Chants Limitrophes Poème (French Edition)
On the whole possibly have i loved? Mine looked long at the sticky moon opening in dusk her new wings then decently hanged himself,one afternoon.
The last thing he saw was you naked amid unnaked things, your flesh,a succinct wandlike animal, a little strolling with the futile purr of blood ;your sex squeaked like a billiard-cue chalking itself,as not to make an error, with twists spontaneously methodical. He suddenly tasted worms windows and roses he laughed,and closed his eyes as a girl closes her left hand upon a mirror. V even a pencil has fear to do the posed body luckily made a pen is dreadfully afraid of her of this of the smile's two eyes Well and when—Does susceptibility imply perspicuity,or?
Seeing seeing her is not to something or to nothing as much as being by her seen,which has got nothing on something as i think ,did you ever hear a jazz Band? By midnight, a moon scratches the skin of the organised hills an edged nothing begins to prune let's live like the light that kills and let's as silence, because Whirl's after all: In this at least we have got a bulge on death, silence,and the keenly musical light of sudden nothing And by this throat a little suddenly lifted in singing—hands fragile whom almost tire the sleepshaped lilies— should my lady's body with these frail ladies dangerously respire: X a thing most new complete fragile intense, which wholly trembling memory undertakes —your kiss,the little pushings of flesh,makes my body sorry when the minute moon is a remarkable splinter in the quick of twilight It was in the spring of this very year a spring of wines women and window-sills i met that hideous gladness,per the face —pinxit,who knows?
Whom i salute,by what is dear to us; and by a gestured city stilled in the framing twilight of Spring And if somebody hears what i say—let him be pitiful: The horses sleep upstairs. And you can see their ears.
Véronique Chemla
Ears win- k,funny stable. In the morning they go out in pairs: They pull the morning out of the night. I am living with a mouse who shares my meals with him,which is fair as i judge. XIX the phonograph's voice like a keen spider skipping quickly over patriotic swill. The,negress,in the,rocker by the,curb,tipping and tipping,theflocksof pigeons. And the skil- ful loneliness,and the rather fat man in bluishsuspenders half-reading the Evening Something in the normal window, and a cat. A cat waiting for god knows makes me wonder if i'm alive eye pries, not open.
My crazy fingers liked your dress So until light each having each we promised to forget— wherefore is there nothing left to guess: XXI let us tremble a personal radiance sits hideously upon the trafficking hum of dusk each street takes of shadowy light the droll snowing delirium we do not speak tumbled hushingly bits of downward flower flowing without or cease or time;a naming stealth of ecstasy means,like a girl lasciviously frail, peace dreaming is better murdering coolness slowly in peopling places seeks play: XXIII notice the convulsed orange inch of moon perching on this silver minute of evening.
We'll choose the way to the forest—no offense to you,white town whose spires softly dare. Will take the houseless wisping rune of road lazily carved on sharpening air. Fields lying miraculous in violent silence fill with microscopic whithering Don't be afraid and we will pass the simple ugliness of exact tombs,where a large road crosses and all the people are minutely dead. We intricately alive,cleaving the luminous stammer of bodies eagerly just not each other touch seeking,some street which easily tickles a brittle fuss of fragile huge humanity Numb thoughts,kicking in the rivers of our blood,miss by how terrible inches speech—it made you a little dizzy did the world's smell but i was thinking why the girl-and-bird of you move Ill Paris;this April sunset completely utters; utters serenely silently a cathedral before whose upward lean magnificent face the streets turn young with rain, spiral acres of bloated rose coiled within cobalt miles of sky yield to and heed the mauve of twilight who slenderly descends, daintily carrying in her eyes the dangerous first stars people move love hurry in a gently arriving gloom and see!
International Music & Culture
The minute waist continually with an African gesture utters a frivolous intense half of Girl which like some floating snake upon itself always and slowly which upward certainly is pouring emits a pose: VI of this sunset which is so filled with fear people bells i say your eyes can take day away more softly horribly suddenly; of these two most early stars wincing upon a single colour,i know only that your hands move more simply upon the evening and a propos such light and shape as means the moon,i somehow feel your smile slightly is a more minute adventure lady.
With a cleverjeRk in itlike the motionofa Sharp Knife-sN ap- pingof fadeadf ish' shead Or,the whipping of a blackSnake cu tSudden ly in 2 that,writhes Les belles bottes—oh hear ,pas cheres" and my love slowly answered I think so. But I think I see someone else there is a lady,whose name is Afterwards she is sitting beside young death,is slender; likes flowers.
PORTRAITS I when the spent day begins to frail whose grave already three or two young stars with spades of silver dig by beauty i declare to you if what i am at one o'clock to little lips which have not sinned in whose displeasure lives a kiss kneeling,your frequent mercy begs, sharply believe me,wholly,well —did wisely suddenly into a dangerous womb of cringing air the largest hour push deep his din of wallowing male shock beyond shock blurted strokes,vibrant with the purr of echo pouring in a mesh of following tone: IV Who threw the silver dollar up into the tree?
I didn't said the little lady who sews and grows every day paler-paler she sits sewing and grow- ing and that's the truth, who threw the ripe melon into the tree? I dunno said the silver dog, with ripe eyes and wagged his tail that's the god's own and the moon kissed the little lady on her paler-paler face and said never mind,you'll find But the moon creeped into the pink hand of the smoke that shook the ivories and she said said She Win and you won't be sorry And The Moon came! My gorgeous bullet in tickling intuitive flight aches,just,simply,into,her. As an eye winks. Dumb for a while.
VI the poem her belly marched through me as one army. From her nostrils to her feet she smelled of silence. The inspired cleat of her glad leg pulled into a sole mass my separate lusts her hair was like a gas evil to feel. One day i felt a mountain touch me where i stood maybe nine miles off. It was spring sun-stirring, sweetly to the mangling air muchness of buds mattered, a valley spilled its tickling river in my eyes, the killed world wriggled like a twitched string.
VII an amiable putrescence carpenters the village of her mind bodily which ravelling,to a proud continual stitch of the unmitigated sistole purrs against my mind,the eyes' shuddering burrs of light stick on my brain harder than can twitch its terrors; the,mouth's,swallowed,muscle itch of groping mucous in my mouth occurs homelessly. While grip Hips simply, well fussed flesh does surely to mesh. New and eager, wittily peels the. Upon the whole he suddenly clapped a tiny sunset of vermouth -colour. Hair, he put between her lips a moist mistake,whose fragrance hurls me into tears,as the dusty new- ness of her obsolete gaze begins to.
Seeing how the limp huddling string of your smile over his body squirms kissingly,i will bring you every spring handfuls of little normal worms. Dress deftly your flesh in stupid stuffs, phrase the immense weapon of your hair. Understanding why his eye laughs, i will bring you every year something which is worth the whole, an inch of nothing for your soul. Creasing its smoothness—and leave the bed agrin with memories this white worm and i who love to feel what it will do in my bullying fingers as for the candle,it'U turn into a little curse of wax. On the line, not so old for the mother of twelve undershirts we are told by is it Bishop Taylor who needs hanging that marriage is a sure cure for masturbation.
A dirty wind,twitches the,clothes which are clean —this is twilight, a little puppy hopping between skipping children It is the consummation of day,the hour she says to me you big fool she says i says to her i says Sally i says the mmmoon,begins to,drool softly,in the hot alley, a nigger's voice feels curiously cool suddenly-Lights go! It is so quite new a thing. Muscles better and nerves more. At least my theory of technique,if I have one,is very far from original;nor is it complicated.
If a poet is anybody,he is somebody to whom things made matter very little—some- body who is obsessed by Making. Like all obsessions,the Making obsession has disadvantages;for instance,my only interest in making money would be to make it.
Fortunately,however,I should prefer to make almost anything else,including loco- motives and roses. It is with roses and locomotives not to mention acrobats Spring electricity Coney Island the 4th of July the eyes of mice and Niagara Falls that my "poems" are competing. They are also competing with each other,with elephants,and with El Greco. Ineluctable preoccupation with The Verb gives a poet one priceless advantage: LIZ with breathing as faithfully her lownecked dress a little topples and slightly expands one square foot mired in silk wrinkling loth stocking begins queerly to do a few gestures to death, the silent shoulders are both slowly with pinkish ponderous arms bedecked whose white thick wrists deliver promptly to a deep lap enormous mindless hands, and no one knows what i am sure of this her blunt unslender,what her big unkeen "Business is rotten"the face yawning said what her mouth thinks of if it were a kiss distinct entirely melting sinuous lean MAME she puts down the handmirror.
A thumblike index down- dragging yanks back skin"see" i,seeing,ceased to breathe. The plump left fist opening "wisdom. Flynn" the words drizzle untidily from released cheeks'Tll tell duh woild;some noive all right. Aint much on looks but how dat baby ached. GERT joggle i think will do it although the glad monosyllable jounce possibly can tell better how the balloons move as her ghost lurks,a Beau Brummell sticking in its three- cornered always moist mouth —jazz, for whose twitching lips,between you and me almost succeeds while toddle rings the bell.
But if her tall corpsecoloured body seat itself with the uncouth habitual dull jerk at garters there's no sharpest neat word for the thing. Listen"the feline she with radishred legs said crossing them slowly 'Tm asleep. Youse is asleep kid and everybody is. FRAN should i entirely ask of god why on the alert neck of this brittle whore delicately wobbles an improbably distinct face, and how these wooden big two feet conclude happeningly the unfirm drooping bloated calves i would receive the answer more or less deserved,Young fellow go in peace, which i do,being as Dick Mid once noted lifting a Green River here's to youse "a bloke wot's well behaved" And there're a hun-dred-mil-lion-oth-ers,like all of you successfully if delicately gelded or spaded gentlemen and ladies —pretty littleliverpill- hearted-Nujolneeding-There's-A-Reason americans who tensetendoned and with upward vacant eyes,painfully perpetually crouched,quivering,upon the sternly allotted sandpile —how silently emit a tiny violetflavoured nuisance: In thy your ear: So this is Paris.
Waiter a drink waiter two or three drinks what's become of Maeterlinck now that April's here? Oh for such a gurl gurl gurl, oh for such a gurl to be a fellow's twistandtwirl talk about your Sal- Sal- Sal-, talk about your Salo -mes but gimmie Jimmie's gal. How did the traffic get so jammed?
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One wondrous fine sonofabitch to all purposes and intents in which distinct and rich portrait should be included,gents these by the fire's ruddy glow united not less than sixteen children and of course you know their mother,of his heart the queen —incalculable bliss! XXX ponder,darling,these busted statues of yon motheaten forum be aware notice what hath remained —the stone cringes clinging to the stone,how obsolete lips utter their extant smile As i was standing on the third rail waiting for the next train to grind me into lifeless atoms various absurd thoughts slyly crept into my highly sexed mind.
It seemed to me that i had first of all really made quite a mistake in being at all born,seeing that i was wifeless and only half awake,cursed with pimples, correctly dressed,cleanshaven above the nombril,and much to my astonishment much impressed by having once noticed as an infantile phenomenon George Washington al- most incompletely surrounded by well-drawn icecakes beheld being too strong,in brief: A collarbutton which had always not nothurt me not much and in the same place.
Why according to tomorrow's paper the proletariat will not rise yesterday. Inexpressible itchings to be photographed with Lord Rothermere playing with Lord Rothermere billiards very well by moonlight with Lord Rothermere. A crocodile eats a native,who in revenge beats it insensible with a banana, establishing meanwhile a religious cult based on consubstantial intangibility.
Personne ne m'aime et j'ai les mains froides. His Royal Highness said "peek-a-boo" and thirty tame fleas left the prettily embroidered howdah immediately. Thumbprints of an angel named Frederick found on a lightning-rod,Boston,Mass. We refer,of course,to my position. A bachelor incapable of occupation,he had long suppressed the desire to suppress the suppressed desire of shall we say: Idleness,while meaning its opposite?
Nothing could be clearer to all con- cerned than that i am not a policeman. Meanwhile the tea regressed. Miggin's harm in is,extinguishing the spittoon by a candle furnished by courtesy of the management on Thursdays,opposite which a church stood perfectly upright but not piano item: By this time,however,the flight of crows had ceased.
I withdrew my hands from the tennisracket. One brief convulsive octopus,and then our hero folded his umbrella. It seemed too beautiful. Let us perhaps excuse me if i repeat himself: If i should have made this perfectly clear,it entirely would have been not my fault. XXXIII voices to voices,lip to lip i swear to noone everyone constitutes undying;or whatever this and that petal confutes While you and i have lips and voices which are for kissing and to sing with who cares if some oneeyed son of a bitch invents an instrument to measure Spring with?
Which being quite beyond dispute as prove from Troy N. O a monkey with a sharp face waddling carefully the length of this padded pole;a monkey attached by a chain securely to this always talking individual,mysterious witty hatless. Cats which move smoothly from neck to neck of bottles,cats smoothly willowing out and in between bottles,who step smoothly and rapidly along this pole over five squirming mice;or leap through hoops offire,creatingsmoothness.
People stare,the drunker applaud while twilight takes the sting out of the vermilion jacket of nodding hairy Jacqueline who is given a mouse to hold lovingly, our lady what do you think of this? Do your proud fingers and your arms tremble remembering something squirming fragile and which had been presented unto you by a mystery? Like the crackle of a typewriter,in the afternoon sky. That is enough of life,for you. VI you are not going to,dear. You are not going to and i but that doesn't in the least matter.
The big fear Who held us deeply in His fist is no longer,can you imagine it i can't which doesn't matter and what does is possibly this dear,that we may resume impact with the inutile collide once more with the imaginable,love,and eat sunlight do you believe it? Dear i put my eyes into you but that doesn't matter further than of old because you fooled the doctors,i touch you with hopes and words and with so and so: It's different too isn't it different dear from moving as we,you and i,used to move when i thought you were going to but that doesn't matter when you thought you were going to America.
French Poems
Love if you like and i like,for the reason that i hate people and lean out of this window is love,iove and the reason that i laugh and breathe is oh love and the reason that i do not fall into this street is love. And send life out of me and the night absolutely into me II touching you i say it being Spring and night "let us go a very little beyond the last road—there's something to be found" and smiling you answer "every thing turns into something else,and slips away Along the sand behind us,a big yellow dog that's II oil tel duh woil doi sez dooyuh unnurs tanmih eesez pullih nizmus tash,oi dough un giv uh shid oi sez.
Tom oidoughwuntuh doot,butoiguttuh braikyooz,datswut eesez tuhmih. Nowoi askyuh woodundat maik yurarstoin green? Muh jax awl gawn. Fur Croi saik ainnoughbudih gutnutntuhplai? Next door but four gentlemen are trinightly entertained by a whore who Talks in the daytime,when who is asleep with only several faces and a multitude of chins: Both very young noisily who kiss throw silently things Each at other if not quarrelling in a luxury of telescoped languages she smokes three castles He looks Jewish ,next door but One a on Dirty bed Mangy from person Porous sits years its of self fee bly Perpetually coughing And thickly spotting But next door nobody seems to live at present l'on parle de repapering;i don't think so.
Some people 's future is toothsome like they got pockets full may take a littl e nibble now And then bite candy others fly,their;puLLing: McKinley when Buch tooked out his C. Abe tucks it up back inley clamored Clever Rusefelt to Theodore Odysseus Graren't we couldn't free the negro because he ant but Coolitch wiped his valley forge with Sitting Bull's T. I thereupon loosened my collar and dove for the nearest 1 surreptitiously cogitating the dictum of a new england sculptor well on in life re the helen moller dancers,whom he considered "elevating—that is,if dancing CAN be elevating" Miss believe it or Gay is a certain Young Woman unacquainted with the libido and pursuing a course of instruction at radcliffe college,cambridge,mass.
De room swung roun an crawled up into itself, an awful big light squoits down my spine like i was dead er sumpn: XXIX in a middle of a room stands a suicide sniffing a Paper rose smiling to a self "somewhere it is Spring and sometimes people are in real-. M iN -visiblya mongban gedfrag- ment ssky? XLV you in win ter who sit dying thinking huddled behind dir ty glass mind muddled and cuddled by dreams or some times vacantly gazing through un washed panes into a crisp todo of murdering uncouth faces which pass rap idly with their breaths.
I have never loved you dear as now i love behold this fool who,in the month of June, having of certain stars and planets heard, rose very slowly in a tight balloon until the smallening world became absurd; him did an archer spy whose aim had erred never and by that little trick or this he shot the aeronaut down,into the abyss —and wonderfully i fell through the green groove of twilight,striking into many a piece. I have never loved you dear as now i love god's terrible face,brighter than a spoon, collects the image of one fatal word; so that my life which liked the sun and the moon resembles something that has not occurred: I have never loved you dear as now i love.
The moon's round,through the window as you see and really i have no servants. We could almost live at the top of these stairs,there's a free room. We almost could go you and i into a together whitely big there is but if so or so slowly i opened the window a most tinyness,the moon with white wig and polished buttons would take you away —and all the clocks would run down the next day.
LVII somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond any experience,your eyes have their silence: LX because i love you last night clothed in sealace appeared to me your mind drifting with chuckling rubbish of pearl weed coral and stones; lifted,and before my eyes sinking inward,fled;softly your face smile breasts gargled by death: LXIII be unto love as rain is unto colour;create me gradually or as these emerging now hills invent the air breathe simply my each how my trembling where my still unvisible when.
Wait if i am not heart,because at least i beat —always think i am gone like a sun which must go sometimes,to make an earth gladly seem firm for you: LXVI nothing is more exactly terrible than to be alone in the house,with somebody and with something You are gone, there is laughter and despair impersonates a street i lean from the window,behold ghosts, a man hugging a woman in a park. LXX here is the ocean,this is moonlight: S i r rlvInG. But he turned into a fair y! Two pale slippery small eyes balanced upon one broken babypout pretty teeth wander into which and out of Life,dost Thou contain a marvel than this death named Smith less strange?
Married and lies afraid;aggressive and: Says over un graves der,speaking says. Nci;ddaanncciinn GIY a nda n-saint dance! When out of sheer nothing came a huger than fear a white with madness wind and broke oceans and tore mountains from their sockets and strewed the black air with writhing alive skies—and in death's place new fragrantly young earth space opening was.
King Christ,this world is all aleak; and lifepreservers there are none: Streets glit ter a,strut: Love having found wound up such pretty toys as themselves could not know: Mostpeople have less in common with ourselves than the squarerootof- minusone. You and I are human beings;mostpeople are snobs. Take the matter of being born. What does being born mean to most- people? The cultured aristocrat yanked out of his hyperexclusively ultravoluptuous super- palazzo,and dumped into an incredibly vulgar detentioncamp swarming with every conceivable species of undesirable organism.
Mostpeople fancy a guaranteed birthproof safetysuit of nondestructible selflessness. If mostpeople were to be born twice they'd improbably call it dying— you and I are not snobs. We can never be born enough. We are human beings;for whom birth is a supremely welcome mystery,the mystery of growing: You and I wear the dangerous looseness of doom and find it becoming.
Life,for eternal us,is now;and now is much too busy being a little more than everything to seem anything,catastrophic included. Take the socalled standardofliving. What do mostpeople mean by "living"? They don't mean living. They mean the latest and closest plural approximation to singular prenatal passivity which science,in its finite but unbounded wisdom,has suc- ceeded in selling their wives. If science could fail,a mountain's a mammal. Mostpeople's wives can spot a genuine delusion of embryonic omni- potence immediately and will accept no substitutes —luckily for us,a mountain is a mammal.
The plusorminus movie to end moving,the strictly scientific parlourgame of real unreality,the tyranny conceived in misconception and dedicated to the proposition that every man is a woman and any woman a king,hasn't a wheel to stand on. What their most synthetic not to mention transparent majesty, mrsandmr collective foetus,would improbably call a ghost is walking. He isn't an undream of anaesthetized impersons,or a cosmic comfort- station,or a transcendentally sterilized lookiesoundiefeelietastiesmellie.
He is a healthily complex,a naturally homogeneous,citizen of immor- tality. The now of his each pitying free imperfect gesture,his any birth or hreathing,insults perfected inframortally millenniums of slavishness. He is a little more than everything,he is democracy;he is alive: Miracles are to come.
With you I leave a remembrance of miracles: Nothing false,nothing difficult or easy or small or colossal. Nothing ordinary or extraordinary,nothing emptied or filled,real or unreal;nothing feeble and known or clumsy and guessed. Everywhere tints childrening,innocent spontaneous,true. No- where possibly what flesh and impossibly such a garden,but actually flowers which breasts are among the very mouths of light.
Nothing be- lieved or doubted;brain over heart, surface: Only how measureless coolflamesof making; only each other building always distinct selves of mutual entirely open- ing;only alive. Never the murdered finalities of wherewhen and yesno, impotent nongames of wrongright and rightwrong;never to gain or pause,never the soft adventure of undoom,greedy anguishes and cringing ecstasies of inexistence;never to rest and never to have: Always the beautiful answer who asks a more beautiful question E. Little ness be ing comes ex -pert- Ly expand: For if you're young,whatever life you wear it will become you;and if you are glad whatever's living will yourself become.
Girlboys may nothing more than boygirls need: No body loved big that quick sharp thick snake of a voice these root like legs or feethands; nobody ever could ever had love loved whose his climbing shoulders queerly twilight: We're alive and shall bexities may overflow am was assassinating whole grassblades,five ideas can swallow a man;three words im -prison a woman for all her now: Employs a very crazily how clownlike that this quickly ghost scribbling from there to where —name unless i'm mistaken chauvesouris— whose grammar is atrocious; but so what princess selene doesn't know a thing who's much too busy being her beautiful yes.
Expecting more would be neither fantastic nor pathological but dumb. The number of times a wheel turns doesn't determine its roundness: Women and men both little and small cared for anyone not at all they sowed their isn't they reaped their same sun moon stars rain children guessed but only a few and down they forgot as up they grew autumn winter spring summer that noone loved him more by more when by now and tree by leaf she laughed his joy she cried his grief bird by snow and stir by still anyone's any was all to her someones married their everyones laughed their cryings and did their dance sleep wake hope and then they said their nevers they slept their dream stars rain sun moon and only the snow can begin to explain how children are apt to forget to remember with up so floating many bells down one day anyone died i guess and noone stooped to kiss his face busy folk buried them side by side little by little and was by was all by all and deep by deep and more by more they dream their sleep noone and anyone earth by april wish by spirit and if by yes.
Lifting the valleys of the sea my father moved through griefs of joy; praising a forehead called the moon singing desire into begin joy was his song and joy so pure a heart of star by him could steer and pure so now and now so yes the wrists of twilight would rejoice keen as midsummer's keen beyond conceiving mind of sun will stand, so strictly over utmost him so hugely stood my father's dream hisfleshwasfleshhis blood was blood: My father moved through theys of we, singing each new leaf out of each tree and every child was sure that spring danced when she heard my father sing then let men kill which cannot share, let blood and flesh be mud and mire,.
By handless hints do conjurers rule?
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Each why of a leaf says floating each how you're which as to die each green of a new you're who as to grow but you're he as to do what must whispers be must be the wise fool ifliving'stogive so breathing's to steal— five wishes are five and one hand is a mind then over our thief goes you go and i has pulled for he's we such fruit from what bough that someone called they made him pay with his now. Huge this collective pseudobeast sans either pain or joy does nothing except preexist its hoi in its polloi and if sometimes he's prodded forth to exercise her vote or made by threats of something worth than death to change their coat —which something as you'll never guess infiftythousand years equals the quote and unquote loss of liberty my dears— or even is compelled to fight itself from tame to teem still doth our hero contemplate in raptures of undream that strictly and how scienti fie land of supernod where freedom is compulsory and only man is god.
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Progress is a comfortable disease: A world of made is not a world of born—pity poor flesh and trees,poor stars and stones,but never this fine specimen of hypermagical ultraomnipotence. We doctors know a hopeless case if—listen: It's two are halves of one: Let liars wilt,repaying life they're loaned; we by a gift called dying born must grow deep in dark least ourselves remembering love only rides his year. XIX when you are silent,shining host by guest a snowingly enfolding glory is all angry common things to disappear causing through mystery miracle peace: Blow king to beggar and queen to seem blow friend tofiend: Blow hope to terror;blow seeing to blind blow pity to envy and soul to mind —whose hearts are mountains,roots are trees, it's they shall cry hello to the spring what if a dawn of a doom of a dream bites this universe in two, peels forever out of his grave and sprinkles nowhere with me and you?
Blow soon to never and never to twice blow life to isn't: Swoop shrill collective myth into thy grave merely to toil the scale to shrillerness per every madge and mabel dick and dave —tomorrow is our permanent address and there they'll scarcely find us if they do, we'll move away still further: Hills jump with brooks: Soul was i understand seduced by Life;whose brother married Heart, now Mrs Death.
Old may mean anything which everyone would rather not become; but growing is" erect her whole life smiled "was and will always remain: Look at these each serenely welcoming his only and inimitably his destiny mountains! Be thou gay by dark and day: Mountains are mountains now;skies now are skies— and such a sharpening freedom lifts our blood as if whole supreme this complete doubtless universe we'd and we alone had made —yes;or as if our souls,awakened from summer's green trance,would not adventure soon a deeper magic: At which smiling he stops: And darling never fear: Time's a strange fellow; more he gives than takes and he takes all nor any marvel finds quite disappearance but some keener makes losing,gaining —love!
The whole truth not hid by matter;not by mind revealed more than all dying life,all living death and never which has been or will be told sings only—and all lovers are the song. Here only here is freedom: And then this dreamer wept: Tall as the truth was who: Death should take his hat off to this dame: To doubt that in whose form less form all goodness truth and beauty lurk, simply to her does not occur alarm ing notion for idealists? Nobody ,it's safe to say,observed him but myself;and why? Much better than which,every woman who's despite the ultramachinations of some loveless infraworld a woman knows; and certain men quite possibly may have shall we say guessed?
In spectral such hugest how hush,one dead leaf stirring makes a crash —far away as far as alive lies april;and i breathe-move-and-seem some perpetually roaming whylessness— autumn has gone: Then,with not credible the anywhere eclipsing of a spirit's ignorance by every wisdom knowledge fears to dare, how the myself's own self who's child will dance! Only whose vision can create the whole being forever born a foolishwise proudhumble citizen of ecstasies more steep than climb can time with all his years he's free into the beauty of the truth; and strolls the axis of the universe —love.
Where we sought For help in that with which we could do naught, You were at hand, prepared to show the way, And when we came to you in sore dismay You made most clear the path with perils fraught. Now when wefindourselves about to lose Your leadership, whose strength will ever dwell In us and by us to the very end, We know no better title we can use In wishing you afinal,fond farewell, Than that whichfitsyou best,—our faithful friend!
And now, when Nature begins to grow, And the buds are out, and the birds are gay And all is well—above and below,— Here's to the coming of blithesome May. Winter was good when he met us here, With his sharp, clear days, and hisflashingsnow, But we carried Winter out on his bier, And buried him, many a month ago. March was not hard with all his blow, With April, Spring seemed on her way, But we've reached the best at last, and so Here's to the coming of blithesome May.
Winter has ended his cold career,— No more death, and no more woe,— We've come at last to a different sphere, With no more freezing, and—mistletoe. Spring in coming was very slow,— Altogether too much delay,— But we've cheered her on from foe to foe: Here's to the coming of blithesome May. Envoi Think of the gratitude all must owe,— Heaven has visited earth to-day. It's well enough to talk of poor and peers, And munch the golden apples' shiny core, And lay a lot of heroes on their biers;— While the great Alec, knocking down a score, Takes out his handkerchief, boohoo-ing, "More!
How shall I manage to compose a theme? Envoi Of what avail is all my mighty lore? I beat my breast, I tear my hair, I scream: Spring was good, and Summer better, But the best of all is waiting,— Madame Winter—don't forget her. Spring we welcomed when we met, Summer was a blessing; Autumn points to school, but yet Let's be acquiescing.
Ravissante, sans doute, blonde, pas vraiment, et idiote, pas du tout. Les relations entre Marilyn Monroe et la Fox, dont elle est l'une des vedettes, sont alors tendues. Sous le titre Marilyn "Wows 'Em" in Korea! Le couple divorce en Un pur moment de bonheur. The Prince and the Showgirl. Un tournage difficile pour ce film Le Prince et la danseuse coproduit par la star. Mais, Dean Martin, autre star du film, refuse tout remplacement de Marilyn Monroe.
Et remporte une victoire! Starting around the same time engraving methods advanced along with [ Jean-Pierre Claris de Florian was a French poet and romance writer. In the process we came across the tune in classical music. It can be found in the Symphony No. The lyrics I remember are: Easter This year Easter is celebrated on Sunday, April 1. You can read about Easter traditions and recipes from around the World here. Here are some Easter songs from around the world.
The Game of 4 Corners is for children 5 years and up and is [ French Macarons are different from Coconut Macaroons. French Macarons are made with almonds, while macaroons are made with coconut. At the time, they were eaten individually only one side. Around , the 1st Macarons [ It opened whole new possibilities about the human experience to me…. Whoever the children are in your life - your kids, your grandkids, your students, even yourself in your heart - Kid Songs Around The World is a wonderful way to help them experience other languages and cultures.
We've gathered of our favorite songs and rhymes from all the continents of the globe. Each song includes the full text in the original language, with an English translation, and most include sheet music. All include links to web pages where you can listen to recordings, hear the tune or watch a video performance. Each includes a beautiful illustration. Many have commentary sent to us by our correspondents who write about the history of the songs and what they've meant in their lives.
We hope this book will help foster a love of international children's songs!