Readings of great or naff poems

Romans 8:17 NIV Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory. === We Are Heirs Of The Father We Are Joint-Heirs With The Son. We Are children Of His Kingdom We Are Family, We Are One.

Welsh Incident Robert Ranke Graves (24 July 1895 -- 7 December 1985) was an English poet, translator and novelist. During his long life, he produced more than 140 works. He was the son of the Anglo-Irish writer Alfred Perceval Graves and Amalie von Ranke, a niece of historian Leopold von Ranke. He was the brother of the author Charles Patrick Graves and half-brother of Philip Graves.

"O MOTHER DEAR, JERUSALEM" "He…showed me that great city, the holy Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God" (Rev. 21:10) INTRO.: An old hymn which looks forward to that great city, the holy Jerusalem, which God has prepared for His people in heaven is "O Mother Dear, Jerusalem." The text is an anonymous Latin hymn, "Mater Hierusalem, civitas sancta Dei," that may be based on a passage from the Liber Meditationes often ascribed to Aurelius Augustine of Hippo (353-430). Some believe that the Meditations were a forgery. A versified form of some of these meditations entitled "Ad perennis vitae fontem" was made in Latin by Cardinal Peter Damian (c. 988-1072). An old English translation appeared in a British manuscript dating to the sixteenth century, from around 1580 or so, and titled, "A Song made by F. B. P.," which some think may stand for "Francis Baker, Priest." Another well-known hymn, "Jerusalem, My Happy Home" as arranged by Joseph Bromehead (and others), was taken from this same source. The section beginning, "O Mother Dear, Jerusalem," was arranged by William Prid in 1585, and further altered to its present form by David DIckson (1583-1663). The tune (Materna) most commonly used with this hymn was composed specifically for this text by Samuel Augustus Ward, who was born on Dec. 28, 1847, at Newark, NJ, the son of George Spencer and Abbie Ann Tichenor Ward. After studying music under Jan Pychowski and others in New York City, NY, he returned to Newark and married Virginia Bell Ward (no relation). Opening a music store in Newark, he later became music director at Grace Episcopal Church. An employee of Ward’s music store said that in 1882, while Ward was crossing New York Harbor after a day’s outing at Coney Island, the composer jotted the melody down on his cuff and it was later sung at Grace Episcopal Church. However, Ward’s son-in-law, Henry W. Armstrong, stated that the tune was composed in memory of Ward’s oldest daughter, Clara, who died in 1885. In any event, the tune was first published in a periodical, The Parish Choir (1889?), and its first hymnbook inclusion was in Charles L. Hutchins’s The Church Hymnal of 1894 with "O Mother Dear, Jerusalem." In addition to his store and church work, Ward was active in the musical life of his hometown and founded Newark’s Orpheus Club in 1889, serving as president until 1900, and then died in Newark, NJ, on Sept. 28, 1903. In 1912, the president of Massachusetts Agricultural College requested permission from Ward’s widow to use this tune with Katherine Lee Bates’s patriotic anthem, "America, the Beautiful," beginning, "O beautiful for spacious skies" of 1893 (which was not published until 1899), and most people are probably more familiar with that usage than with the hymn. Among hymnbooks published by members of the Lord’s church during the twentieth century for use in churches of Christ, "O Mother Dear, Jerusalem" appeared in the 1921 Great Songs of the Church (No. 1) edited by E. L. Jorgenson. The tune was used with "America, the Beautiful" in the 1937 Great Songs of the Church No. 2 also edited by Jorgenson; and the 1963 Christian Hymnal edited by J. Nelson Slater. Today, the tune with Bates’s song may be found in the 1971 Songs of the Church, the 1990 Songs of the Church 21st C., and the 1994 Songs of Faith and Praise all edited by Alton H. Howard; the 1977 Special Sacred Selections edited by Ellis J. Crum; the 1986 Great Songs Revised edited by Forrest M. McCann; and the 1992 Praise for the Lord edited by John P. Wiegand. The only other modern book in which I have seen "O Mother Dear, Jerusalem" is the 1961 Trinity Hymnal of the Orthodox Presbyterian Church. 1.⁠O Mother dear, Jerusalem! When shall I come to thee? When shall my sorrows have an end? Thy joys when shall I see? O happy harbor of the saints! O sweet and pleasant soil! In thee no sorrow may be found, No grief, no care, no toil. 2.⁠No murky cloud o'ershadows thee, Nor gloom, nor darksome night; But every soul shines as the sun, For God himself gives light. O my sweet home, Jerusalem, The joys when shall I see? The King that sitteth on thy throne In his felicity. 3.⁠The gardens and thy goodly walks Continually are green, Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers, As nowhere else are seen. Right thro' the streets, with silver sound,The living waters flow, And on the banks, on either side, The trees of life do grow. 4.⁠Those trees for evermore bear fruit, And evermore do spring; There evermore the angels are, And evermore do sing. Jerusalem, my happy home, Would God I were in thee! Would God my woes were at an end, Thy joys that I might see! AUAWN0324221

"If—" is a poem written in 1899 by Rudyard Kipling. It was first published in the "Brother Square Toes" chapter of Rewards and Fairies, Kipling's 1910 collection of short stories and poems. Like William Ernest Henley's "Invictus", it is a memorable evocation of Victorian stoicism and the "stiff upper lip" that popular culture has made into a traditional British virtue. Its status is confirmed both by the number of parodies it has inspired, and by the widespread popularity it still draws amongst Britons (it was voted the UK's favourite poem in a 1995 BBC opinion poll). The poem's line, "If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat those two imposters just the same" is written on the wall of the centre court players' entrance at the British tennis tournament, Wimbledon. The entire poem was read in a promotional video for the Wimbledon 2008 gentleman's final by Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal. According to Kipling in his autobiography Something of Myself, posthumously published in 1937, the poem was inspired by Dr. Leander Starr Jameson, who in 1895 led a raid by British forces against the Boers in South Africa, subsequently called the Jameson Raid. This defeat increased the tensions that ultimately led to the Second Boer War. The British press, however, portrayed Jameson as a hero in the middle of the disaster, and the actual defeat as a British victory.

There are seven parts to this poem. Samuel Taylor Coleridge made this story about a journey by sea to be spiritual, rather than real. A story within a story, an old mariner detains a groom on his wedding day and regales him with a story of the Mariner's disturbing journey, where the Mariner killed an Albatross and so cursed (or damned) the crew to death in strange waters. The Mariner gets back home, but must tell his story to others. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Rime_of_the_Ancient_Mariner AUAWN1231120 === It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. 'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set: May'st hear the merry din.' He holds him with his skinny hand, 'There was a ship,' quoth he. 'Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!' Eftsoons his hand dropt he. He holds him with his glittering eye— The Wedding-Guest stood still, And listens like a three years' child: The Mariner hath his will. The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone: He cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner. 'The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hill, Below the lighthouse top. The Sun came up upon the left, Out of the sea came he! And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the sea. Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon—' The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon. The bride hath paced into the hall, Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy. The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner. And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he Was tyrannous and strong: He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us south along. With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled. And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold: And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald. And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen: Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken— The ice was all between. The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound! At length did cross an Albatross, Thorough the fog it came; As if it had been a Christian soul, We hailed it in God's name. It ate the food it ne'er had eat, And round and round it flew. The ice did split with a thunder-fit; The helmsman steered us through! And a good south wind sprung up behind; The Albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariner's hollo! In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perched for vespers nine; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white Moon-shine.' 'God save thee, ancient Mariner! From the fiends, that plague thee thus!— Why look'st thou so?'—With my cross-bow I shot the ALBATROSS.

William Henry Davies or W. H. Davies (3 July 1871 -- 26 September 1940) was a Welsh poet and writer.

Charles Mackay YOU have no enemies, you say? Alas! my friend, the boast is poor; He who has mingled in the fray Of duty, that the brave endure, Must have made foes! If you have none, Small is the work that you have done. You've hit no traitor on the hip, You've dashed no cup from perjured lip, You've never turned the wrong to right, You've been a coward in the fight. AUAWN1224120 http://eng-poetry.ru/english/Poem.php?PoemId=3785

There are seven parts to this poem. Samuel Taylor Coleridge made this story about a journey by sea to be spiritual, rather than real. A story within a story, an old mariner detains a groom on his wedding day and regales him with a story of the Mariner's disturbing journey, where the Mariner killed an Albatross and so cursed (or damned) the crew to death in strange waters. The Mariner gets back home, but must tell his story to others. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Rime_of_the_Ancient_Mariner AUAWN1231720 === This Hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea. How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with marineres That come from a far countree. He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve— He hath a cushion plump: It is the moss that wholly hides The rotted old oak-stump. The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk, 'Why, this is strange, I trow! Where are those lights so many and fair, That signal made but now?' 'Strange, by my faith!' the Hermit said— 'And they answered not our cheer! The planks looked warped! and see those sails, How thin they are and sere! I never saw aught like to them, Unless perchance it were Brown skeletons of leaves that lag My forest-brook along; When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, That eats the she-wolf's young.' 'Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look— (The Pilot made reply) I am a-feared'—'Push on, push on!' Said the Hermit cheerily. The boat came closer to the ship, But I nor spake nor stirred; The boat came close beneath the ship, And straight a sound was heard. Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread: It reached the ship, it split the bay; The ship went down like lead. Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote, Like one that hath been seven days drowned My body lay afloat; But swift as dreams, myself I found Within the Pilot's boat. Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, The boat spun round and round; And all was still, save that the hill Was telling of the sound. I moved my lips—the Pilot shrieked And fell down in a fit; The holy Hermit raised his eyes, And prayed where he did sit. I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, Who now doth crazy go, Laughed loud and long, and all the while His eyes went to and fro. 'Ha! ha!' quoth he, 'full plain I see, The Devil knows how to row.' And now, all in my own countree, I stood on the firm land! The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, And scarcely he could stand. 'O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!' The Hermit crossed his brow. 'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say— What manner of man art thou?' Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched With a woful agony, Which forced me to begin my tale; And then it left me free. Since then, at an uncertain hour, That agony returns: And till my ghastly tale is told, This heart within me burns. I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; That moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me: To him my tale I teach. What loud uproar bursts from that door! The wedding-guests are there: But in the garden-bower the bride And bride-maids singing are: And hark the little vesper bell, Which biddeth me to prayer! O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been Alone on a wide wide sea: So lonely 'twas, that God himself Scarce seemèd there to be. O sweeter than the marriage-feast, 'Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company!— To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends And youths and maidens gay! Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou Wedding-Guest! He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all. The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest Turned from the bridegroom's door. He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn.

And death shall have no dominion is a poem written by Welsh poet Dylan Thomas (1914-1953).

The General Siegfried Loraine Sassoon, CBE, MC (8 September 1886 -- 1 September 1967) was an English poet and author. He became known as a writer of satirical anti-war verse during World War I. He later won acclaim for his prose work, notably his three-volume fictionalised autobiography, collectively known as the "Sherston Trilogy".

"Clancy of The Overflow" is a poem by Banjo Paterson, first published in The Bulletin, an Australian news magazine, on 21 December 1889. The poem is typical of Paterson, offering a romantic view of rural life, and is one of his best-known works. The music is from Albert Arlen's setting in 1955

There are seven parts to this poem. Samuel Taylor Coleridge made this story about a journey by sea to be spiritual, rather than real. A story within a story, an old mariner detains a groom on his wedding day and regales him with a story of the Mariner's disturbing journey, where the Mariner killed an Albatross and so cursed (or damned) the crew to death in strange waters. The Mariner gets back home, but must tell his story to others. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Rime_of_the_Ancient_Mariner AUAWN1231420 === 'I fear thee, ancient Mariner! I fear thy skinny hand! And thou art long, and lank, and brown, As is the ribbed sea-sand. I fear thee and thy glittering eye, And thy skinny hand, so brown.'— Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest! This body dropt not down. Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony. The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I. I looked upon the rotting sea, And drew my eyes away; I looked upon the rotting deck, And there the dead men lay. I looked to heaven, and tried to pray; But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came, and made My heart as dry as dust. I closed my lids, and kept them close, And the balls like pulses beat; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky Lay dead like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet. The cold sweat melted from their limbs, Nor rot nor reek did they: The look with which they looked on me Had never passed away. An orphan's curse would drag to hell A spirit from on high; But oh! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die. The moving Moon went up the sky, And no where did abide: Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside— Her beams bemocked the sultry main, Like April hoar-frost spread; But where the ship's huge shadow lay, The charmèd water burnt alway A still and awful red. Beyond the shadow of the ship, I watched the water-snakes: They moved in tracks of shining white, And when they reared, the elfish light Fell off in hoary flakes. Within the shadow of the ship I watched their rich attire: Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coiled and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire. O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I blessed them unaware: Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I blessed them unaware. The self-same moment I could pray; And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea.

I saw this on Beer and Blood, a German tv miniseries on Octoberfest. Fanny zu Reventlow recites it in the series === I grew tall Over man and animal And I speak Nobody speaks to me I grew too lonely And too tall I wait What am I waiting for The clouds to me are too close I wait Wait Wait For the first blaze === http://www.thenietzschechannel.com/poetry/poetry-dual.htm Pinie und Blitz (1882) Pine and Lightning (1882) This poem (see Nachlass, Sommer-Herbst 1882 3[2]) was written just prior to Nietzsche's Also sprach Zarathustra, 1 (Thus Spoke Zarathustra, 1). It eventually found its way into the book — in a different form — in the chapter, "Vom Baum am Berge" (On the Tree on the Mountainside). In this chapter, Zarathustra advises a dismayed youth who is sitting against a tree, which Zarathustra then anthropomorphizes: "Dieser Baum steht einsam hier am Gebirge; er wuchs hoch hinweg über Mensch und Thier. (This tree stands lonely here in the mountains; he grew high above man and beast.) / Und wenn er reden wollte, er würde Niemanden haben, der ihn verstünde: so hoch wuchs er. (And if he wanted to talk, he would have no one who could understand him: so tall has he grown.) / Nun wartet er und wartet, — worauf wartet er doch? Er wohnt dem Sitze der Wolken zu nahe: er wartet wohl auf den ersten Blitz?" (Now he waits and waits, — yet what is he waiting for? He dwells too close to the seat of the clouds: perhaps he waits for the first lightning?) Hoch wuchs ich über Mensch und Tier; Und sprech' ich — niemand spricht mit mir. Over man and animal, I grew too tall; Now when I speak — no one speaks with me at all. Zu einsam wuchs ich und zu hoch — Ich warte: worauf wart' ich doch? I grew too high and too lonely — I wait: on what do I wait only? Zu nah ist mir der Wolken Sitz, — Ich warte auf den ersten Blitz. Close by, the clouds are sitting: I wait on the first lightning. — Translation by The Nietzsche Channel © 2000. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Friedrich_Nietzsche AUAWN0110321

For my friends, and for those I never knew. A reading of a James Dillet Freeman Poem and One Corinthians thirteen passage from the NIV Bible. Patrick plays the music. This was the wedding reading for a few friends the other day. It went well, with but one hitch. :D May your marriage bring you all the exquisite excitements a marriage should bring, and may life grant you also patience, tolerance, and understanding. May you always need one another - not so much to fill your emptiness as to help you to know your fullness. A mountain needs a valley to be complete; the valley does not make the mountain less, but more; and the valley is more a valley because it has a mountain towering over it. So let it be with you and you. May you need one another, but not out of weakness. May you want one another, but not out of lack. May you entice one another, but not compel one another. May you embrace one another, but not out encircle one another. May you succeed in all important ways with one another, and not fail in the little graces. May you look for things to praise, often say, "I love you!" and take no notice of small faults. If you have quarrels that push you apart, may both of you hope to have good sense enough to take the first step back. May you enter into the mystery which is the awareness of one another's presence - no more physical than spiritual, warm and near when you are side by side, and warm and near when you are in separate rooms or even distant cities. May you have happiness, and may you find it making one another happy. May you have love, and may you find it loving one another! 1 Corinthians 13 New International Version (NIV) And yet I will show you the most excellent way. If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. === I was raised as an Atheist. I learned, after reading the Bible, that God loves me, and you. This is his song for you too. He loves you, and wants to be with you. All the elements are me and mine. ARIA ISRC number AUAWN1210128

The Soldier is a poem written by Rupert Brooke. The poem is actually the fifth of a series of poems entitled 1914. It is often contrasted with Wilfred Owen's 1917 anti-war poem Dulce Et Decorum Est The manuscript is located at King's College, Cambridge.

Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron Tennyson, FRS (6 August 1809 -- 6 October 1892), much better known as "Alfred, Lord Tennyson," was Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom during much of Queen Victoria's reign and remains one of the most popular poets in the English language.

The Play The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke is a verse novel by Australian novelist and poet C. J. Dennis. The book sold over 60,000 copies in nine editions within the first year, and is probably one of the highest selling verse novels ever published in Australia. Contents A Spring Song The Intro The Stoush O' Day Doreen The Play The Stror 'at Coot The Siren Mar Pilot Cove Hitched Beef Tea Uncle Jim The Kid The Mooch o' Life

The Mooch o Life The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke is a verse novel by Australian novelist and poet C. J. Dennis. The book sold over 60,000 copies in nine editions within the first year, and is probably one of the highest selling verse novels ever published in Australia. Contents A Spring Song The Intro The Stoush O' Day Doreen The Play The Stror 'at Coot The Siren Mar Pilot Cove Hitched Beef Tea Uncle Jim The Kid The Mooch o' Life

There are seven parts to this poem. Samuel Taylor Coleridge made this story about a journey by sea to be spiritual, rather than real. A story within a story, an old mariner detains a groom on his wedding day and regales him with a story of the Mariner's disturbing journey, where the Mariner killed an Albatross and so cursed (or damned) the crew to death in strange waters. The Mariner gets back home, but must tell his story to others. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Rime_of_the_Ancient_Mariner AUAWN1231520 === Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! To Mary Queen the praise be given! She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven, That slid into my soul. The silly buckets on the deck, That had so long remained, I dreamt that they were filled with dew; And when I awoke, it rained. My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank; Sure I had drunken in my dreams, And still my body drank. I moved, and could not feel my limbs: I was so light—almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And was a blessed ghost. And soon I heard a roaring wind: It did not come anear; But with its sound it shook the sails, That were so thin and sere. The upper air burst into life! And a hundred fire-flags sheen, To and fro they were hurried about! And to and fro, and in and out, The wan stars danced between. And the coming wind did roar more loud, And the sails did sigh like sedge, And the rain poured down from one black cloud; The Moon was at its edge. The thick black cloud was cleft, and still The Moon was at its side: Like waters shot from some high crag, The lightning fell with never a jag, A river steep and wide. The loud wind never reached the ship, Yet now the ship moved on! Beneath the lightning and the Moon The dead men gave a groan. They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose, Nor spake, nor moved their eyes; It had been strange, even in a dream, To have seen those dead men rise. The helmsman steered, the ship moved on; Yet never a breeze up-blew; The mariners all 'gan work the ropes, Where they were wont to do; They raised their limbs like lifeless tools— We were a ghastly crew. The body of my brother's son Stood by me, knee to knee: The body and I pulled at one rope, But he said nought to me. 'I fear thee, ancient Mariner!' Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest! 'Twas not those souls that fled in pain, Which to their corses came again, But a troop of spirits blest: For when it dawned—they dropped their arms, And clustered round the mast; Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, And from their bodies passed. Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the Sun; Slowly the sounds came back again, Now mixed, now one by one. Sometimes a-dropping from the sky I heard the sky-lark sing; Sometimes all little birds that are, How they seemed to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargoning! And now 'twas like all instruments, Now like a lonely flute; And now it is an angel's song, That makes the heavens be mute. It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune. Till noon we quietly sailed on, Yet never a breeze did breathe: Slowly and smoothly went the ship, Moved onward from beneath. Under the keel nine fathom deep, From the land of mist and snow, The spirit slid: and it was he That made the ship to go. The sails at noon left off their tune, And the ship stood still also. The Sun, right up above the mast, Had fixed her to the ocean: But in a minute she 'gan stir, With a short uneasy motion— Backwards and forwards half her length With a short uneasy motion. Then like a pawing horse let go, She made a sudden bound: It flung the blood into my head, And I fell down in a swound. How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare; But ere my living life returned, I heard and in my soul discerned Two voices in the air. 'Is it he?' quoth one, 'Is this the man? By him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid full low The harmless Albatross. The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the bird that loved the man Who shot him with his bow.' The other was a softer voice, As soft as honey-dew: Quoth he, 'The man hath penance done, And penance more will do.'

A free poem, read by the late Patrick Poulou (aka Lafayette), with images from Capra's "A Wonderful Life" and Patrick's farm friends in the Pyrenees. The music piece was Patrick's and he placed it on what was reputedly Steve Job's music site, iCompositions. He gave me family pictures so he could tell his daughter of his love for life. I was new to video and did not place the images as I'd wish, now. Patrick chose the nom de plume Lafayette as he saw himself as a friend of America, and this American.

Said to be what the NATO troops use to pronounce English words right.

Paradise Lost is an epic poem in blank verse by the 17th-century English poet John Milton. It was originally published in 1667 in ten books, with a total of over ten thousand individual lines of verse. A second edition followed in 1674, redivided into twelve books (in the manner of the division of Virgil's Aeneid) with minor revisions throughout and a note on the versification; the majority of the poem was written while Milton was blind, and was transcribed for him

My country 'tis of thee https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/My_Country,_%27Tis_of_Thee Samuel Francis Smith === http://conservativeweasel.blogspot.com.au/2017/07/tue-jul-4th-todays-news.html videos by David Daniel Ball for the Conservative Voice Author of History in a Year by the Conservative Voice http://www.amazon.com/David-Ball/e/B01683ZOWG https://www.magabook.com/DaoDDBall I was raised as an Atheist. I learned, after reading the Bible, that God loves me, and you. This is his song for you too. He loves you, and wants to be with you. All the elements are me and mine. ARIA ISRC number AUAWN1707403

There are seven parts to this poem. Samuel Taylor Coleridge made this story about a journey by sea to be spiritual, rather than real. A story within a story, an old mariner detains a groom on his wedding day and regales him with a story of the Mariner's disturbing journey, where the Mariner killed an Albatross and so cursed (or damned) the crew to death in strange waters. The Mariner gets back home, but must tell his story to others. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Rime_of_the_Ancient_Mariner AUAWN1231620 === First Voice 'But tell me, tell me! speak again, Thy soft response renewing— What makes that ship drive on so fast? What is the ocean doing?' Second Voice Still as a slave before his lord, The ocean hath no blast; His great bright eye most silently Up to the Moon is cast— If he may know which way to go; For she guides him smooth or grim. See, brother, see! how graciously She looketh down on him.' First Voice 'But why drives on that ship so fast, Without or wave or wind?' Second Voice 'The air is cut away before, And closes from behind. Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high! Or we shall be belated: For slow and slow that ship will go, When the Mariner's trance is abated.' I woke, and we were sailing on As in a gentle weather: 'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high; The dead men stood together. All stood together on the deck, For a charnel-dungeon fitter: All fixed on me their stony eyes, That in the Moon did glitter. The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never passed away: I could not draw my eyes from theirs, Nor turn them up to pray. And now this spell was snapt: once more I viewed the ocean green, And looked far forth, yet little saw Of what had else been seen— Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And turns no more his head; Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread. But soon there breathed a wind on me, Nor sound nor motion made: Its path was not upon the sea, In ripple or in shade. It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek Like a meadow-gale of spring— It mingled strangely with my fears, Yet it felt like a welcoming. Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, Yet she sailed softly too: Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze— On me alone it blew. Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed The light-house top I see? Is this the hill? is this the kirk? Is this mine own countree? We drifted o'er the harbour-bar, And I with sobs did pray— O let me be awake, my God! Or let me sleep alway. The harbour-bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn! And on the bay the moonlight lay, And the shadow of the Moon. The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, That stands above the rock: The moonlight steeped in silentness The steady weathercock. And the bay was white with silent light, Till rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came. A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were: I turned my eyes upon the deck— Oh, Christ! what saw I there! Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, And, by the holy rood! A man all light, a seraph-man, On every corse there stood. This seraph-band, each waved his hand: It was a heavenly sight! They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light; This seraph-band, each waved his hand, No voice did they impart— No voice; but oh! the silence sank Like music on my heart. But soon I heard the dash of oars, I heard the Pilot's cheer; My head was turned perforce away And I saw a boat appear. The Pilot and the Pilot's boy, I heard them coming fast: Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy The dead men could not blast. I saw a third—I heard his voice: It is the Hermit good! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The Albatross's blood.

The Hand that signed the Paper Dylan Marlais Thomas (27 October 1914 -- 9 November 1953) was a Welsh poet and writer who wrote exclusively in English. In addition to poetry, he wrote short stories and scripts for film and radio, which he often performed himself. His public readings, particularly in America, won him great acclaim; his sonorous voice with a subtle Welsh lilt became almost as famous as his works. His best-known works include the "play for voices" Under Milk Wood and the celebrated villanelle for his dying father, "Do not go gentle into that good night". Appreciative critics have also noted the superb craftsmanship and compression of poems such as "In my Craft or Sullen Art" and the rhapsodic lyricism of "Fern Hill'".