Memory of you is . . . a blue spear of flower.
I cannot remember the name of it.
Alongside a bold dripping poppy is fire and silk.
And they cover you.
As for a moment he stands, in hardy masculine beauty,
Poised on the fircrested rock, over the pool which below him
Gleams in the wavering sunlight, waiting the shock of his plunging.
So for a moment I stand, my feet planted firm in the present,
Eagerly scanning the future which is so soon to possess me.
Where art thou, beloved To-morrow?
When young and old, and strong and weak,
Rich and poor, through joy and sorrow,
Thy sweet smiles we ever seek,--
In thy place--ah! well-a-day!
We find the thing we fled--To-day.
SAYS Tweed to Till--
'What gars ye rin sae still?'
Says Till to Tweed--
'Though ye rin with speed
And I rin slaw,
For ae man that ye droon
I droon twa.'
Gud! din Prøve tog igien tilbage
Alt hvad du paa Jorden skænkte mig;
Dog skal Fryd og Tak end blande sig
I min Smerte, Fader, og min Klage.
Thi du lod mig Tankens Flugt til Dig;
Og i den jeg har evindelig
Himles Himmels største Skat tilbage.
Well and
If day on day
Follows and weary year
On year . . . and ever days and years . . .
Well?
don't undress my love
you might find a mannequin:
don't undress the mannequin
you might find
my love.
Two 17th Century Dutch merchants are strolling in an orchard up & down between two rows of trees. They’re discussing the recent downturn in business due to competition from their Spanish counterparts. Each time they reach the end of a row they shout out numbers to a Chinese clerk sitting on a high stool. He makes rapid calculations on an abacus & shouts out the results. It doesn’t bode well for the patient on the operating table under an apple tree in the heart of the orchard.
