hobgobline83
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A Daughter of Eve
A fool I was to sleep at noon,
And wake when night is chilly
Beneath the comfortless cold moon;
A fool to pluck my rose too soon,
A fool to snap my lily.
My garden-plot I have not kept;
Faded and all-forsaken,
I weep as I have never wept:
Oh it was summer when I slept,
It's winter now I waken.
Talk what you please of future spring
And sun-warm'd sweet to-morrow:—
Stripp'd bare of hope and everything,
No more to laugh, no more to sing,
I sit alone with sorrow. |
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hug732
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there was a pig.
it was pink.
and it was big.
its doctor said,
try eating a dam* fig
neuton.
thank you, thank you.
*tear, tear*
and hears a real one- very sad.
The Wreck of the Hesperus
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
It was the schooner Hesperus,
That sailed the wintry sea;
And the skipper had taken his little daughtèr,
To bear him company.
Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May.
The skipper he stood beside the helm,
His pipe was in his mouth,
And he watched how the veering flaw did blow
The smoke now West, now South.
Then up and spake an old Sailòr,
Had sailed to the Spanish Main,
"I pray thee, put into yonder port,
For I fear a hurricane.
"Last night, the moon had a golden ring,
And to-night no moon we see!"
The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,
And a scornful laugh laughed he.
Colder and louder blew the wind,
A gale from the Northeast,
The snow fell hissing in the brine,
And the billows frothed like yeast.
Down came the storm, and smote amain
The vessel in its strength;
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,
Then leaped her cable's length.
"Come hither! come hither! my little daughtèr,
And do not tremble so;
For I can weather the roughest gale
That ever wind did blow."
He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat
Against the stinging blast;
He cut a rope from a broken spar,
And bound her to the mast.
"O father! I hear the church-bells ring,
Oh say, what may it be?"
"'T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!"
And he steered for the open sea.
"O father! I hear the sound of guns,
Oh say, what may it be?"
"Some ship in distress, that cannot live
In such an angry sea!"
"O father! I see a gleaming light,
Oh say, what may it be?"
But the father answered never a word,
A frozen corpse was he.
Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,
With his face turned to the skies,
The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow
On his fixed and glassy eyes.
Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed
That savèd she might be;
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave
On the Lake of Galilee.
And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept
Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe.
And ever the fitful gusts between
A sound came from the land;
It was the sound of the trampling surf
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.
The breakers were right beneath her bows,
She drifted a dreary wreck,
And a whooping billow swept the crew
Like icicles from her deck.
She struck where the white and fleecy waves
Looked soft as carded wool,
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side
Like the horns of an angry bull.
Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,
With the masts went by the board;
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank,
Ho! ho! the breakers roared!
At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,
A fisherman stood aghast,
To see the form of a maiden fair,
Lashed close to a drifting mast.
The salt sea was frozen on her breast,
The salt tears in her eyes;
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed,
On the billows fall and rise.
Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,
In the midnight and the snow!
Christ save us all from a death like this,
On the reef of Norman's Woe!
The Wreck of the Hesperus
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow |
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Luke
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what did you expect from us losers! |
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planksheer
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Epitath of a Tyrant by W.H. Auden.
Perfection of a kind was what he was after
He knew human folly like the back of his hand.
He was greatly interested in armies and fleets.
When he laughed the mighty senators burst out in laughter
When he cried the little children died in the streets.
Also Death of a Ball Turret Gunner ( forgot author )
From his mother's sleep, he fell into the state.
And he hunched in its belly til his wet fur froze.
6 miles from earth, released from his dream of life,
he awoke to the black flack and
the nightmare Fokewolfs.
When he died, they washed his body from the turret with a hose.
and from Kiplings The Sea and the Hills.
..."Who has sought the sea? Its immense and comtemptious surges? , The shudder the stumble, the swerve as the star-stabbing bowsprit emerges? ..."
stuff like that? |
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indigo
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Jump in the Fire ,fire too hot, jump in the pot , pot too black, jump in the crack, crack too high, jump in the sky, sky too blue, jump in canoe, canoe too shallow, jump in the tallow, tallow too soft, jump in the loft, loft too rotten, jump in the cotton, cotton so white, She stayed there all night ! ( This is just a sample of of my talent ) |
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MCSE
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roses are red
violets are blue
the packers suck
.
.
.GO BEARS |
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rx8 slotcar
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ipp dip
sky blue
god i pity your team if lose on you
$5 will get ya $10 his name aint ben |
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green one (1980)
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why, why
why bother
tell me please
brother
it's the same every day
i know you need me
every day
but still
you fade away |
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gizmogizgismo
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rose are red violets are blue yahoo answers is great and i am too! |
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Smoove
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The day is going slowly, and I'm here just doing work;
but the more I focus on my tasks the more my head starts to hurt.
I can't believe it isn't lunchtime yet, I'm ready to get something to eat;
I've been staring at this computer screen so long it's starting to look like meat.
Maybe I can sneak out, and get a pre-lunch snack;
but my chair is holding down in place as if it is a trap.
Oh what I wouldn't give for a piece of chocolate or a chip;
Instead I'm sitting here drooling over a lousy paper clip.
I guess I will just have to suffer and wait until lunchtime comes around;
But I fear by the time that is, I will have already collapsed on the ground.
Oh look my co-worker is munching on something, but I don't want to be rude;
Out the window goes my manners, I'm stealing this chicks food. |
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asterham
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The rain is falling on my roof,
It piter-paters on my window,
If only the rain would stop,
Then I could have so much fun.
For Better poetry read Edgar Alen Poe. |
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Dragonladygold
|
She offered her honor,
so he honored her offer.
And all night long,
he was on her and of her. |
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