the shame that sent me off from the god that i once loved, was the same that sent me into your arms

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M66fkrNLoZY

O that we were there

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uuVIiiFdsbQ&feature=related

actually the most perfect of Christmas songs.

Merry Christmas..

http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1218731829730&ref=mf

nothing else to say really.

and may all your Christmases be white

oh hush the noise ye men of strife

Winter Winds

no songs or anything i don't think.

it's been a long and horrible day.

the world in solemn stillness lay

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jv-vkrl9-2M&feature=related

The return of the i never knew you from the sun advent calendar

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wjEIP6otc4Y

and i need you now

Comme à la bouteille l'ivrogne

Le Vampire

Toi qui, comme un coup de couteau,
Dans mon coeur plaintif es entrée;
Toi qui, forte comme un troupeau
De démons, vins, folle et parée,

De mon esprit humilié
Faire ton lit et ton domaine;
— Infâme à qui je suis lié
Comme le forçat à la chaîne,

Comme au jeu le joueur têtu,
Comme à la bouteille l'ivrogne,
Comme aux vermines la charogne
— Maudite, maudite sois-tu!

J'ai prié le glaive rapide
De conquérir ma liberté,
Et j'ai dit au poison perfide
De secourir ma lâcheté.

Hélas! le poison et le glaive
M'ont pris en dédain et m'ont dit:
«Tu n'es pas digne qu'on t'enlève
À ton esclavage maudit,

Imbécile! — de son empire
Si nos efforts te délivraient,
Tes baisers ressusciteraient
Le cadavre de ton vampire!»

— Charles Baudelaire

Valse melancolique et langoureux vertige

Harmonie du soir

Voici venir les temps où vibrant sur sa tige
Chaque fleur s'évapore ainsi qu'un encensoir;
Les sons et les parfums tournent dans l'air du soir;
Valse mélancolique et langoureux vertige!

Chaque fleur s'évapore ainsi qu'un encensoir;
Le violon frémit comme un coeur qu'on afflige;
Valse mélancolique et langoureux vertige!
Le ciel est triste et beau comme un grand reposoir.

Le violon frémit comme un coeur qu'on afflige,
Un coeur tendre, qui hait le néant vaste et noir!
Le ciel est triste et beau comme un grand reposoir;
Le soleil s'est noyé dans son sang qui se fige.

Un coeur tendre, qui hait le néant vaste et noir,
Du passé lumineux recueille tout vestige!
Le soleil s'est noyé dans son sang qui se fige.
Ton souvenir en moi luit comme un ostensoir!

— Charles Baudelaire

Sorry if i forget but these things i do.

Will you still remain forever in Babylon captive

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=09ovF_gmkcs&feature=fvw

God yu tekkem laef blong mi

The magnificent Melanesian choir that provide much of the soundtrack for The Thin Red Line. Been long time since I posted, shall be back soon with something longer, but this is just something which has been in my head a lot and has been something I've been thinking about
Best Wishes
p.s. title of the post is from the poem 'Beloved Melanesian Motherland' Copyright ©2003 Presley Yekanamialye Kokwaiye

I love the way you lie

Giving up the Gun

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uelHwf8o7_U&feature=av2e

there's a world out there.

and my heads a mess

for someone i know who could "really use a wish right now"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Orv_F2HV4gk

And though it's been a long time

we will start posting on here again properly soon

For whom the Bell tolls

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XlRyk9gfkvw

oh forget your underwear, we're free

that's why it is a sin to kill a mocking bird

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CtVyl402W5s&feature=related

the land of the free and the home of the brave

an hour late

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JMEU4xtSfKg&NR=1

He's two and she's four and you know they ADORE you

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MdMCEaphPtk

mississippi burning

I'll Surf this beach

The bees build in the crevices
Of loosening masonry, and there
The mother birds bring grubs and flies.
My wall is loosening; honey-bees,
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

We are closed in, and the key is turned
On our uncertainty; somewhere
A man is killed, or a house burned.
Yet no clear fact to be discerned:
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

A barricade of stone or of wood;
Some fourteen days of civil war:
Last night they trundled down the road
That dead young soldier in his blood:
Come build in the empty house of the stare.

We had fed the heart on fantasies,
The heart's grown brutal from the fare,
More substance in our enmities
Than in our love; O honey-bees,
Come build in the empty house of the stare.
1922

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S_oMD6-6q5Y

i don't feel anything anymore

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bfa9yxCpWoA

The weight of the world is love. Under the burden of solitude, under the burden of dissatisfaction the weight, the weight we carry is love. Who can deny? In dreams it touches the body, in thought constructs a miracle, in imagination anguishes till born in human-- looks out of the heart burning with purity-- for the burden of life is love, but we carry the weight wearily, and so must rest in the arms of love at last, must rest in the arms of love. No rest without love, no sleep without dreams of love-- be mad or chill obsessed with angels or machines, the final wish is love --cannot be bitter, cannot deny, cannot withhold if denied: the weight is too heavy --must give for no return as thought is given in solitude in all the excellence of its excess. The warm bodies shine together in the darkness, the hand moves to the center of the flesh, the skin trembles in happiness and the soul comes joyful to the eye-- yes, yes, that's what I wanted, I always wanted, I always wanted, to return to the body where I was born.

You're still on my lonely mind

I'm somebody now, Harry. Everybody likes me. Soon, millions of people will see me and they'll all like me. I'll tell them about you, and your father, how good he was to us. Remember? It's a reason to get up in the morning. It's a reason to lose weight, to fit in the red dress. It's a reason to smile. It makes tomorrow all right. What have I got Harry, hm? Why should I even make the bed, or wash the dishes? I do them, but why should I? I'm alone. Your father's gone, you're gone. I got no one to care for. What have I got, Harry? I'm lonely. I'm old

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Za9Y2HFhV74

look what you've forgotten here

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0DYPHOuGHfU

separate but equal

lets go down to Greenwhich and desecrate. The noraid slogans that justify 6 countries hate.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cjXZwkaa1_4

I still can't remember the first line

My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
'Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.
'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
'I never know what you are thinking. Think.'
I think we are in rats' alley	115
Where the dead men lost their bones.
'What is that noise?'
The wind under the door.
'What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?'
Nothing again nothing.	120
'Do
'You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember
'Nothing?'
I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes.	125
'Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?'
But
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag—
It's so elegant
So intelligent	130
'What shall I do now? What shall I do?'
'I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
'With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?
'What shall we ever do?'
The hot water at ten.	135
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jhuGfmoIv_M

Adventure is dead

A craving for freedom and independence is only generated by a man living on in hope.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TZrCerjmvrE

you might just prove me wrong

Hope is a strange invention --
A Patent of the Heart --
In unremitting action
Yet never wearing out --

Of this electric Adjunct
Not anything is known
But its unique momentum
Embellish all we own --

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J56RFMWharE

and ye shall find rest

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v9rw3RLv9AY&feature=related

The Sleeping Sons of Jacob

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HvXit6N3M5E

and i will hold you for so long and say your not so bad

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aGCEH6hpI-Y

i told a lie

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2OjmeiRaQ-k

And so it is

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5YXVMCHG-Nk&feature=related

Farewell! but whenever you welcome the hour
That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower,
Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too,
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you.
His griefs may return - not a hope may remain
Of the few that have brighen'd his pathway of pain -
But he ne'er will forget the short vision that threw
Its enchantment around him while ling'ring with you!

And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup,
Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
My soul, happy friends! shall be with you that night;
Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles,
And return to me beaming all o'er with your smiles! -
Too blest, if it tells me that, 'mid the gay cheer,
Some kind voice had murmur'd, "I wish he were here!"

Let fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy;
And which come, in the night-time sorrow and care,
To bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd!
Like the vase in which roses have once been distill'd -
You may break, you may ruin the vase, if you will,
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.

hope this feeling lasts for the rest of my life

it isn't enough for your heart to break for everyones heart is broken now.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3yqM--IMkX4

like paper planes in play ground games

I FEEL SO ALONE SOMETIMES / THE NIGHT IS TOO QUIET FOR ME / I WOULD LOVE TO BE ABLE TO SLEEP / I'M GLAD EVERYONE IS GONE NOW / I WILL PROBABLY NOT REST TONIGHT / I HAVE NO NEED FOR ALL OF THIS / HELP ME LORD

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epaR6ejhlL4

Living on the never never

I thought it would last my time -
The sense that, beyond the town,
There would always be fields and farms,
Where the village louts could climb
Such trees as were not cut down;
I knew there'd be false alarms

In the papers about old streets
And split level shopping, but some
Have always been left so far;
And when the old part retreats
As the bleak high-risers come
We can always escape in the car.

Things are tougher than we are, just
As earth will always respond
However we mess it about;
Chuck filth in the sea, if you must:
The tides will be clean beyond.
- But what do I feel now? Doubt?

Or age, simply? The crowd
Is young in the M1 cafe;
Their kids are screaming for more -
More houses, more parking allowed,
More caravan sites, more pay.
On the Business Page, a score

Of spectacled grins approve
Some takeover bid that entails
Five per cent profit (and ten
Per cent more in the estuaries): move
Your works to the unspoilt dales
(Grey area grants)! And when

You try to get near the sea
In summer . . .
It seems, just now,
To be happening so very fast;
Despite all the land left free
For the first time I feel somehow
That it isn't going to last,

That before I snuff it, the whole
Boiling will be bricked in
Except for the tourist parts -
First slum of Europe: a role
It won't be hard to win,
With a cast of crooks and tarts.

And that will be England gone,
The shadows, the meadows, the lanes,
The guildhalls, the carved choirs.
There'll be books; it will linger on
In galleries; but all that remains
For us will be concrete and tyres.

Most things are never meant.
This won't be, most likely; but greeds
And garbage are too thick-strewn
To be swept up now, or invent
Excuses that make them all needs.
I just think it will happen, soon.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jJ9KYriPbU4

I am the salt of the earth and sainted.

How are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished!

Just stay in your lane

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=faMEnZQT2f8

let us go then, you and I

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bccKotFwzoY

"just one of those occasions when everything clicked"

I've just spent 3 days, up a concrete hill, on my feet 10am-7pm.... and fuck me was it worth it.

closing your eyes, holding your breath... and waiting for a giant wave to crash down

But I was in search of love in those days, and I went full of curiousity and the faint, unrecognized apprehension that here, at last, I should find that low door in the wall, which others, I knew, had found before me, which opened on an enclosed and enchaned garden, which was somewhere, not overlooked by any window, in the heart of that grey city.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JugGmkvhsKQ

Did you write the book of love

Traditionally we don't register to vote. Even now, there's record numbers of people not registered to vote in our areas. We have to change that cause how are you gunna get attention? If you can affect someone being in office, believe me they're gunna come fix your neighborhood. That's the game, it's a hustle. If you can effect whether I'm in office or not I gotta take you serious. So for my whole life they never took us serious cause no one ever registered to vote., right? But now, this is bigger than politics - this is hope. I have to support that.

Things are going to be very different now

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d9IXqQwCdcI

So this is permanence

I wish I were a Warhol silk screen hanging on the wall. Or little Joe or maybe Lou. I'd love to be them all. All New York's broken hearts and secrets would be mine. I'd put you on a movie reel, and that would be just fine.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K8aAdHQEbSY

There's something strange about this city today, like the colours conspired to overwhelm the grey

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EYWw-nXiMec

When you have once seen the glow of happiness on the face of a beloved person, you know that a man can have no vocation but to awaken that light on the faces surrounding him; and you are torn by the thought of the unhappiness and night you cast, by the mere fact of living, in the hearts you encounter.

The wonder that's keeping the stars apart

St Agnes' Eve - Ah, bitter chill it was!    The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;    The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass,    And silent was the flock in woolly fold:    Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told    His rosary, and while his frosted breath,    Like pious incense from a censer old,    Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death, Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.     His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man;    Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees,    And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan,    Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees:    The sculptur'd dead, on each side, seem to freeze,    Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails:    Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries,    He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.     Northward he turneth through a little door,    And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue    Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor;    But no - already had his deathbell rung    The joys of all his life were said and sung:    His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve:    Another way he went, and soon among    Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve, And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve.     That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft;    And so it chanc'd, for many a door was wide,    From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft,    The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide:    The level chambers, ready with their pride,    Were glowing to receive a thousand guests:    The carved angels, ever eager-eyed,    Star'd, where upon their heads the cornice rests, With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on their breasts.     At length burst in the argent revelry,    With plume, tiara, and all rich array,    Numerous as shadows haunting fairily    The brain, new-stuff'd, in youth, with triumphs gay    Of old romance. These let us wish away,    And turn, sole-thoughted, to one lady there,    Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day,    On love, and wing'd St Agnes' saintly care, As she had heard old dames full rnany times declare.     They told her how, upon St Agnes' Eve,    Young virgins might have visions of delight,    And soft adorings from their loves receive    Upon the honey'd middle of the night,    If ceremonies due they did aright;    As, supperless to bed they must retire,    And couch supine their beauties, lily white;    Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.     Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline:    The music, yearning like a God in pain,    She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine,    Fix'd on the floor, saw many a sweeping train    Pass by - she heeded not at all: in vain    Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier,    And back retir'd; not cool'd by high disdain,    But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere; She sigh'd for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the year.     She danc'd along with vague, regardless eyes,    Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short:    The hallow'd hour was near at hand: she sighs    Amid the timbrels, and the throng'd resort    Of whisperers in anger, or in sport;    'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn,    Hoodwink'd with faery fancy; all amort,    Save to St Agnes and her lambs unshorn, And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn.     So, purposing each moment to retire,    She linger'd still. Meantime, across the moors,    Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire    For Madeline. Beside the portal doors,    Buttress'd from moonlight, stands he, and implores    All saints to give him sight of Madeline,    But for one moment in the tedious hours,    That he might gaze and worship all unseen; Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss - in sooth such things have been.     He ventures in: let no buzz'd whisper tell:    All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords    Will storm his heart, Love's fev'rous citadel:    For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes,    Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords,    Whose very dogs would execrations howl    Against his lineage: not one breast affords    Him any mercy, in that mansion foul, Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul.     Ah, happy chance! the aged creature came,    Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand,    To where he stood, hid from the torch's flame,    Behind a broad hall-pillar, far beyond    The sound of merriment and chorus bland.    He startled her; but soon she knew his face,    And grasp'd his fingers in her palsied hand,    Saying, "Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from this place; "They are all here to-night, the whole blood-thirsty race!     "Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hildebrand;    He had a fever late, and in the fit    He cursed thee and thine, both house and land:    Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit    More tame for his gray hairs - Alas me! flit!    Flit like a ghost away." - "Ah, gossip dear,    We're safe enough; here in this arm-chair sit,    And tell me how" - "Good saints! not here, not here; Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier."     He follow'd through a lowly arched way,    Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume,    And as she mutter'd "Well-a-well-a-day!"    He found him in a little moonlight room,    Pale, lattic'd, chill, and silent as a tomb.    "Now tell me where is Madeline", said he,    "O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom    Which none but secret sisterhood may see, "When they St Agnes' wool are weaving piously."     "St Agnes! Ah! it is St Agnes' Eve -    Yet men will murder upon holy days:    Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve,    And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays    To venture so: it fills me with amaze    To see thee, Porphyro! - St Agnes' Eve!    God's help! my lady fair the conjuror plays    This very night: good angels her deceive! But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle time to grieve."     Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon,    While Porphyro upon her face doth look,    Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone    Who keepeth clos'd a wondrous riddle-book,    As spectacled she sits in chimney nook.    But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told    His lady's purpose; and he scarce could brook    Tears, at the thought of those enchantments cold And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old.     Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,    Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart    Made purple riot: then doth he propose    A stratagem, that makes the beldame start:    "A cruel man and impious thou art:    Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dream    Alone with her good angels, far apart    From wicked men like thee. Go, go! - I deem Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem."     "I will not harm her, by all saints I swear,"    Quoth Porphyro: "O may I ne'er find grace    When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer,    If one of her soft ringlets I displace,    Or look with ruffian passion in her face:    Good Angela, believe me by these tears;    Or I will, even in a moment's space,    Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's ears, And beard them, though they be more fang'd than wolves and bears."     "Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul?    A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing,    Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll;    Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening,    Were never miss'd." Thus plaining, doth she bring    A gentler speech from burning Porphyro;    So woeful, and of such deep sorrowing,    That Angela gives promise she will do Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe.     Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy,    Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide    Him in a closet, of such privacy    That he might see her beauty unespied,    And win perhaps that night a peerless bride,    While legion'd fairies pac'd the coverlet,    And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed.    Never on such a night have lovers met, Since Merlin paid his Demon all the monstrous debt.     "It shall be as thou wishest," said the Dame:    "All cates and dainties shall be stored there    Quickly on this feast-night: by the tambour frame    Her own lute thou wilt see: no time to spare,    For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare    On such a catering trust my dizzy head.    Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayer    The while: Ah! thou must needs the lady wed, Or may I never leave my grave among the dead."     So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear.    The lover's endless minutes slowly pass'd;    The Dame return'd, and whisper'd in his ear    To follow her; with aged eyes aghast    From fright of dim espial. Safe at last    Through many a dusky gallery, they gain    The maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd and chaste;    Where Porphyro took covert, pleas'd amain. His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain.     Her falt'ring hand upon the balustrade,    Old Angela was feeling for the stair,    When Madeline, St Agnes' charmed maid,    Rose, like a mission'd spirit, unaware:    With silver taper's light, and pious care,    She turn'd, and down the aged gossip led    To a safe level matting. Now prepare,    Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed; She comes, she comes again, like dove fray'd and fled.     Out went the taper as she hurried in;    Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died:    She closed the door, she panted, all akin    To spirits of the air, and visions wide:    No utter'd syllable, or, woe betide!    But to her heart, her heart was voluble,    Paining with eloquence her balmy side;    As though a tongueless nightingale should swell Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell.     A casement high and triple-arch'd there was,    All garlanded with carven imag'ries    Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass,    And diamonded with panes of quaint device,    Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes,    As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings;    And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries,    And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings.     Full on this casement shone the wintry moon,    And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast,    As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon;    Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,    And on her silver cross soft amethyst,    And on her hair a glory, like a saint:    She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest,    Save wings, for heaven: - Porphyro grew faint: She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.     Anon his heart revives: her vespers done,    Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees;    Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;    Loosens her fragrant bodice; by degrees    Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees:    Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed,    Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees,    In fancy, fair St Agnes in her bed, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.     Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest,    In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she lay,    Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress'd    Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away;    Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day;    Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain;    Clasp'd like a missal where swart Paynims pray;    Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.     Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced,    Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress,    And listen'd to her breathing, if it chanced    To wake into a slumbrous tenderness;    Which when he heard, that minute did he bless,    And breath'd himself: then from the closet crept,    Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness,    And over the hush'd carpet, silent, stept, And 'tween the curtains peep'd, where, lo! - how fast she slept!     Then by the bed-side, where the faded moon    Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set    A table, and, half anguish'd, threw thereon    A doth of woven crimson, gold, and jet: -    O for some drowsy Morphean amulet!    The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion,    The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarinet,    Affray his ears, though but in dying tone: - The hall door shuts again, and all the noise is gone.     And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,    In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd,    While he from forth the closet brought a heap    Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd    With jellies soother than the creamy curd,    And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon;    Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd    From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one, From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon.     These delicates he heap'd with glowing hand    On golden dishes and in baskets bright    Of wreathed silver: sumptuous they stand    In the retired quiet of the night,    Filling the chilly room with perfume light. -    "And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake!    Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite:    Open thine eyes, for meek St Agnes' sake, Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache."     Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm    Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream    By the dusk curtains: - 'twas a midnight charm    Impossible to melt as iced stream:    The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam;    Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies:    It seem'd he never, never could redeem    From such a stedfast spell his lady's eyes; So mus'd awhile, entoil'd in woofed phantasies.     Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, -    Tumultuous, - and, in chords that tenderest be,    He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute,    In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans mercy:"    Close to her ear touching the melody: -    Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan:    He ceased - she panted quick - and suddenly    Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone: Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone.     Her eyes were open, but she still beheld,    Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep:    There was a painful change, that nigh expell'd    The blisses of her dream so pure and deep,    At which fair Madeline began to weep,    And moan forth witless words with many a sigh;    While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep;    Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly.     "Ah, Porphyro!" said she, "but even now    Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear,    Made tuneable with every sweetest vow;    And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear:    How chang'd thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear!    Give me that voice again, my Porphyro,    Those looks immortal, those complainings dear!    Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, For if thou diest, my Love, I know not where to go."     Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far    At these voluptuous accents, he arose,    Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star    Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose    Into her dream he melted, as the rose    Blendeth its odour with the violet, -    Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows    Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet Against the window-panes; St Agnes' moon hath set.     Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet:    "This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!"    'Tis dark: the iced gusts still rave and beat:    "No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine!    Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine. -    Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring?    I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine    Though thou forsakest a deceived thing; - A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing."     "My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride!    Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest?    Thy beauty's shield, heart-shap'd and vermeil dyed?    Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest    After so many hours of toil and quest,    A famish'd pilgrim, - saved by miracle.    Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest    Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well 'To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel.'     "Hark! 'tis an elfin-storm from faery land,    Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed:    Arise - arise! the morning is at hand; -    The bloated wassailers will never heed: -    Let us away, my love, with happy speed;    There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, -    Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead:    Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee."     She hurried at his words, beset with fears,    For there were sleeping dragons all around,    At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears -    Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found. -    In all the house was heard no human sound.    A chain-droop'd lamp was flickering by each door;    The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound,    Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar; And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.     They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall;    Like phantoms, to the iron porch, they glide;    Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl,    With a huge empty flagon by his side:    The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide,    But his sagacious eye an inmate owns:    By one, and one, the bolts fill easy slide: -    The chains lie silent on the footworn stones, - The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans.     And they are gone: ay, ages long ago    These lovers fled away into the storm.    That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe,    And all his warrior-guests, with shade and form    Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm,    Were long be-nightmar'd. Angela the old    Died palsy-twitch'd, with meagre face deform;    The Beadsman, after thousand aves told, For aye unsought for slept among his ashes cold. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eo-tp0JZvUA

There is a train that's heading straight To heaven's gate, to heaven's gate

Another painting by Andrew Wyeth which I don't know the name of, but it is utterly beautiful

I've wept for those who suffer long
But how I weep for those who've gone
Into rooms of grief and questioned wrong
But keep on killing

It's in the soul to feel such things
But weak to watch without speaking
Oh what mercy sadness brings
If God be willing

There is a train that's heading straight
To heaven's gate, to heaven's gate
And on the way, child and man,
And woman wait, watch and wait
For redemption day

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qFk3mqrAmO8

This is one for the good days

I HAVE met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

That woman's days were spent
In ignorant good-will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers
When, young and beautiful,
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school
And rode our winged horse;
This other his helper and friend
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,
So sensitive his nature seemed,
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vainglorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road.
The rider, the birds that range
From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute they change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it;
The long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-cocks call;
Minute by minute they live:
The stone's in the midst of all.

Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse -
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-kCKob1YKOU

when justice he delays is always justice he denies

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DZHw9uyj81g