Monday, May 22, 2006

do thou know love?


As we grow up, we learn that even the one person that wasn’t supposed to ever let you down probably will. You will have your heart broken probably more than once and it’s harder every time. You’ll break hearts too, so remember how it felt when yours was broken. You’ll fight with your best friend. You’ll blame a new love for things an old one did. You’ll cry because time is passing too fast, and you’ll eventually lose someone you love. So take too many pictures, laugh too much, and love like you’ve never been hurt because every sixty seconds you spend upset is a minute of happiness you’ll never get back. So send this to all of your friends (and me) in the next 5 minutes and a miracle will happen tonight.

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

I wish thou goodluck for visiting my web site.: do thou like poem?

Monday, March 27, 2006

do thou like poem?

Thou blind fool love

Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes That they behold and see not what they see? They know what beauty is, see where it lies, Yet what the best is, take the worst to be. If eyes corrupt by overpartial looks, Be anchored in the bay where all men ride, Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forg├Ęd hooks, Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied? Why should my heart think that a several plot Which my heart knows the wide world's common place? Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not To put fair truth upon so foul a face? In things right true my heart and eyes have erred, And to this false plague are they now transferred. Thou blind fool love

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My love is as a fever

My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please. My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desperate now approve Desire is death, which physic did except. Past cure I am, now reason is past care, And frantic-mad with evermore unrest; My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are, At random from the truth vainly expressed. For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. My love is as a fever

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When I am dead

When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me: Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain; I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on, as if in pain; And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember, And haply may forget.

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You'll love me yet and I can tarry
You'll love me yet and I can tarry Your love's protracted growing: June reared that bunch of flowers you carry From seeds of April's sowing. I plant a heartful now: some seed At least is sure to strike, And yield what you'll not pluck indeed, Not love, but, may be, like! You'll look at least on love's remains, A grave's one violet: Your look? that pays a thousand pains. What's death? You'll love me yet!

do thou like poem!


Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you plann'd: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.

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Because She Would Ask Me Why I Loved Her

If questioning would make us wise No eyes would ever gaze in eyes; If all our tale were told in speech No mouths would wander each to each. Were spirits free from mortal mesh And love not bound in hearts of flesh No aching breasts would yearn to meet And find their ecstasy complete. For who is there that lives and knows The secret powers by which he grows? Were knowledge all, what were our need To thrill and faint and sweetly bleed?. Then seek not, sweet, the "If" and "Why" I love you now until I die. For I must love because I live And life in me is what you give.

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She is Far from the Land

She is far from the land, where her young hero sleeps, And lovers are round her, sighing; But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying! She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, Every note which he lov'd awaking Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains, How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking! He had lov'd for his love, for his country he died, They were all that to life had entwin'd him, Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him. Oh! make her a grave, where the sun-beams rest, When they promise a glorious morrow; They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West, From her own lov'd Island of sorrow!

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she walks in beauty

she walks in beauty,like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies, and all that is best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes: thus mellowed to the tender light which heaven to gaudy day denies. one shade the more, one ray the less, had half impaired the nameless grace, which waves in every raven tress, or softly lightens o'er her face. where thoughts serenely sweet express, how pure, how dear their dwelling-place and on that cheek, and o'er that brow, so soft, so calm, yet eloquent, the smiles that win,the tints that glow, but tell of days in goodness spent, a mind at peace with all below a heart whose love is innocent.