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Post by Marnie on Fri Dec 11, 2009 4:58 pm

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

~Emily Dickinson~



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Post by Marnie on Fri Dec 11, 2009 9:58 pm


Farewell to thee! but not farewell
To all my fondest thoughts of thee:
Within my heart they still shall dwell;
And they shall cheer and comfort me.
O, beautiful, and full of grace!
If thou hadst never met mine eye,
I had not dreamed a living face
Could fancied charms so far outvie.

If I may ne'er behold again
That form and face so dear to me,
Nor hear thy voice, still would I fain
Preserve, for aye, their memory.

That voice, the magic of whose tone
Can wake an echo in my breast,
Creating feelings that, alone,
Can make my tranced spirit blest.

That laughing eye, whose sunny beam
My memory would not cherish less; -
And oh, that smile! whose joyous gleam
Nor mortal language can express.

Adieu, but let me cherish, still,
The hope with which I cannot part.
Contempt may wound, and coldness chill,
But still it lingers in my heart.

And who can tell but Heaven, at last,
May answer all my thousand prayers,
And bid the future pay the past
With joy for anguish, smiles for tears?

~Anne Bronte~



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Post by Marnie on Fri Dec 11, 2009 10:15 pm


      I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
      I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and
      I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop
      for a minute
      And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody
      in it.

      I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such
      That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.
      I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do;
      For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.

      This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of
      And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to
      the grass.
      It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be
      trimmed and tied;
      But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside.

      If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid
      I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.
      I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be
      And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to
      them free.

      Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and
      Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block
      in the store.
      But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and
      For the lack of something within it that it has never known.

      But a house that has done what a house should do, a house
      that has sheltered life,
      That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his
      A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up his stumbling
      Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your
      eyes could meet.

      So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
      I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking
      Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters
      fallen apart,
      For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with
      a broken heart.
      ~Joyce Kilmer~



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Post by Marnie on Fri Dec 11, 2009 10:48 pm

Here's To Thy Health

Here's to thy health, my bonie lass,
Gude nicht and joy be wi' thee;
I'll come nae mair to thy bower-door,
To tell thee that I lo'e thee.
O dinna think, my pretty pink,
But I can live without thee:
I vow and swear I dinna care,
How lang ye look about ye.

Thou'rt aye sae free informing me,
Thou hast nae mind to marry;
I'll be as free informing thee,
Nae time hae I to tarry:
I ken thy frien's try ilka means
Frae wedlock to delay thee;
Depending on some higher chance,
But fortune may betray thee.

I ken they scorn my low estate,
But that does never grieve me;
For I'm as free as any he;
Sma' siller will relieve me.
I'll count my health my greatest wealth,
Sae lang as I'll enjoy it;
I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want,
As lang's I get employment.

But far off fowls hae feathers fair,
And, aye until ye try them,
Tho' they seem fair, still have a care;
They may prove waur than I am.
But at twal' at night, when the moon shines bright,
My dear, I'll come and see thee;
For the man that loves his mistress weel,
Nae travel makes him weary.

~Rabbie Burns~



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Post by Joe-Joe on Tue Sep 01, 2015 1:21 am

claps Sad Puppy


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