From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were – I have not seen
As others saw – I could not bring
My passions from a common spring –
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow – I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone –
And all I lov’d – I lov’d alone –
Then – in my childhood – in the dawn
Of a most stormy life – was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still –
From the torrent, or the fountain –
From the red cliff of the mountain –
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold –
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by –
From the thunder, and the storm –
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view –

~Edgar Allan Poe~

Published in: on April 28, 2008 at 1:39 am  Comments (1)  
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The Little Boy Found

The little boy lost in the lonely fen,
Led by the wand’ring light,
Began to cry; but God, ever nigh,
Appear’d like his father in white.

He kissed the child & by the hand led
And to his mother brought,
Who in sorrow pale, thro’ the lonely dale,
Her little boy weeping sought.

~William Blake~

Published in: on April 25, 2008 at 12:39 pm  Comments (3)  
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Your body –
Swollen like a river
In spate.

Your tongue –
Moving all over
Ferreting out little secrets.

Your lips –
Moist, pliant,
Urging me in.

Your eyes –
Half closed, Half open,
Seeing in me
A silhouette from the past.

More often,
It is not the body
But the mind
Which commits adultery…

~Ramendra Kumar~

Published in: on April 24, 2008 at 1:13 pm  Leave a Comment  
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My Heart Leaps Up When I Behold

My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began,
So is it now I am a man,
So be it when I shall grow old
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man:
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

~William Wordsworth~

The King

The night doth cut with shadowy knife
In half the kingdom of the sun;
The red dawn meets with her in strife;–
Vassal of mine I hold each one.

The sailors chant beside the mast,
The tempest lash the riven foam,
But I, the King, am striding fast
Before the prow, to guide it home.

I am the lover wed to tears,
I am the cynic cold and sage,
I am the ghost of noble years,
I am the prophet lapp’d in rage.

I am the fane no longer trod
That moulders on the wild hill-brow;
I am the fresh and radiant god
To whom the young religions bow.

Perfection woo’d in many a guise
Is in my charge, a stabled beast;
The myriad moons look from my eyes;
The worlds unnam’d sit at my feast.

My glance is in the splendid noon,
The golden orchid blown of heat;
My brow is as the South lagoon,
And all the stars are at my feet.

The lost waves moan: I made their song.
The lost lands dream: I wove their trance.
The earth is old, and death is strong;
Stronger am I, the true Romance.

~R.T. Chandler~

Published in: on April 22, 2008 at 1:25 am  Leave a Comment  
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