of great desire had been rebuked and crushed
By sovereign fear. So great a child and slave
Had he become, through his excess of love!
But death at last the cruel silence broke;
For being by sure signs convinced, that now
The day of his deliverance had come,
Her white hand taking, as she was about
To leave, and gently pressing it, he said:
'Thou goest; it is time for thee to go;
Farewell, Elvira! I shall never see
Thee more; too well I know it; so, farewell!
I thank thee for thy gentle sympathy,
So far as my poor lips my thanks can speak.
_He_ will reward thee, who alone has power,
If heaven e'er rewards the merciful.'
Pale turned the fair one at these words; a sigh
Her bosom heaved; for e'en a stranger's heart
A throb responsive feels, when she departs,
And says farewell forever. Fain would she
Have contradicted him, the near approach
Of fate concealing from the dying man.
But he, her thought anticipating, said:
'Ah, much desired, as well thou knowest, death,
Much prayed for, and not dreaded, comes to me;
Nay, joyful seems to me this fatal day,
Save for the thought of losing thee forever;
Alas, forever do I part from thee!
In saying this my heart is rent in twain.
Those eyes I shall no more behold, nor hear
Thy voice. But, O Elvira, say, before
Thou leavest me forever, wilt thou not
One kiss bestow? A single kiss, in all
My life? A favor asked, who can deny
Unto a dying man? Of the sweet gift
I ne'er can boast, so near my end, whose lips
To-day will by a stranger's hand be closed
Forever.' Saying this, with a deep sigh,
Her hand beloved he with his cold lips pressed.
The lovely woman stood irresolute,
And thoughtful, for a moment, with her look,
In which a thousand charms were radiant,
Intent on that of the unhappy man,
Where the last tear was glittering. Nor would
Her heart permit her to refuse with scorn
His wish, and by refusal, make more sad
The sad farewell; but she compassion took
Upon his love, which she had known so long;
And that celestial face, that mouth, which he
So long had coveted, which had, for years,
The burden been of all his dreams and sighs,
Close bringing unto his, so sad and wan,
Discolored by his mortal agony,
Kiss after kiss, all goodness, with a look
Of deep compassion, on the trembling lips
Of the enraptured lover she impressed.
What didst thou then become? How in thy eyes
Appeared life, death, and all thy suffering,
Consalvo, in thy flight now pausing? He
The hand, which still he held, of his beloved
Elvira, placing on his heart, whose last
Pulsations love with death was sharing, said:
'Elvira, my Elvira, am I still
On earth? Those lips, were they thy lips? O, say!
And do I press thy hand? Alas, it seems
A dead man's vision, or a dream, or thing
Incredible! How much, Elvira, O,
How much I owe to death! Long has my love
Been known to thee, and unto others, for
True love cannot be hidden on the earth.
Too manifest it was to thee, in looks,
In acts, in my unhappy countenance,
But never in my words. For then, and now,
Forever would the passion infinite,
That rules my heart, be silent, had not death
With courage filled it. I shall die content;
Henceforth, with destiny, no more regret
That I e'er saw the light. I have not lived
In vain, now that my lips have been allowed
Thy lips to press. Nay, happy I esteem
My lot. Two precious things the world still gives
To mortals, Love and Death. To one, heaven guides
Me now, in youth; and in the other, I
Am fortunate. Ah, hadst thou once, but once,
Responded to my long-enduring love,
To my changed eyes this earth for evermore
Had been transformed into a Paradise.
E'en to old age, detestable old age,
Could I have been resigned and reconciled.
To bear its heavy load, the memory
Of one transcendent moment had sufficed,
When I was happier than the happiest,
But, ah, such bliss supreme the envious gods
To earthly natures ne'er have given! Love
In such excess ne'er leads to happiness.
And yet, thy love to win, I would have borne
The tortures of the executioner;
Have faced the rack and fagot, dauntlessly;
Would from thy loving arms have rushed into
The fearful flames of hell, with cheerfulness.
'Elvira, O Elvira, happy he,
Beyond all mortal happiness, on whom
Thou dost the smile of love bestow! And next
Is he, who can lay down his life for thee!
It _is_ permitted, it is not a dream,
As I, alas, have always fancied it,
To man, on earth true happiness to find.
I knew it well, the day I looked on thee.
That look to me, indeed, has fatal been:
And yet, I could not bring myself, midst all
My sufferings, that cruel day to blame.
'Now live, Elvira, happy, and adorn
The world with thy fair countenance. None e'er
Will love thee as I loved thee. Such a love
Will ne'er be seen on earth. How much, alas,
How long a time by poor Consalvo hast
Thou been with sighs and bitter tears invoked!
How, when I heard thy name, have I turned pale!
How have I trembled, and been sick at heart,
As timidly thy threshold I approached,
At that angelic voice, at sight of that
Fair brow, I, who now tremble not at death!
But breath and life no longer will respond
Unto the voice of love. The time has passed;
Nor can I e'er this happy day recall.
Farewell, Elvira! With its vital spark
Thy image so beloved is from my heart
Forever fading. Oh, farewell! If this,
My love offend thee not, to-morrow eve
One sigh wilt thou bestow upon my bier.'
He ceased; and soon he lost his consciousness:
Ere evening came, his first, his only day
Of happiness had faded from his sight.
poem by Count Giacomo Leopardi
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To My Ultimate Inspiration
To My Ultimate Inspiration
I often sense the presence of yours,
In defeated times or in way to triumph;
It matters, yes, not half truth, You alone
Know my weak points and faults.
How often I am caught in the world of tests,
Trials seem endless;
But no single moment I try to regret,
You're here ready to keep; I wait.
Inspire me in times of sorrow,
Embrace me so I can get closer to You;
Give me more strength and hope;
When I am defeated by faults.
Share me with cheerful thoughts,
When doubts cover up my noble purpose;
You're the Inspiration, the Guide, the Light
Of my shadowy path of life.
poem by Elvira Marchan
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A Lyric to My Son and His Guitar
A Lyric To My Son and His Guitar
strum...
Strum the strings of your brown guitar;
Brings me to the music star lively as you are.
Far in the awful nights in an hour of silence
Plays me a song with ease and delight.
Plays no more a sad song,
Let the people hear only a refrain;
Of the imperial tune.
Strum...
Strum the strings of your brown guitar
Brings the world to the music star lively as you are...
poem by Elvira Marchan
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He Loves Me.........
Yesterday he brought me a rose
And it wasn't our anniversary
But he slapped me the day before
Thinking that I'm his adversary
Then he shoved me, then he kicked me
Then he punched me, but I bit my tongue
Because after all he's my man and he loves me
I'm not so sure and I might be wrong
I think he loves me, he brought me flowers
Sometimes he strikes me, he sometimes beats me
But last night, he raped me in the shower
This morning he brought me a dozen roses
He says he's sorry, but again he hurt me
Again he slapped me, and then he dragged me
But then he kissed me, and then he hugged me
Tonight is special, there are more flowers
There is flowers near my head, flowers near my feet
Again I felt the pain tonight it was so deep
There is candles on my side and people walk by me
Tonight is special and its my funeral
This morning my husband killed me
But after all he loves me.................
poem by Elvira A Gasser
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Sometimes (Love Poem)
Sometimes love surprises
And it comes when you least expect it
Sometimes the sun rises
But I can't see it
As I live in darkness
But your love has brought light in to my world
That place where I had dwell for so long in sadness
And now your sweet love has pierced my heart like a sword
Sometimes, I don't know what to do, or what to say
For so lond I dwelled in loneliness
Alone in the dark, hoping that you will stay
I've been wounded by your love, and all of this is madness
Sometimes love comes when the time is wrong
But your love helped me out of my shell
And thanks to your love I was reborn, and now I'm here standing strong
And sometimes in darkness I dwell
But your love is the light at the end of the way
Sometimes love hurts, and I feel like crying
But now I know that you are here to stay
And sometimes the time aint right, but I will keep trying
Sometimes I sat alone, in the middle of the night
Thinking I was dead inside
But the day I met you I found love
Without even knowing I was reborn
I was dead before I met you
And I was born the day you love me! ! !
poem by Elvira A Gasser
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Old Gold Diggin' Geezer
Peek a boo doo peek a boo doo,
Peek a boo doo boo!
Poppa dada poppa.
Poppa dada poppa.
Peek a boo doo peek a boo doo,
Peek a boo doo boo!
Poppa dada poppa.
Poppa dada poppa.
You just wanna ride in my car.
Poppa dada poppa.
Poppa dada poppa.
And take you to places to feed your greedness.
Poppa dada poppa.
Poppa dada poppa.
Peek a boo doo peek a boo doo,
Peek a boo doo boo!
Poppa dada poppa.
Poppa dada poppa.
You just wanna have an easy life.
Poppa dada poppa.
Poppa dada poppa.
And you think I'm the one gon' give it!
Poppa dada poppa.
Poppa dada poppa.
Peek a boo doo peek a boo doo,
Peek a boo doo boo!
Poppa dada poppa.
Poppa dada poppa.
You ain't got a mortgage or a lease on me.
None that we've agreed upon.
And none that you can see.
You ain't got a ring or a title to keep me leashed up tight.
And what you think I've got,
You're not gonna get that close to take a bite!
With or without your teeth behind your 'grill'...
You old gold diggin' geezer!
Peek a boo doo peek a boo doo,
Peek a boo doo boo!
Poppa dada poppa.
Poppa dada poppa.
Peek a boo doo peek a boo doo,
Peek a boo doo boo!
Poppa dada poppa.
Poppa dada poppa.
You just wanna ride in my car.
Poppa dada poppa.
Poppa dada poppa.
And take you to places to feed your greedness.
Poppa dada poppa.
Poppa dada poppa.
You old gold diggin' geezer!
Poppa dada poppa.
Poppa dada poppa.
You old gold diggin' geezer!
Peek a boo doo peek a boo doo,
Peek a boo doo boo!
'I thought you said you were a friend to ALL people?
YOU are a fraud.
You ain't even a friend to some! '
Peek a boo doo peek a boo doo,
Peek a boo doo boo!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poppa Rocks
Poppa didn't come to stay,
Standing on the sidelines
To watch others play!
Poppa came to rock!
So get out of poppa's way.
Poppa tore it up on the dance floor,
Back in poppa's day!
When poppa use to move and groove,
Other people watched.
Poppa didn't care who stared
When poppa rocked...
The clock didn't stop!
All night long,
Poppa did his thing.
When he did the 'do' he 'don'
You could hear poppa loudly sing!
Now that dusk has caught him rusty...
Poppa's moves are smooth.
But that is poppa and poppa can't be stopped.
When poppa gets the urge...
Poppa wants to rock!
Poppa didn't come to stay,
Standing on the sidelines
To watch others play!
Poppa came to rock!
So get out of poppa's way!
You don't know how poppa rocks....
When poppa rocks his way!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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From “Torrismond” - In A Garden By Moonlight
Veronica. COME then, a song; a winding gentle song,
To lead me into sleep. Let it be low
As zephyr, telling secrets to his rose,
For I would hear the murmuring of my thoughts;
And more of voice than of that other music
That grows around the strings of quivering lutes;
But most of thought; for with my mind I listen,
And when the leaves of sound are shed upon it,
If there ’s no seed remembrance grows not there.
So life, so death; a song, and then a dream!
Begin before another dewdrop fall
From the soft hold of these disturbed flowers,
For sleep is filling up my senses fast,
And from these words I sink.
SONG
How many times do I love thee, dear?
Tell me how many thoughts there be
In the atmosphere
Of a new-fall’n year,
Whose white and sable hours appear
The latest flake of Eternity:
So many times do I love thee, dear.
How many times do I love again?
Tell me how many beads there are
In a silver chain
Of evening rain,
Unravell’d from the tumbling main,
And threading the eye of a yellow star:
So many times do I love again.
Elvira. She sees no longer: leave her then alone,
Encompass’d by this round and moony night.
A rose-leaf for thy lips, and then goodnight:
So life, so death; a song, and then a dream!
poem by Thomas Lovell Beddoes
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Will Poetry Make You Money?
My friend, Peter asked me last night
“Will your poetry make you money? ”
A question that gave me quite a fright
And kept me up on a sleepless journey
So I listened to the romance of Elvira Madigan
And from the Marriage of Figaro, that knave
Music to inspire feelings so deep in man
While Mozart lies in a pauper’s grave.
I saw the colours and swirls of Van Gogh’s brush
A man so tormented that he lost his ear
But in galleries the crowds gather in a hush
And admire the beauty and not the fear.
I remember a young man spraying graffiti on a wall
As ‘vandalism’, there is a ban
So he painted anonymously for no pay at all
To make his mark and show that he can.
Dylan Thomas laid drunk at the White Horse Inn
Exhausted by his verses and opinion
Dying from too much liquor and too much sin
But for his poetry, Death shall have no Dominion
The image of God under St. Peter’s dome
Designed to Michelango’s fashion
With all the ancient architecture of Rome
That celebrates creation and human passion.
Now a banker lays prostrate on a hospital bed
In his hands is a statement of his worth
His eyes are blank but he stares ahead
Those dollars are the memorial of his birth.
Poppa Dreams
Poppa dreams.
I still wait for your call,
After all these years.
Your absence brings me to tears,
At night.
I still reach for you,
In sleepless heat.
Yearning to feel completed.
As only you can do!
After you're done screwing poppa.
In submissive climax twitching,
That subdues us into sweat.
Poppa tries to catch his breath...
As we hold together on soaken wet,
Creamed dripped sheets.
And throbbing in
Sighs until we've gone to sleep!
You're wicked!
Poppa dreams.
I still wait for your call,
After all these years.
Poppa dreams.
Poppa aches all day it seems.
Poppa wishes to kiss your lips.
And feel our naked hips,
Lick, dance and thrust!
In touches that passion rushes,
Poppa loves so much!
Poppa wants us to knock boots!
Just like you and poppa did...
At least three times a day or more to do.
Poppa dreams.
All ding dong day and night it seems.
The phone rings.
Poppa don't answer.
Poppa listens to the answering machine.
Poppa knows it's not you.
Poppa knows it's just another fling!
A substitute to do.
That poppa does to do his thing.
Imagining in one more dream...
That poppa has while grinding up,
Against someone else...
With thoughts of you!
Poppa dreams.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Circus Song
Cotton candy, two for a quarter
See if the fat man can guess your weight
A big stuffed tiger is what I bought her
And I'm going home 'cause it's late
Roller coasters make me dizzy
And cotton candy makes me sick
I wish I had some Bromo fizzy
Now that would do the trick
Everyone knows that the clowns aren't happy
And everyone knows that the people don't care
I wish I could laugh at the way that they're acting
But I'm so sick, I just don't dare to
High wire dancers kick and balance
White silk horses step in time
The tattooed man displays his talents
I'm not the talented kind
I always go to the circus on Sunday
And there I can laugh at the people I see
But when I leave home in the morning on Monday
Everybody laughs at me
I make other people nervous
I guess that's why they laugh at me
But to me my life is a three-ring circus
And I can see it for free
Have you seen my wife Elvira?
She can tame a lion, you know
Well, I once had a bushy mane
But that was so damn long ago
Tight-collared clowns in plastic buildings
Have happy families as their fate
Happy jobs and happy clubs
And happy people they hate
Everyone's juggling and everyone's acting
With smiles of grease paint three feet wide
Everyone's caught on a carousel pony
And one time around is a lifetime ride
song performed by by Don McLean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pop LeRoc
Comeon and eat some pasta,
With your poppa...
Pop LeRoc!
Comeon and eat some pasta,
With your poppa...
Pop LeRoc!
Comeon and eat some pasta,
With your poppa...
Pop LeRoc!
To get the mood...
Like you know you want to!
And rock,
With poppa!
Let's make a feast,
By putting pieces...
Of some lox on top.
And then for fun,
We'll order pizza...
So very nice and hot!
That's what we'll do.
With green peppers too!
To move in the groove,
With pop the rocker!
Come on and eat...
Tasty pasta with me.
Pop LeRoc!
Your poppa.
Let's make a feast,
By putting pieces...
Of some lox on top.
And then for fun,
We'll order pizza...
So very nice and hot!
That's what we'll do.
Before this night is through.
Rock with pop the rocker!
Gonna rock with your poppa.
Comeon and eat some pasta,
With your poppa...
Pop LeRoc!
Comeon and eat some pasta,
With your poppa...
Pop LeRoc!
Comeon and eat some pasta,
With your poppa...
Pop LeRoc!
To get the mood...
Like you know you want to!
And rock,
With your poppa!
That's what we can do.
Before this night is through.
There's no ticking clock,
Around your poppa!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Too Poppa Cockish
I want to be the first poet,
To be declared an artist.
How's that for trips?
How's that for a little ego dipping?
I had thought of King of Poems.
But that is a bit eccentric,
Too poppa cockish.
But undebatebly...
True.
Even I have to admit,
The pretension level is there!
I want to be the first poet,
To be declared an artist.
How's that for trips?
Perhaps...
Too poppa cockish.
But undebatebly...
True.
Even I have to admit,
The pretension level is there!
Too poppa cockish.
Yes I'm too poppa cockish!
Maybe too poppa cockish.
But I do,
Believe...
In me!
Too poppa cockish.
Yes I'm too poppa cockish!
Maybe too poppa cockish.
But I do,
Believe...
In me!
Too poppa cockish.
Yes I'm too poppa cockish!
Maybe too poppa cockish.
But I do,
Believe...
In me!
I do,
Believe...
In me!
Too poppa cockish.
Yes I'm too poppa cockish!
Maybe too poppa cockish.
But I do,
Believe...
In me!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Don Juan Aux Enfers (Don Juan In Hell)
Quand Don Juan descendit vers l'onde souterraine
Et lorsqu'il eut donné son obole à Charon,
Un sombre mendiant, l'oeil fier comme Antisthène,
D'un bras vengeur et fort saisit chaque aviron.
Montrant leurs seins pendants et leurs robes ouvertes,
Des femmes se tordaient sous le noir firmament,
Et, comme un grand troupeau de victimes offertes,
Derrière lui traînaient un long mugissement.
Sganarelle en riant lui réclamait ses gages,
Tandis que Don Luis avec un doigt tremblant
Montrait à tous les morts errant sur les rivages
Le fils audacieux qui railla son front blanc.
Frissonnant sous son deuil, la chaste et maigre Elvire,
Près de l'époux perfide et qui fut son amant,
Semblait lui réclamer un suprême sourire
Où brillât la douceur de son premier serment.
Tout droit dans son armure, un grand homme de pierre
Se tenait à la barre et coupait le flot noir;
Mais le calme héros, courbé sur sa rapière,
Regardait le sillage et ne daignait rien voir.
Don Juan in Hades
When Don Juan descended to the underground sea,
And when he had given his obolus to Charon,
That gloomy mendicant, with Antisthenes' proud look,
Seized the two oars with strong, revengeful hands.
Showing their pendent breasts and their unfastened gowns
Women writhed and twisted under the black heavens,
And like a great flock of sacrificial victims,
A continuous groan trailed along in the wake.
Sganarelle with a laugh was demanding his wage,
While Don Luis with a trembling finger
Was showing to the dead, wandering along the shores,
The impudent son who had mocked his white brow.
Shuddering in her grief, Elvira, chaste and thin,
Near her treacherous spouse who was once her lover,
Seemed to implore of him a final, parting smile
That would shine with the sweetness of his first promises.
Erect in his armor, a tall man carved from stone
Was standing at the helm and cutting the black flood;
But the hero unmoved, leaning on his rapier,
Kept gazing at the wake and deigned not look aside.
— Translated by William Aggeler
Don Juan in Hell
When, having reached the subterranean wave,
Don Juan paid his passage from the shore,
Proud as Antisthenes, a surly knave
With vengeful arms laid hold of either oar.
With hanging breasts between their mantles showing
Sad women, writhing under the black sky,
Made, as they went, the sound of cattle lowing
As from a votive herd that's led to die.
Sganarelle for his wages seemed to linger,
And laughed; while to the dead assembled there,
Don Luis pointed out with trembling finger
The son who dared to flout his silver hair.
Chilled in her crepe, the chaste and thin Elvira,
Standing up close to her perfidious spouse,
Seemed to be pleading from her old admirer
For that which thrilled his first, unbroken vows.
A great stone man in armour leaped aboard;
Seizing the helm, the coal-black wave he cleft.
But the calm hero, leaning on his sword,
Had eyes for nothing but the wake they left.
— Translated by Roy Campbell
Don Juan in Hades
He found the wide bark rocking in the Stygian breeze
And came aboard, having first paid Charon what he owed.
A beggar, somber and haughty as Antisthenes,
Seized the long oars with a revengeful gesture and rowed.
Writhing and tearing open their garments while he crossed,
A crowd of disappointed females, herded there
Along the bank like victims for a holocaust,
Filled with a soft and bestial moaning the dark air.
Sganarelle laughed triumphantly, demanding his wage;
Don Luis, still wrathful, pointed with a palsied hand
To the unruly son who mocked him in his old age,
Calling to witness the dead throngs upon that strand.
She whom he wed in church and loved a little while,
Elvira, thin and trembling in her black robes of grief,
Seemed to implore of her betrayer a last smile
In memory of his first ardor, noble and brief.
The knight he murdered and whose ghost he had rebuked
Stood now, a tall and cuirassed helmsman, at the stem;
But the calm hero, leaning upon his rapier, looked
Absently into the water, ignoring all of them.
— Translated by George Dillon
Don Juan in Hades
When the hidalgo reached the subterranean seas,
And, with an obol, paid Charon's accustomed score,
A gloomy beggarman, proud as Antisthenes,
With strong revengeful hands seized either trailing oar.
With sagging breasts and gray unfastened gowns, a crowd
Of women writhed in woe under a leaden sky,
In their grim wake a groan trailed, mournfully and loud,
Like flocks of sacrificial victims trudging by.
Sganarelle, grinning, claimed his wages; dour and lank,
Don Luis, with trembling finger, pointed at the prow,
To show the phantoms wandering on the river bank
That impious son who mocked his father's snow-white brow.
Elvira, chaste and gaunt, shuddered in sorrow, while
Beside her traitorous spouse (her lover, once) she seemed
To crave the favor of an ultimate bright smile,
Sweet as his first-made vows and as the dream she dreamed.
Erect in coat-of-mail, a tall man, hewn of stone,
Stood at the helm, cleaving the flood. But in mute pride,
Leaning upon his sword, impassive and alone,
The hero watched the wave nor deigned to look aside.
— Translated by Jacques LeClercq
poem by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Your Poppa Don't Mind
Give it a word, give it a try
Why don't you sleep out, stop living high
You're on your own, your making ?bed?
Now time for wasting, just look ahead
Your poopa don't mind what you do or say
You can't surprise him anymore
He's got a reputation and he don't know ?fad?
Your poppa don't mind at all
He's getting old, he's getting late
It's soon tomorrow, so celebrate
Bring it out, and go to town
Before you're thinking/faking, ?sell him now?
Your poopa don't mind what you do or say
You can't surprise him anymore
He don't believe in heaven like a good man should
Your poppa don't mind at all
Find him out, he's half a fun
When you find out, don't try to run
If you know, then you'll be gone
And if you don't know, it's still to come
Your poopa don't mind what you do or say
You can't surprise him anymore
He talked about his women and his old school ?tie?
Your poppa don't mind at all
You can't surprise him anymore
He don't believe in heaven like a good man should
Your poppa don't mind at all
Your poppa don't mind at all
Your poppa don't mind at all
song performed by by Supertramp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To A Lady, Who Invited The Author Into The Country.
How gladly, Madam, would I go,
To see your Gardens, and Chateau;
From thence the fine Improvements view,
Or walk your verdant Avenue;
Delighted, hear the Thrushes sing,
Or listen to some bubbling Spring;
If Fate had giv'n me Leave to roam!
But Citizens must stay at Home.
We're lonesome since you went away,
And should be dead--but for our Tea;
That Helicon of female Wits,
Which fills their Heads with rhyming Fits!
This Liquor seldom heats the Brain,
But turns it oft, and makes us vain;
With Fumes supplies Imagination,
Which we mistake for Inspiration.
This makes us cramp our Sense in Fetters,
And teaze our Friends with chiming Letters.
I grieve your Brother has the Gout;
Tho' he's so stoically stout,
I've heard him mourn his Loss of Pain,
And wish it in his Feet again.
What Woe poor Mortals must endure,
When Anguish is their only Cure!
STREPHON is ill; and I perceive
His lov'd Elvira grows so grave,
I fear, like Niobe, her Moan
Will turn herself and me to Stone.
Have I not cause to dread this Fate,
Who scarce so much as smile of late?
Whilst lovely Landscapes you survey,
And peaceful pass your Hours away,
Refresh'd with various blooming Sweets;
I'm sick of Smells and dirty Streets,
Stiflcd with Smoke, and stunn'd with Noise
Of ev'ry Thing--but my own Boys;
Thro' Rounds of plodding doom'd to run,
And very seldom see the Sun:
Yet sometimes pow'rful Fancy reigns,
And glads my Eyes with sylvan Scenes;
Where Time, enamour'd, slacks his Pace,
Enchanted by the warbling Race;
And, in Atonement for his Stay,
Thro' Cities hurries on the Day.
O! would kind Heav'n reverse my Fate,
Give me to quit a Life I hate,
To flow'ry Fields I soon would fly:
Let others stay--to cheat and lye.
There, in fome blissful Solitude,
Where eating Care should ne'er intrude,
The Muse should do the Country Right,
And paint the glorious Scenes you slight.
poem by Mary Barber
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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