Immediately the memory faded Of all they known: They wept and quarrelled: In front maturity as he ascended Retired like a horizon from the child, The dangers and the punishments grew greater, And the way back by angels was defended Against the poet and the legislator.
Behind the corpse in the reservoir, behind the ghost on the links, Behind the lady who dances and the man who madly drinks, Under the look of fatigue, the attack of migraine and the sigh There is always another story, there is more than meets the eye. For the clear voice suddenly singing, high up on the cement wall, The scent of the elder bushes, the sporting prints in the hall, The croquet matches in summer, the handshake, the cough, the kiss, There is always a wicked secret, a private reason for this.
She gave me a ring but I diced it away; I want my girl and I want my pay. Only their usual manoeuvres, dear. Or perhaps a warning. Perhaps a change in their orders, dear.
Why are you kneeling? Why, they are none of them wounded, dear. None of these forces. O it must be the farmer who lives so near. It must be the farmer so cunning, so cunning? O where are you going? Stay with me here! Were the vows you swore deceiving, deceiving?
Open your eyes, my dearest dallier; Let hunt with your hands for escaping me; Go through the motions of exploring the familiar Stand on the brink of the warm white day. Rise with the wind, my great big serpent; Silence the birds and darken the air; Change me with terror, alive in a moment; Strike for the heart and have me there.
Whispering neighbours left and right Daunt us from our true delight, Able hands are forced to freeze Derelict on lonely knees. Close behind us on our track, Dead in hundreds cry Alack, Arms raised stiffly to reprove In false attitudes of love. Scrawny through a plundered wood, Trolls run scolding for their food, Owl and nightingale are dumb, And the angel will not come. Clear, unscaleable, ahead Rise the Mountains of Instead From whose cold cascading streams None may drink except in dreams.
How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me. Admirer as I think I am Of stars that do not give a damn, I cannot, now I see them, say I missed one terribly all day. Were stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky And feel its total dark sublime, Though this might take me a little time.
The youngest son, the youngest son Was certainly no wise one Yet could surprise one. Or rather, or rather, To be posh, we gather One should have no father.
Текст песни Liquido - Why are you leaving перевод, слова песни, видео, клип
Simple to prove That deeds indeed In life succeed, But love in love, And tales in tales Where no one fails. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead, Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, My South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last for ever: The stars are not wanted now: Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood; For nothing now can ever come to any good.
We cannot go there now, my dear, we cannot go there now. In the village churchyard there grows an old yew, Every spring it blossoms anew: The consul banged the table and said: But we are still alive, my dear, but we are still alive.
Went to a committee; they offered me a chair; Asked me politely to return next year: But where shall we go to-day, my dear, but where shall we go to-day?
Came to a public meeting; the speaker got up and said: Thought I heard the thunder rumbling in the sky; It was Hitler over Europe, saying: Saw a poodle in a jacket fastened with a pin, Saw a door opened and a cat let in: Went down to the harbour and stood upon the quay, Saw the fish swimming as if they were free: Only ten feet away, my dear, only ten feet away. Walked through a wood, saw the birds in the trees, They had no politicians and sang at their ease: Dreamed I saw a building with a thousand floors, A thousand windows and a thousand doors; Not one of them was ours, my dear, not one of them was ours.
Looking for you and me, my dear, looking for you and me. Of how he fought, fished, hunted, worked all night, Though giddy, climbed new mountains; named a sea: Some of the last researchers even write Love made him weep his pints like you and me.
With all his honours on, he sighed for one, Who, say astonished critics, lived at home; Did little jobs about the house with skill And nothing else; could whistle; would sit still Or potter round the garden; answered some Of his long marvelous letters but kept none.
And down by the brimming river I heard a lover sing Under an arch of the railway: Somewhere a strange and shrewd To-morrow goes to bed, Planning a test for men from Europe; no one guesses Who will be most ashamed, who richer, and who dead. Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges? O tell me the truth about love. Does it only like classical stuff? Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
Can it pull extraordinary faces? Is it usually sick on a swing? Has it views of its own about money? Does it think Patriotism enough?Текст, слова, перевод песни Liquido - Why Are You Leaving
Are its stories vulgar but funny? Will it come like a change in the weather? Will its greeting be courteous or rough? Will it alter my life altogether? A robin with no Christian name ran through The Robin-Anthem which was all it knew, And rustling flowers for some third party waited To say which pairs, if any, should get mated. Not one of them was capable of lying, There was not one which knew that it was dying Or could have with a rhythm or a rhyme Assumed responsibility for time.
Let them leave language to their lonely betters Who count some days and long for certain letters; We, too, make noises when we laugh or weep: Words are for those with promises to keep. They wondered why the fruit had been forbidden: It taught them nothing new. They hid their pride, But did not listen much when they were chidden: They knew exactly what to do outside. The More Loving One Looking up the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I can go to hell, But on earth indifference is the least We have to dread from man or beast.
Happy Ending The silly fool, the silly fool Was sillier in school But beat the bully as a rule The youngest son, the youngest son Was certainly no wise one Yet could surprise one. Funeral blues Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dogs from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Musee des Beaux Arts About suffering they were never wrong, The Old Masters: Refugee Blues Say this city has ten million souls, Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes: A shilling life will give you all the facts: How Father beat him, how he ran away, What were the struggles of his youth, what acts Made him the greatest figure of his day Of how he fought, fished, hunted, worked all night, Though giddy, climbed new mountains; named a sea: As I walked out one evening Walking down Bristol Street, The crowds upon the pavement Were fields of harvest wheat.
The Ship All streets are brightly lit; our city is kept clean; Her Third-Class deal from greasy packs, her First bid high; Her beggars banished to the bows have never seen What can be done in state-rooms: As I listened from a beach-chair in the shade To all the noises that my garden made, It seemed to me only proper that words Should be withheld from vegetables and birds.
Pick a quarrel, go to war, Leave the hero in the bar; Hunt the lion, climb the peak: No one guesses you are weak. They are not deep, And they are not cheap. Those who will not reason Perish in the act; Those who will not act Perish for that reason. Let us honor if we can The vertical man, Though we value none But the horizontal one. Private faces In public places Are wiser and nicer Than public faces In private places. The shame in ageing is not that Desire should fail Who mourns for something he no longer needs?
Passing Beauty still delights him, but he no longer has to turn round.Перевод песни Why Are You - Amerie, скачать Why Are You - Amerie
Today two poems begged to be written: I had to refuse them. Sorry, no longer, my dear! Sorry, my precious, not yet! Only look in the mirror to detect a removable blamish, As of the permanent ones already you know quite enough. God never makes knots, But is expert, if asked to, At untying them.