88 Fortunes sprider glädje och jackpottar omkring sig

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Den heta oddsaren är 8 Turnpike, starsnabb och Ivehag laddar är det garantispets bara Miss Marie som kan öppna invändigt. Utklassade även djur som Cash Dot och Staro n Brizard sista De var favoriter tidigare idag men inte till slutalla 8-rättare idag är Harry Boy-system fyra Harryhästar har vunnit.

Han var helt ok men utan chans mot Id och Kemas Dream senast. Id är en jättefin häst som man skrev om efter lopp Mystery Love rekordsänkte nu till Ingen hade sprungit under 16 förut och Stig Hs sänkte sig med 3.

Andra starten var det. Skulle bli snällt sas det, men fram till dödens som vanligt. Loppet i kroppen stort plus. Här finns 4 Bath Launcherkänd som Sveriges startsnabbaste häst genom tiderna.

Den enda som inte kommer ladda 3 Jetblue Volo som inser det lönlösa. Kommer inte förbi 2. Grundtipset är att 1 Avalon Spider ger upp spetsstriden efter meter när han ser vilken fart Goop har.

Mycket talar för att 4 Bath Launcher spetsar och rinner undan. Blue Rock verkar hur bra som helst , tre ruskiga lopp hos Lennartsson.

Stor galopprisk för Ouch när det är voltstart Trist att det var volt. Bruce Tooma som utan tvekan är i sitt livs form. Om han gör det idag Gäller bara att tilläggshästarna har närkontakt kvar.

Tex kommer högkapable Perfecly Enough ut och han ska bolla med konkurenterna. Festen börjar redan i avd1: Trodde han skulle bli storfavorit till slut men blev inte det och man trodde inte det var ett dugg fräckt att spika, kändes givet.

I efterhand när man tittade andras tips fick man klart för sig: Är det självklart att han löser det?

Quick Razz var toppad till Harpers och tipset är att klassklättraren har knallform. Steg för steg, planering: I femminuterspauserna varje heltimme travblogg.

Om man missar första jackpoten idag, finns risk att även misslyckas med den andra imorgon. Lite sista sucken innan elitloppsfoks sen Torsdag lunch, torsdag v65, fredag v4 och v75 lördag.

Helstängt och barfota och ny ruggig vagn och framförallt: Blir han släppt till front är det bra chans men annars rökt igen, han har inte visat form sedan Hedenhös tid.

De brukar bli konstiga lopp med ungdomar, och den som sitter andra invädigt eller tredje invändigt vinner. Han brukar ha klart för sig när han bedömer hästarnas kapacitet och när det lossnar för Viking-avkommerna brukar de vara stenklara och överlägsna.

Kan absolut vinna och spelvärd. Den tankmodellen avändes i lördags innan klassI-finalen och vilka är i silver innan sommaren? Ger alltid ruskigt bra med typ tre skrällar och jacken men gäller att gardera i rätt lopp.

Viggo ger mkt bra potential i systemet. Peter Untersteiner är utan tvekan kvällens riktiga skrällman. Ladys Photo har haft toppform i vinter, vilket inte syns av raden.

I livets andra start Befinner sig i rejäl utvecklingsfas Vi har sett Carmel i kvalloppet och det var stora plus i kanten. Höga toppar, djupa dalar!

Det är en ordentlig nystart för travet och total omorganisation. Började som en liten hemlig sajt.

Nu har allt förändrats. Det mesta är öppet och tillgängligt. Testperioden med öppna kort och hemliga är över och ska finutvecklas.

Systemen skall vara ett till antal varje dag. Som spik i dd1 använder vi 8 Dicey Spicey, uträknad med stallkörning. Bara som kan vinna varje lopp.

Men varför alla sakfel? Man behöver inte vara osaklig för att vara häftig True Advantage blev stekhet och rusade: Örjan bestämde sig för att trycka Har de inget annat för sig?

Kan de inte skaffa ett jobb? Som de har större kompetens inom? Tur kan man beräkna i procentsats. Om en häst haft maxotur i fyra raka lopp är den statistiska sannolikheten att hästen ska tur i nästa Att hästen skulle göra ett bra lopp.

Grejen varför man spikade var uteslutningsmetod. Eller hade svag feeling och mest iskall kändes Head Line och ibland kan man inte förklara feeling.

I jämförelse med den svenska. Vad ska man tro? Mejlade ägarvariant kl 16 och fick svar men inget klartecken, sen hade han lassat allt han ägde Övriga lopp kan man inte spela trio till.

De singelspelar Barca till 1. Och bara en där kvalade in till kriteriet med nöd och näppe: Ögat skrev inför Kriteriet att Stormysky var en blivande världsstjärna och spikade.

Här finns de fyra starka norrlandshoppen: Passerar 1 miljon med sju tusen spänn Toppchans för goop om tempo! Hästen vann norska guld nyligen.

Travdagen tror att 4 Mr Pellegrino tar sig förbi 2 Glenn Palema med ett skohorn. Kräver tankearbete… Som en rebus. Loppet är extremt jämnt och de bästa saknas.

After much impressive fumbling of keys and opening of locks, the stained and aged document was spread before us. The guide's eyes sparkled.

He danced about us and tapped the parchment with his finger: Is it not so? The doctor examined the document very deliberately, during a painful pause.

It's the worst writing I ever saw. Now you mustn't think you can impose on us because we are strangers. We are not fools, by a good deal. If you have got any specimens of penmanship of real merit, trot them out!

The guide was considerably shaken up, but he made one more venture. He had something which he thought would overcome us. I show you beautiful, O, magnificent bust Christopher Colombo!

Well, what did he do? No—that statement will hardly wash. We are just from America ourselves. Christopher Colombo—pleasant name—is—is he dead?

Is—is this the first time this gentleman was ever on a bust? Bei dem Text kommt mir nur "pesto" geschlagen, gestossen in den Sinn Das haut einem vom Hocker!

O Mensch, du wirst nie nebenbei der Möwe Flug erreichen. Were scattered all weeping away. I will go to Samarra and there Death will not find me.

Then the merchant went down to the marketplace and he saw me standing in the crowd and he came to me and said: I was astonished to see him in Bagdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.

Nach einer Weile kam der Diener zitternd und zutiefst erschrocken retour und berichtete seinem Herrn: Bitte leihe mir jetzt dein Pferd, damit ich aus der Stadt reiten und meinem Schicksal entrinnen kann.

In Samarra wird er mich nicht finden Später ging der Händler zurück auf den Marktplatz, traf dort auf den Tod und fragte ihn: Seitlich von dem Plauderzweck Nahmen sie dabei: Schein — verlognes Schaumgebäck, Sinn — verlornes Ei.

Aber lassen wir den Tod und Nekromantenspiel beiseite! Darf ich meinen allerliebsten Country Song zitieren?

The King of Country singt! Leider hat das kurze Leben von Hank Williams nur 29 Jahre gedauert. Trotzdem hat er die Zeit gefunden, the greatest country music star of all time zu werden.

Zur Übung habe ich versucht, den Song zu übersetzen. Und ich habe riesige Probleme gehabt - mit dem Englischen und mit dem Deutschen - schon ab der ersten Zeile, wo das Leitmotiv steht: What's cookin' good lookin'?

Klar, nichts mit dem Kochen zu tun! Hey, sag' mal, Du Schöne, was ist los? How's about cooking something up with me?

Dass wir etwas Neues finden können? Und ich kenne einen Platz gerade über dem Hügel. Say, hey, good looking, what you got cooking? I'm free and ready, so we can go steady.

Ich bin frei und bereit, also können wir fest miteinander hingehen. How's about saving all your time for me? Wie wär's mit dem Aufbewahren Deiner ganzen Zeit für mich?

No more looking, I know I been cooking. Nicht mehr gucken, ich weiss, ich habe angemacht. How's about keeping steady company? Wie wär's mit dem ständigen Zusammensein?

Weil ich Deinen Namen unten auf jede Seite schreibe. Comment Deine eingestellte Zwiegespräch ist ein ziemlich hintersinniges Gedicht Dana aber mir gefällt es auch sehr Irgendwie habe ich das Gefühl Du nimmst die Leute ganz schön auf die Schippe Im Schnee Wie naht das finster türmende Gewölk so schwarz und schwer!

Wie jagt der Wind, der stürmende, Das Schneegestöber her! Verschwunden ist die blühende Und grüne Weltgestalt; levrai. Wohl dem, der nun zufrieden ist Und innerlich sich kennt!

Dem warm ein Herz beschieden ist, Das heimlich loht und brennt! Wo, traulich sich dran schmiegend, es Die wache Seele schürt, Ein perlend, nie versiegendes Gedankenbrauwerk rührt!

Comment moustique hat geschrieben: Da ich aber Französisch besser als Deutsch kenne, habe ich bei LEO die Übersetzung gesucht - und ich habe eine ganze Serie der mehr oder weniger angenehmen Varianten bekommen: Nichts davon war meine Absicht.

Und ich verstehe immer nicht, warum Du das geschrieben hast - oder willst Du mich auf die Schippe nehmen?! Ich lasse Dir meinen Freund Heinrich schreiben - und zwar auf Englisch, da wir hier auch ein bisschen auf Englisch quasseln sollen: They are still that wooden pedantic lot: Aber das Original ist ach!

In French maybe an alternative proposition: Ist das nicht ein Stückchen Frühling in der Seele? Da ist er denn bald dort, bald hier, Gut Regiment zu führen.

Und wenn er durchzieht, stehen wir Und sehn ihn an und frieren. Her distressing light she spays. And, this moment, run away.

Comment Er gefällt mir, Claus, Dein biological scientist and poet! Und hier ist mein preferred vampire: Comment Ein deutsches Lied in 40 Sprachen!

Underneath the lantern, By the barrack gate Darling I remember The way you used to wait Devant la caserne Quand le jour s'enfuit, La vieille lanterne Soudain s'allume et luit Kasarmu ees väraval, öisel kõnniteel latern tookord säras, ta särab nüüdki veel Tutte le sere sotto quel fanal presso la caserma ti stavo ad aspettar Onder de lantaren, bij de groote poort, vrijen vele paren bij avond ongestoord Kasarmimme eessä suuri portti on, Illan pimetessä jään lyhdyn valohon So wird "Lili Marleen" in Vatikan gesungen!

Den mein Mund nicht nehmen kann! Hard, how hard is this loss to bear Schwer, wie schwer ist er zu tragen! Despite my being a man!

Und ich bin doch sonst ein Mann. Matt der Druck von deiner Hand. O wie hat es mich entzückt! Like those that the violet earned So erfreuet uns ein Veilchen, When plucked in March so early.

Das man früh im März gepflückt. Keine Rose mehr für dich. Spring is the season, dear Frances, Frühling ist es, liebes Fränzchen, But for me, alas, it is autumn.

Aber leider Herbst für mich! Comment Dazu fällt mir ein: Weiter geht es hier: Comment Dana, Dein Zwiegespräch ist einfach nur gut.

Comment Mir gefiel das auch sehr gut, oopsy. Stand in meinem Gedichtekalender, ich kannte es vorher auch nicht. Mancher auf der Wanderschaft kommt ans Tor auf dunklen Pfaden.

Golden blüht der Baum der Gnaden aus der Erde kühlem Saft. Wanderer, tritt still herein; Schmerz versteinerte die Schwelle. Da erglänzt in reiner Helle auf dem Tische Brot und Wein.

Comment Love's Philosophy The fountains mingle with the river, And the rivers with the ocean, The winds of heaven mix forever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by law divine In one another's being mingle;-- Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven And the waves clasp one another No sister flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea; What are all these kissings worth If thou kiss not me?

Percy Bysshe Shelley, Comment Hoffnung Es reden und träumen die Menschen viel Von bessern künftigen Tagen, Nach einem glücklichen goldenen Ziel Sieht man sie rennen und jagen.

Die Welt wird alt und wieder jung, Doch der Mensch hofft immer Verbesserung. Zu was Besserm sind wir geboren! Und was die innere Stimme spricht, Das täuscht die hoffende Seele nicht.

Friedrich Schiller - Wie feierlich die Gegend schweigt! Wach auf, o Herz, zu wildem Klagen! Nikolaus Lenau — Die Menschenkinder Im Schneegestöber rennen Und laufen immer geschwinder.

Die machten bald wichtige Mienen Und wurden erstaunlich klug, Die Flügel gar unnütz ihn'n schienen, Sie schämten sich deren genug.

Nun stattlich in Hosen und Frack! So wurden sie immer gescheuter Und applizierten sich recht - Das wurden ansehnliche Leute, Befanden sich gar nicht schlecht.

Joseph von Eichendorff, He turned over slowly and then he said, "I wonder if spring is on the way, I'll go and check the weather today.

If I see my shadow between eleven and noon, I then will know that I'm out too soon. I'll crawl back in bed for six weeks more, Pull up the warm covers and snore and snore.

But if no shadow gives me a scare, I know that spring is in the air, I'll wake my friends and wish them cheer, With glorious news that spring is here.

Interessant ist das, bei uns feiert man morgen Maria Lichtmess Zu Abwechslung mal 3 Bauernregeln Wenn's an Lichtmess stürmt und schneit, ist der Frühling nicht mehr weit; ist es aber klar und hell, kommt der Lenz wohl nicht so schnell.

Sonnt sich der Dachs in der Lichtmesswoche, bleibt er 4 Wochen noch im Loche. Comment Narretei Torheiten begangen, Torheiten gemacht, Ich mache deren noch immer.

Ich hab sie gemacht bei Tag und bei Nacht, Die nächtlichen waren weit schlimmer. Ich machte viele sogar mit Verstand, Die waren noch viel dümmer.

Comment Wir denken selten bei dem Licht an Finsternis, beim Glück ans Elend, bei der Zufriedenheit an Schmerz, aber umgekehrt jederzeit.

When your vision has gone no part of the world can find you. Time to go into the dark where the night has eyes to recognize its own. There you can be sure you are not beyond love.

Der Seufzer dacht an ein Maidelein und blieb erglühend stehen. Da schmolz die Eisbahn unter ihm ein - und er sank - und ward nimmer gesehen.

Comment If If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dreamand not make dreams your master; If you can thinkand not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings, And never breathe a word about your loss: If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, Andwhich is moreyou'll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling — So gilt's nach freiem Herrenrecht Und muckst du noch und willst du trutzen, So werd' ich dir den Kamm schon stutzen Du wirst gesperrt nach meinem Recht, Denn ich bin Herr und du bist Knecht!

So ist es gut, so ist es recht, Denn ich bin Herr und du bist Knecht! Ja, ich bin Herr und du bist Knecht! Was faselst du von Menschenrecht, Die blöde, alberne Tirade?

Ich bin zum Herren auserseh'n, Du kannst als Knecht nur fortbesteh'n. Georg Weerth - Comment Aschermittwoch Gestern noch ging ich gepudert und süchtig In der vielbunten tönenden Welt.

Heute ist alles schon lange ersoffen. Hier ist ein Ding. Dort ist ein Ding. Etwas sieht so aus. Etwas sieht anders aus.

Wie leicht pustet einer die ganze Blühende Erde aus. Der Himmel ist kalt und blau. Oder der Mond ist gelb und platt. Ein Wald hat viele einzelne Bäume.

Ist nichts mehr zum Weinen. Ist nichts mehr zum Schreien. Wo bin ich — Alfred Lichtenstein — In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.

Aus "Ellens drittem Gesang" eine Strophe: Oh Mother, hear a suppliant child! Wir schlafen sicher bis zum Morgen, Ob Menschen noch so grausam sind.

Comment When You Are Old When you are old and gray and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face among a crowd of stars.

A Widow for One Year. Comment Praise of a Man He went through a company like a lamplighter — see the dull minds, one after another, begin to glow, to shed a beneficent light.

Norman MacCaig — Scottish poet. His poetry, in modern English, is known for its humour, simplicity of language and great popularity.

Comment Mein Leben ist wie leise See Mein Leben ist wie leise See: Wohnt in den Uferhäusern das Weh, wagt sich nicht aus den Höfen.

Nur manchmal zittert ein Nahn und Fliehn: Aufgestörte Wünsche ziehn Darüber wie silberne Möwen. Und dann ist alles wieder still.

Rainer Maria Rilke Comment The Cat and the Moon The cat went here and there And the moon spun round like a top, And the nearest kin of the moon, The creeping cat, looked up.

Black Minnaloushe stared at the moon, For, wander and wail as he would, The pure cold light in the sky Troubled his animal blood. Minnaloushe runs in the grass Lifting his delicate feet.

Do you dance, Minnaloushe, do you dance? When two close kindred meet, What better than call a dance? Maybe the moon may learn, Tired of that courtly fashion, A new dance turn.

Minnaloushe creeps through the grass From moonlit place to place, The sacred moon overhead Has taken a new phase. Does Minnaloushe know that his pupils Will pass from change to change, And that from round to crescent, From crescent to round they range?

Minnaloushe creeps through the grass Alone, important and wise, And lifts to the changing moon His changing eyes.

Und der Mond drehte sich wie ein Kreisel. Und die beste Vertraute des Mondes, die schleichende Katze, blickte empor. Auf so manchem Antlitz Ganzes Eismeer schwebt.

So with my eyes I traced the line Of the horizon, thin and fine, Straight around till I was come Back to where I'd started from; And all I saw from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood.

Over these things I could not see; These were the things that bounded me; And I could touch them with my hand, Almost, I thought, from where I stand.

And all at once things seemed so small My breath came short, and scarce at all. But, sure, the sky is big, I said; Miles and miles above my head; So here upon my back I'll lie And look my fill into the sky.

And so I looked, and, after all, The sky was not so very tall. The sky, I said, must somewhere stop, And—sure enough! The sky, I thought, is not so grand; I 'most could touch it with my hand!

And reaching up my hand to try, I screamed to feel it touch the sky. I saw and heard, and knew at last The How and Why of all things, past, And present, and forevermore.

The Universe, cleft to the core, Lay open to my probing sense That, sick'ning, I would fain pluck thence But could not,—nay!

But needs must suck At the great wound, and could not pluck My lips away till I had drawn All venom out. For my omniscience paid I toll In infinite remorse of soul.

All sin was of my sinning, all Atoning mine, and mine the gall Of all regret. Mine was the weight Of every brooded wrong, the hate That stood behind each envious thrust, Mine every greed, mine every lust.

And all the while for every grief, Each suffering, I craved relief With individual desire,— Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire About a thousand people crawl; Perished with each,—then mourned for all!

A man was starving in Capri; He moved his eyes and looked at me; I felt his gaze, I heard his moan, And knew his hunger as my own. I saw at sea a great fog bank Between two ships that struck and sank; A thousand screams the heavens smote; And every scream tore through my throat.

No hurt I did not feel, no death That was not mine; mine each last breath That, crying, met an answering cry From the compassion that was I.

All suffering mine, and mine its rod; Mine, pity like the pity of God. Infinity Pressed down upon the finite Me! My anguished spirit, like a bird, Beating against my lips I heard; Yet lay the weight so close about There was no room for it without.

And so beneath the weight lay I And suffered death, but could not die. Long had I lain thus, craving death, When quietly the earth beneath Gave way, and inch by inch, so great At last had grown the crushing weight, Into the earth I sank till I Full six feet under ground did lie, And sank no more,—there is no weight Can follow here, however great.

From off my breast I felt it roll, And as it went my tortured soul Burst forth and fled in such a gust That all about me swirled the dust.

Deep in the earth I rested now; Cool is its hand upon the brow And soft its breast beneath the head Of one who is so gladly dead. And all at once, and over all The pitying rain began to fall; I lay and heard each pattering hoof Upon my lowly, thatched roof, And seemed to love the sound far more Than ever I had done before.

For rain it hath a friendly sound To one who's six feet underground; And scarce the friendly voice or face: A grave is such a quiet place.

The rain, I said, is kind to come And speak to me in my new home. I would I were alive again To kiss the fingers of the rain, To drink into my eyes the shine Of every slanting silver line, To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze From drenched and dripping apple-trees.

For soon the shower will be done, And then the broad face of the sun Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth Until the world with answering mirth Shakes joyously, and each round drop Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.

How can I bear it; buried here, While overhead the sky grows clear And blue again after the storm? O, multi-colored, multiform, Beloved beauty over me, That I shall never, never see Again!

Spring-silver, autumn-gold, That I shall never more behold! Sleeping your myriad magics through, Close-sepulchred away from you!

O God, I cried, give me new birth, And put me back upon the earth! Upset each cloud's gigantic gourd And let the heavy rain, down-poured In one big torrent, set me free, Washing my grave away from me!

I ceased; and through the breathless hush That answered me, the far-off rush Of herald wings came whispering Like music down the vibrant string Of my ascending prayer, and—crash!

Before the wild wind's whistling lash The startled storm-clouds reared on high And plunged in terror down the sky, And the big rain in one black wave Fell from the sky and struck my grave.

I know not how such things can be; I only know there came to me A fragrance such as never clings To aught save happy living things; A sound as of some joyous elf Singing sweet songs to please himself, And, through and over everything, A sense of glad awakening.

The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear, Whispering to me I could hear; I felt the rain's cool finger-tips Brushed tenderly across my lips, Laid gently on my sealed sight, And all at once the heavy night Fell from my eyes and I could see,— A drenched and dripping apple-tree, A last long line of silver rain, A sky grown clear and blue again.

And as I looked a quickening gust Of wind blew up to me and thrust Into my face a miracle Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,— I know not how such things can be!

Up then from the ground sprang I And hailed the earth with such a cry As is not heard save from a man Who has been dead, and lives again.

About the trees my arms I wound; Like one gone mad I hugged the ground; I raised my quivering arms on high; I laughed and laughed into the sky, Till at my throat a strangling sob Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb Sent instant tears into my eyes; O God, I cried, no dark disguise Can e'er hereafter hide from me Thy radiant identity!

Thou canst not move across the grass But my quick eyes will see Thee pass, Nor speak, however silently, But my hushed voice will answer Thee.

I know the path that tells Thy way Through the cool eve of every day; God, I can push the grass apart And lay my finger on Thy heart!

The world stands out on either side No wider than the heart is wide; Above the world is stretched the sky,— No higher than the soul is high.

The heart can push the sea and land Farther away on either hand; The soul can split the sky in two, And let the face of God shine through. But East and West will pinch the heart That can not keep them pushed apart; And he whose soul is flat—the sky Will cave in on him by and by.

Wilhelm Busch - Schon beim ersten Sonnenschimmer Steigt der Lenz ins Wartezimmer. Manche Knospe wird verschneit Zwar im frühen Lenz auf Erden.

Alles dauert seine Zeit, nur Geduld, es wird schon werden. Folgt auch noch ein rauher Schauer, lacht der Himmel um so blauer.

Leichter schlägt das Menschenherz Zwischen Februar und März. O frischer Duft, o neuer Klang! Nun, armes Herze, sei nicht bang! Es blüht das fernste, tiefste Tal: Allein man nimmt sich nicht in acht, Und schlupp!

Zuerst hast du es gut, mein Sohn, Doch pass mal auf, man kommt dir schon! Bereits dein braves Elternpaar Erscheint dir häufig sonderbar.

Es saust der Stab, dann geht es schwapp! Sieh da, mein Sohn, du kriegst was ab! Und schon erscheint dir unabwendlich Der Schmerzensruf: Das ist ja schändlich!

Du wächst heran, du suchst das Weite, Jedoch die Welt ist voller Leute; Vorherrschend Juden, Weiber, Christen, Die dich ganz schrecklich überlisten Und die, anstatt dir was zu schenken, Wie du wohl möchtest, nicht dran denken.

Und wieder scheint dir unabweislich Der Schmerzensruf: Weil jeder dies mit Eifer tut, So sieht man wohl, es tut ihm gut.

Man setzt sich auch zu diesen Herrn, Man tut es häufig, tut es gern, Und möglichst lange tut man's auch; Die Nase schwillt, es wächst der Bauch, Und bald, mein Sohn, wirst du mit Graun Im Spiegelglas dein Bildnis schaun, Und wieder scheint dir unerlässlich Der Schmerzensruf: Das ist ja grässlich!!

Mein lieber Sohn, du tust mir leid, Dir mangelt die Enthaltsamkeit. Enthaltsamkeit ist das Vergnügen An Sachen, welche wir nicht kriegen.

Wer nichts gebraucht, der hat genug! Wilhelm Müller Edith: Bei mir ist in einer Ecke immer noch etwas Schnee vorhanden.

Joseph von Eichendorff Comment Die Klage eines Engels Oh wüsstest du, wie sehr dein Antlitz sich verändert, wenn du mitten in dem Blick, dem stillen reinen, der dich mir vereint, dich innerlich verlierst und von mir kehrst!

Dann warte schweigend ich oft lange. Und wäre ich ein Mensch wie du, dem stillen reinmich tötete verschmähter Liebe Pein, so aber gab unendliche Geduld der Vater mir, und unerschütterlich erwarte ich dich, wann immer du kommst.

Und diesen sanften Vorwurf selber nimm als Vorwurf nicht, als keusche Botschaft nur. You stand about the streets, You loiter at the corners and bus-stops, You do next to nothing at all.

You do not even express our inner nobilitys, You will come to a very bad end. Ezra Pound Weitere Anweisungen Kommt, meine Lieder, wir wollen unsere niederen Leidenschaften ausdrücken Lasst uns unseren Neid ausdrücken auf den mit einem festen Job und ohne Sorgen um die Zukunft.

Ihr bringt noch nicht einmal unsere innere Noblesse zum Ausdruck, Ihr werdet ein ganz schlimmes Ende nehmen.

Ich bin halb zerplatzt. Ich habe mit euch so viel gesprochen, dass ich euch fast um mich herum sehe, Unverschämte kleine Biester!

Aber du, neuestes Lied in der Bande, Du bist nicht alt genug, um viel Unheil angerichtet zu haben. Ich bringe dir einen grünen Mantel aus China Mit aufgestickten Drachen.

Comment A March Snow Let the old snow be covered with the new: The trampled snow, so soiled, and stained, and sodden.

Let it be hidden wholly from our view By pure white flakes, all trackless and untrodden. When Winter dies, low at the sweet Spring's feet Let him be mantled in a clean, white sheet.

Let the old life be covered by the new: The old past life so full of sad mistakes, Let it be wholly hidden from the view By deeds as white and silent as snow-flakes.

Ere this earth life melts in the eternal Spring Let the white mantle of repentance fling Soft drapery about it, fold on fold, Even as the new snow covers up the old.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox - Comment Die Kälte Die Kälte ist zurückgekehrt. Es friert der Osterhase. Man lebt nicht länger unversehrt, der Wind bläst um die Nase.

März in Wiesenfeld, lebt und arbeitet in Würzburg. Comment Wird erst die Erde österlich Wird erst die Erde österlich versammeln alle Hasen sich in frühlinglichem Reigen.

Sie tanzen um den Grasgeruch sehr "frey" und "hold". Das Hasenbuch steckt doch in jedem Hasen. Rainer Maria Rilke Frohe Ostern! Kehre dich um, von diesen Höhen Nach der Stadt zurück zu sehen!

Aus dem hohlen finstern Tor Dringt ein buntes Gewimmel hervor. Jeder sonnt sich heute so gern. Sie feiern die Auferstehung des Herrn, Denn sie sind selber auferstanden: Selbst von des Berges fernen Pfaden Blinken uns farbige Kleider an.

Hier bin ich Mensch, hier darf ichs sein! Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice; I'm sure you're very welcome -- will you please to take a slice?

I've a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf, If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself. So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly, And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly.

Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing, "Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing; Your robes are green and purple -- there's a crest upon your head; Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!

At last, Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast. He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den, Within his little parlour -- but she ne'er came out again!

And now dear little children, who may this story read, To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed: Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye, And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.

Dieses Gedicht finde ich absolut hinreissend, obwohl das Ende der Fliege nicht gerade nach meinem Gusto ist Comment Kuckuck Wir Vögel singen nicht egal; Der singet laut, der andre leise, Kauz nicht wie ich, ich nicht wie Nachtigall, Ein jeder hat so seine Weise.

Matthias Claudius - Weil's so schön ist, stelle ich es auch hier rein. Comment Des Menschen Seele gleicht dem Wasser: Seele des Menschen, wie gleichst du dem Wasser!

Schicksal des Menschen, wie gleichst du dem Wind. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Comment Was reif in diesen Zeilen steht, was lächelnd winkt und sinnend fleht, das soll kein Kind betrüben; die Einfalt hat es ausgesät, die Schwermut hat hindurchgeweht, die Sehnsucht hat's getrieben.

Hermann Löns - Comment Evening Star 'Twas noontide of summer, And mid-time of night; And stars, in their orbits, Shone pale, thro' the light Of the brighter, cold moon, 'Mid planets her slaves, Herself in the Heavens, Her beam on the waves.

I gazed awhile On her cold smile; Too cold- too cold for me- There pass'd, as a shroud, A fleecy cloud, And I turned away to thee, Proud Evening Star, In thy glory afar, And dearer thy beam shall be; For joy to my heart Is the proud part Thou bearest in Heaven at night, And more I admire Thy distant fire, Than that colder, lowly light.

Edgar Allan Poe Comment Death of a Naturalist All year the flax-dam festered in the heart Of the townland; green and heavy headed Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods.

Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun. Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebottles Wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell. April Irischer Schriftsteller.

Tod eines Naturforschers Das ganze Jahr über verfaulte der Leindamm Im Herzen der Gemarkung; grüner und schwerköpfiger Flachs war dort verrottet, niedergedrückt von riesigen Jeden Tag schwitzte er in der zermürbenden Sonne.

Loud quacks the duck, the peacocks cry, The distant hills are seeming nigh, How restless are the snorting swine!

The busy flies disturb the kine, Low o'er the grass the swallow wings, The cricket, too, how sharp he sings! Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws, Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws; Through the clear streams the fishes rise, And nimble catch the incautious flies.

The glow-worms, numerous and light, Illumed the dewy dell last night; At dusk the squalid toad was seen, The whirling dust the wind obeys, And in the rapid eddy plays; The frog has changed his yellow vest, And in a russet coat is dressed.

Though June the air is cold and still, The mellow blackbird's voice is shrill; My dog, so altered in his taste, Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast; And see yon rooks, how odd their flight!

They imitate the gliding kite, And seem precipitate to fall, As if they felt the piercing ball. Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow.

To ring the bells of London town. Bull's eyes and targets, Say the bells of St. Say the bells of St. Halfpence and farthings, Say the bells of St.

Oranges and lemons, Say the bells of St. Poker and tongs, Saj the bells at St. Say the bells at St. When will you pay me? Say the beUs of Old Bafley.

When I grow rich. Say the bells at Shoreditch. Pray when will that be? Say the bells at Stepney. I am sure I don't know. Says the great bell at Bow.

Here comes a candle to light you to bed, And here comes a chopper to chop oiF your head. Nay," Said Alderman Magnay. In ice got from Gunter," Said Alderman Hunter.

What is earth, Rich man? What is earth, Maiden? What is earth, Sluggard? Cat alogue W himsey s What IS earth.

What is earth, Herdsman? What is earth, Widow? What is earth, Sick man? What is earth, Christian?

Who is troubled with a wife! Be she ne'er so fair or comely. Be she ne'er so foul or homely. Be she ne'er so young and toward, Be she ne'er so old and froward.

Be she kind, with arms enfolding. Be she cross, and always scolding, Be she blithe or melancholy. Have she wit, or have she folly.

Be she wary, be she squandering. Be she staid, or be she wandering. Be she constant, be she fickle. Be she fire, or be she ickle; [] A W hims ey Anthology Be she pious or ungodly, Be she chaste, or what sounds oddly: Lastly, be she good or evil, Be she saint, or be she devil, — Yet, uneasy is his Kfe Who is married to a wife.

And she mend not, the divil take her a' Saturday: Then he may eat his meat in peace on the Sunday. He was beset with bill and dun And he had very little MoN.

This cash," said he, "won't pay my dues, I've nothing here but ones and Tues. They found his gloves, and coat, and hat; The Coroner upon them Sat.

Untwirling the twine that untwisteth between. He twists with his twister the two in a twine; Then twice having twisted the twines of the twine, He twisteth the twines he had twisted in vain.

The twain that, in twisting before in the twine. As twines were entwisted, he now doth untwine, Twixt the twain intertwisting a twine more between He, twisting his twister, makes a twist of the twine.

If a thatcher of Thatchwood went to Thatchet a- thatching, Where's the thatching the thatcher of Thatchwood has thatched? A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked.

If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, Where's the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked?

The other one is left, and then I have the right one on. But still I have the left on right; The right one, though, is left To go right on the left right hand All right, if I am deft.

Put the cold side, skin-side outside; He, to keep the cold side outside. Put the warm side, fur-side, inside: Why he put the warm side inside.

Why he turned them inside outside. Promptly one sees shake in the breeze Stately lime-avenues haunted of bees: Where, looking far over buttercupp'd leas.

Lads and "fair shes" that is Byron, and he's An authority lie very much at their ease; Taking their teas, or their duck and green peas.

Or, if they prefer it, their plain bread and cheese: Not objecting at all, though it's rather a squeeze. And the glass is, I daresay, at 80 degrees.

Some get up glees, and are mad about Ries And Sainton, and Tamberlik's thrilling high Cs; Or if painters, hold forth upon Hunt and Maclise, And the tone and the breadth of that landscape of Lee's; Or, if learned, on nodes and the moon's apogees, Or, if serious, on something of A.

Some sit in twos or less frequently threes, With their innocent lambswool or book on their knees, [] A W him sey Anthology And talk, and enact, any nonsense you please.

As they gaze into eyes that are blue as the seas; And you hear an occasional "Harry, don't tease" From the sweetest of lips in the softest of keys.

And other remarks, which to me are Chinese. And fast the time flees; till a ladylike sneeze. Or a portly papa's more elaborate wheeze.

Makes Miss Tabitha seize on her brown mufFatees, And announce as a fact that it's going to freeze. And that young people ought to attend to their Ps And their Qs, and not court every form of disease.

Then Tommy eats up the three last ratafias, And pretty Louise wraps her rohe de cerise Round a bosom as tender as Widow Machree's, And in spite of the pleas of her lorn vis-a-vis Goes to wrap up her uncle — a patient of Skey's, Who is prone to catch chills, like all old Bengalese: Bright and yellow, hard and cold, Molten, graven, hammered and rolled; Heavy to get, and light to hold; Hoarded, bartered, bought and sold, [] M onor hymes Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled; Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old.

To the very verge of the churchyard mould: Price of many a crime untold; Gold! Good or bad, a thousandfold!

And whether bad or excellent, Is merely so by accident. A stupid ass this morning went Into a field by accident: And cropped his food, and was content, Until he spied by accident A flute, which some oblivious gent Had left behind by accident; When, sniffling it with eager scent.

He breathed on it by accident. And made the hollow instrument Emit a sound by accident. May shine for once, — by accident.

Has robbed my bosom of repose; For when in sleep my eyelids close. It haunts me still, that Roman nose!

Between two eyes as black as sloes The bright and flaming ruby glows: And beats the blush of damask rose.

I walk the streets, the alleys, rows; I look at all the Jems and Joes; And old and young, and friends and foes.

But cannot find a Roman nose! We are come to thirty-five; Long may better years arrive. Better years than thirty-five. High to soar, and deep to dive, Nature gives at thirty-five.

Ladies, stock and tend your hive. Trifle not at thirty-five; For, howe'er we boast and strive. Life declines from thirty-five.

He that ever hopes to thrive Must begin by thirty-five; And all who wisely wish to wive Must look on Thrale at thirty-five.

To find a rhyme for Tipperary. Long laboured he through January, Yet found no rhyme for Tipperary; Toiled every day in February, But toiled in vain for Tipperary; Searched Hebrew text and commentary.

But searched in vain for Tipperary; Bored all his friends in In vera ry. But not the rhyme for Tipperary; The stubborn Muse he could not vary, For still the lines would run contrary Whene'er he thought on Tipperary.

And though of time he was not chary, 'Twas thrown away on Tipperary. Till of his wild-goose chase most weary. He vowed he'd leave out Tipperary.

But no — the theme he might not vary. His longing was not temporary. To find meet rhyme for Tipperary. He sought among the gay and airy, He pestered all the military.

Committed many a strange vagary. Bewitched, it seemed, by Tipperary. He wrote, post-haste, to Darby Leary, Besojight with tears his Aunty Sairie; But sought he far, or sought he near, he Ne'er found a rhyme for Tipperary.

He travelled sad through Cork and Kerry, He drove like mad through sweet Dunleary, Kicked up a precious tantar-ara. But found no rhyme for Tipperary; Lived fourteen weeks at Stan-ar-ara, Was well-nigh lost in Glenegary, Then started slick for Denerara, In search of rhyme for Tipperary.

Through Yankee-land, sick, solitary. Through orient climes on Dromedary, On camel's back through great Sahara; His travels were extraordinary In search of rhyme for Tipperaiy.

Fierce as a gorgon on chimaera, Fierce as Alecto or Megaera, Fiercer than e'er a love-sick bear, he Ranged through the "londe" of Tipperary.

His cheeks grew thin and wondrous hairy. His visage long, his aspect "eerie," His tout ensemble, faith, would scare ye, Amidst the wilds of Tipperary.

He sent for his apothecary. Who ordered "balm" and "saponary," Herbs rare to find in Tipperary. In his potations ever wary.

His choicest drink was "home gooseberry. Had he imbibed good old Madeira, Drank pottle-deep of golden sherry Of FalstafF's sack, or ripe Canary, No rhyme had lacked for Tipperar, Or had his tastes been literary.

He might have found extemjjorary Without the aid of dictionary. Some fitting rhyme for Tipperary. Or had he seen an antiquary. Burnt midnight oil in his library, [ ] A W hims ey Anthology Or been of temper less "camstary," Rhymes had not lacked for Tipperary.

He paced about his aviary, Blew up, sky-high, his secretary, And then in wrath and anger sware he. There was no rhyme for Tipperary.

Pilfered at once in Doneraile. May fire and brimstone never fail To fall in showers on Doneraile; May all the leading fiends assail The thieving town of Doneraile.

As lightnings flash across the vale. May beef or mutton, lamb or veal. Be never found in Doneraile; But garlic-soup and scurvy kail Be still the food for Doneraile.

May sun and moon for ever fail To beam their lights in Doneraile; May every pestilential gale Blast that curst spot called Doneraile. May no sweet cuckoo, thrush, or quail, Be ever heard in Doneraile; May patriots, kings, and commonweal.

Despise and harass Doneraile. May vengeance fall at head and tail, From north to south, at Doneraile; May profit light, and tardy sale.

Still damp the trade of Doneraile. May Fame resound a dismal tale. Whene'er she lights on Doneraile; May Egypt's plagues at once prevail.

To thin the knaves of Doneraile. May frost and snow, and sleet and hail, Benumb each joint in Doneraile; [ ] A Whimsey Anthology May wolves and bloodhounds trace and trail The cursed crew of Doneraile.

May Oscar, with his fiery flail, To atoms thresh all Doneraile; May every mischief, fresh and stale, Abide henceforth in Doneraile.

May all, from Belfast to Kinsale, Scoff, curse, and damn you, Doneraile; May neither flour nor oatenmeal Be found or known in Doneraile.

May want and woe each joy curtail That e'er was known in Doneraile; May no one coflin want a nail That wraps a rogue in Doneraile.

May all the thieves that rob and steal The gallows meet in Doneraile; May all the sons of Granaweal Blush at the thieves of Doneraile.

May mischief, big as Norway whale, O'erwhelm the knaves of Doneraile; May curses, wholesale and retail, Pour with full force on Doneraile.

May every transport wont to sail, A convict bring from Doneraile; May every churn and milking-pail Fall dry to staves in Doneraile.

May every chosen ill prevail O'er all the imps of Doneraile; May no one wish or prayer avail To soothe the woes of Doneraile. Oh, may my couplets never fail To find a curse for Doneraile; And may grim Pluto's inner jail For ever groan with Doneraile.

The child of Man and beast: But dreadful earnest's artful MINX. Seems nonchalante, and bobs, and blinks: Ma foi, toute autre chose is MINX.

Aye "takkin notes" of holes and chinks: A slee and pawky body's MINX. An Abbess of Misrule: With reels of silk, thread, wool, plays rinks: Loves, frisks, curvets, and highest jinks: A pert, coquettish, flirting finks: Has fifty beaux at once: Soprani trill their tink-a-tinks: Horns blare, drurafi beat, and cymbal clinks: The Dean's rare taste in his precincts Pets wild ducks: I pet wilder MINX.

When I want my fragrant wine. Or pipes soft music on a reed. And catch a glimpse of scarlet hose, She knows that he who runs may read.

On Her Adaptability To heaven's heights, the fierce flames rose, Stone, iron, melted, just like lead; Right hard they worked with pump and hose, All night by flames her book she read.

On Her Femininity She planted peas, but not in rows, Just where her errant fancy led; I laughed at her with loud "ho, ho's" Until she blushed a rosy red.

And the rounders, grounders, too, rise and strike my knee; When I in anguish languish, try to force a smile. While laughing critics round me sound me on my style.

And six is sounding from the chime, prime time To go and see the Druiy-Lane Dane slain, — Or hear Othello's jealous doubt spout out, — Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade, [ ] k Interior Rhymes Denying to his frantic clutch much touch; — Or else to see Ducrow with wide stride ride Four horses as no other man can span; Or in the small Olympic Pit, sit split Laughing at Liston, while you quiz his phiz.

Anon Night comes, and with her wings brings things Such as, with his poetic tongue. And paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growl.

About the streets and take up Pall-Mall Sal, Who, hasting to her nightly jobs, robs fobs. Now thieves to enter for your cash, smash, crash, Past drowsy Charley, in a deep sleep, creep, But frightened by Policeman B 3, flee.

And while they're going, whisper low, "No go! And sleepers waking, grumble — "Drat that cat! White ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out.

That upward goes, shows Rose knows those bows' Thomas Hood. Know him you must — he has been often here; Show him upstairs, and tell him I'm alone.

Better — perchance, from Andrews, brings a box. Letter of boxes for the Italian stage — Brocard! No card, — thank Heaven — engages me to-night!

Feathers, of course — no turban, and no toque — Weather's against it, but I'll go in curls. I9f Glistened her eye as the impatient girl Listened, low bending o'er the topmost stair, Vainly, alas!

Plainly she hears this question and reply: No more shall professors be partial To Martial. No ninny Will stop playing "shinney" For Pliny.

Not even the veriest Mexican Greaser Will stop to read Caesar. Old Homer, That hapless old roamer. Will ne'er find a rest 'neath collegiate dome or Anywhere else.

The irreverent now may all scoff in ease At the shade of poor old Aristophanes. And moderns it now doth behoove in all Ways to despise poor old Juvenal; And to chivvy Livy.

The class-room hereafter will miss a row Of eager young students of Cicero. And what'U Induce us to read Aristotle?

We shall fail in Our duty to Galen. No tutor henceforward shall rack us To construe old Horatius Flaccus.

We have but a wretched opinion Of Mr. In our classical pabulum mix we've no wee sop Of iEsop. Our balance of intellect asks for no ballast From Sallust.

With feminine scorn no fair Vassar-bred lass at us Shall smile if we own that we cannot read Tacitus.

And so, if you follow me, We'll have to cut Ptolemy. Besides, it would just be considered facetious To look at Lucretius.

But at times not the air that is rarest Is fairest. And we long in the valley to follow Apollo. Oh, the song where not one of the Graces Tight-laces, — Where we woo the sweet Muses not starchly.

But archly, — Where the verse, like a piper a-Maying, Comes playing, — And the rhyme is as gay as a dancer In answer, — It will last till men weary of pleasure In measure!

It will last till men weary of laughter. Can't touch prog — sick as a dog — packet 'em, racket 'em, makes pier.

On the pave — cabriolet — clattery, pattery, oui! Abbeville— off goes a wheel— hammeiy, dammery, tut! Montreuil — look like a fool — latery, gatery, shut!

Laughing, quaffing, snoozing, boozing, cantering, bantering, gad about, mad about — When a man travels, etc. Ding dong — postboy's thong — smackery, crack- ery, gar!

Soups, ragouts — messes and stews — hashery, trash- ery, psha! Beggar's woes — donnes quelque chose — howlery, growlery, sou! Crawl like a calf — post and a half — sluggery, tug- gery, pooh!

Saint- Denis — custom-house fee — lacery, tracery, non, non! Silver-tip — ginger on lip — feeing 'em, freeing 'em, bon, bon!

When a man travels, and gets by good luck To Paris, he stares like a pig that is stuck; And, if he's in want of a Guide de Paris, He'd better be quiet and listen to me.

Catacombs — ghosts and gnomes — bonery, groan- ery, fee faw! Saint-Cloud — fete of St. Sol fa — Tanta-ra-ra!

Shriekery, squeakery, strum, strum, Louis d'or — couldn't get more — packery, backery, glum, glum! Quillacq — glad to get back — floodery, scuddery, sick, sick!

Now we steer — right for the pier — over 'em, Dover 'em, quick, quick! A tideful of tricks in this merry Old Ferry, And these are things that it does by the way: It pours into parks and disperses The nurses; It goes into gardens and scatters the cats; It leaks into lodgings, disorders The borders, And washes away with their holiday hats.

It soaks into shops, and inspires The buyers To crawl over counters and climb upon chairs; It trickles on tailors, it spatters On hatters.

And makes little milliners scamper up-stairs. It goes out of town and it rambles Through brambles; It wallows in hollows and dives into dells; It flows into farmyards and sickens The chickens.

And washes the wheelbarrows into the wells. It leaks into laundries and wrangles With mangles; It trips over turnips and tumbles down-hill; It rolls like a coach along highways And byways, But never gets anywhere, go as it will!

Oh, foolish old Ferry! And waft you farewell with a handful of hay! What gentleman adventurer was prankier than I, Who lustier at passes with glasses — and lasses.

How pleasant was the look of 'em as I came jaunting by! Then Pegasus went loping 'twixt hoping and toping, A song in every dicky-bird, a scent in every rose; What moons for lovelorn glances, romances, and dances.

And how the spirit of the waltz went thrilling to my toes! Egad, it's now a gouty pang goes thrilling to my toes! Was I that lover frantic, romantic, and antic Who found the lute in Molly's voice, the heaven in her eyes.

Who, madder than a hatter, talked patter? Call not that little, youthful ghost, but leave it where it lies! Dear, dear, how many winter snows have drifted where she lies!

But now I'm old and humble, why mumble and grumble At all the posy-linked rout that hurries laughing by? Framed in my gold-rimmed glasses each lass is who passes.

And Youth is still a-twinkling in the corner of my eye. How strange you cannot see it in the comer of my eye! Decrepit age, and vigorous life.

And blooming youth, and helpless infancy. Poured forth — on crutches, in the pride of strength And health, in the full blush Of promise— the mere dawn of life— To gather round her tomb.

Old men were there Whose eyes were dim And senses failing — Granddames, who might have died ten years ago. And still been old — the deaf, the blind, the lame.

The living dead in many shapes and forms. To see the closing of this early grave! What was the death it would shut in, To that which still would crawl and creep above it!

Under that porch where she had sat when Heaven In mercy brought her to that peaceful spot, She passed again, and the old church Received her in its quiet shade.

When Death strikes down the innocent and young, From every fragile form from which he lets The panting spirit free, A hundred virtues rise.

In shapes of mercy, charity, and love, To walk the world and bless it. Of every tear That sorrowing mortals shed on such green graves, Some good is bom, some gentler nature comes.

You need not be an atom of a poet. If you've a grain of wit and want to show it, Writing a Villanelle — take this from me — It's all a trick, quite easy when you know it.

You start a pair of "rimes" and then you "go it," With rapid running pen and fancy free, You need not be an atom of a poet. Take any thought, write round it or below it, Above or near it, as it liketh thee; It's all a trick, quite easy when you know it.

Pursue your task, till, like a shrub, you grow it. Up to the standard size it ought to be; You need not be an atom of a poet.

Clear it of weeds, and water it, and hoe it. Then watch it blossom with triumphant glee. It's all a trick, quite easy when you know it.

Some skill I have, 'tis true; But thirteen lines! Still there are five lines — ranged aright. These Gallic bonds, I feared, would fright My easy Muse.

They did, till you — You bid me try! That makes them eight. Now just a pair to end in "oo," — When maids command, what can't we do? With craft of delight and with cunning of sound unsought, That the heart of the hearer may smile if to pleasure his ear A roundel is wrought.

As a bird's quick song pens round, and the. And I've missed of too many jokes by half. The high-heeled antics of colt and calf.

The men who think they can act, and try — These are the things that make me laugh. The hard-boiled poses in photograph. The groom still wearing his wedding tie — And I've missed of too many jokes by half I These are the bubbles I gayly quaff With the rank conceit of the new-born fly — These are the things that make me laugh!

I needs must chaff, And people will tickle me till I die — And I've missed of too many jokes, by half!

So write me down in my epitaph As one too fond of his health to cry — These are the things that make me laugh. And I've missed of too many jokes by half!

High prices profit those who sell. But why should I be fond of such? To glad me with his soft black eye My son comes trotting home from school: He's had a fight, but can't tell why — He always was a little fool!

While one might trace, with half an eye, The still-triumphant carrot through. If you really learn to make it! Once a neat refrain you get.

Easy is the triolet. It began a la mode: I intended an Ode, But Rose crossed the road With a bunch of fresh violets.

I intended an Ode, And it turned into Triolets. I intended an Ode, And It turned out a Sonnet. My mark's a tiny little feed, And Enery Irving's gallery.

To see old 'Amlick do a bleed. And Ellen Terry on the die. Or Franky's ghostes at hi-spy. And parties carried on a shutter. Them vulgar Coupeaus is my eye!

In fact my form's the Bloomin' Utter. The Grosvenor's nuts — it is, indeed! I goes for 'Olman 'Unt like pie. It's equal to a friendly lead To see B.

88 Fortunes sprider glädje och jackpottar omkring sig -

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Are Oysters boisterous when they drink? Do parrots prowl in pews? Do Quakers get their quills from quails?

Do Rabbits rob on roads? Are Snakes supposed to sneer at snails? Do Tortoises tease toads? Can Unicorns perform on horns? Do Vipers value veal?

Do Weasels weep when fast asleep? Are Zebras full of zeal? Crocodile, monkey, buffalo, hare, Dromedary, leopard, mud-turtle, bear.

Elephant, badger, pelican, ox. Flying-fish, reindeer, anaconda, fox, Guinea-pig, dolphin, antelope, goose. Humming-bird, weasel, pickerel, moose, Ibex, rhinoceros, owl, kangaroo, Jackal, opossum, toad, cockatoo.

Kingfisher, peacock, anteater, bat, Lizard, ichneumon, honey-bee, rat. Mocking-bird, camel, grasshopper, mouse. Nightingale, spider, cuttle-fish, grouse.

Ocelot, pheasant, wolverine, auk, Periwinkle, ermine, katydid, hawk. Quail, hippopotamus, armadillo, moth. Rattlesnake, lion, woodpecker, sloth.

Salamander, goldfinch, angleworm, dog. Tiger, flamingo, scorpion, frog. Unicorn, ostrich, nautilus, mole. Viper, gorilla, basilisk, sole, Whippoorwill, beaver, centipede, fawn, Xantho, canary, poUiwog, swan, [42] Alphabetical W himsey s Yellowhammer, eagle, hyena, lark, Zebra, chameleon, butterfly, shark.

F — The Fizzgiggious Fish, who always walked about upon Stilts, because he had no legs. U— The Umbrageous Umbrella-maker, whose Face nobody ever saw, because it was always covered by his Umbrella.

Never again shall I and U Together sip our T. LN exclaim'd, "Vile spiteful B! Now mark his history. An hourly glass with him was play. I'll W or quits.

Shun O D V as a wraith, For 'tis a bonus to the grave. An S A unto death. There is no other MED. Because of a Zygomatic pain; And as for singing, his cheeriest tone Reminded him of a Xylophone — Or else, when the pain would sharper grow.

His notes were as keen as a ZufFolo. And so it is likely he did not find On board Xenodochy to his mind. The fare was poor, and he was sure Xerophagy he could not endure; Zoophagous surely he was, I aver.

This dainty and starving Xylographer. Xylophagous truly he could not be — No sickly vegetarian he! He'd have blubbered like any old Zeuglodon Had Xerophthalmia not come on.

And the end of it was he never again In a Xanthic Xebec went sailing the main. There lives a lass, I love to go N.

C; No other Miss. Can e'er, I Wis. But I only dream Upon the theme. And Conn, it o'er and Ore. Why is it, pray, I can't Ala. This love that makes me I Propose to her my will?

I shun the task 'Twould be to ask This gentle maid to wed. And so, to press My suit, I guess Alaska Pa.

One Sabbath morning left his tent. The Landing-Net, -u As fishermen get very dry. They always have a flask hard by. Of pretzels he procured a few.

And out upon the stream did float. It was the gallinippers bit. The Eel, od Then quickly it began to rain, But his umbrella was in vain. The Umbrella, J[ Above his head the thunder crashed, And all around the lightning flashed.

The Lightning, z The storm blew, and the boat upset; The man went down into the wet. The Bubbles, O o o o Oh, Sunday iishers, old and young.

You will get drowned, or you'll get hung! The Gallows, m A. He never would find its. The pair crossed over 'neath Allah's protection; And the Arab was happy, we have no doubt.

Paper and Print, Our Yankee friends, with all their For once, we guess, their mark have missed; And with poetry Paper and Print is rash In damming its flow with its editor's In parable and moral leave a between, For reflection, or your wits fall out of joint; The "Arab," ye see, is a printing machine, And the donkey is he who can't see the.

British and Colonial Printer. For he's the gentleman seems to me Of the typographical companie. Nothing that Cadmus ever planned Equals my elegant ampersand!

Many a letter your writers hate, Ugly Q, with its tail so straight, X, that makes you cross as a bear, And Z, that helps you with "zounds" to swear.

But not my nice little ampersand, My easily dashed off ampersand; Any odd shape folks understand To mean my Protean ampersand. Nothing for him that's starch or stiff; Never he's used in scold or tiff; State epistles, so dull and so grand.

Mustn't contain the shortened "and. You are good for those who're jolly and bland; In days when letters were dried with sand.

Old frumps wouldn't use my ampersand. My kind, familiar ampersand. They, pure as sacred oils, bless and anoint My sin-swamped soul which at thy feet sobs out, O exclamation point, O point, O point!

Ah, had I words, blank blank, which, dot, IVe not, Fd swoon in songs which should'st illume the dark With light of thee.

Ah, God it's strong to swear Why, why, interrogation mark, why, mark? Dot dot dot dot. And so, dash, yet, but nay!

My tongue takes pause; some words must not be said, For fear the world, cold hyphen -eyed, austere, Should'st shake thee by the throat till reason fled.

One hour of love we've had. Dost thou recall Dot dot dash blank interrogation mark? The night was ours, blue heaven over all Dash, God I dot stars, keep thou our secret dark!

Were welcome as ever the flow'rs in May. And haunted ruins and ghosts in white, And wars with giants and gifts from fairies.

At last I came to be craz'd outright. And hunt for figure and fact and date. Logwood, not lotos, floods Oporto's bowls.

Troops of old tosspots oft to sot consort. Box tops our schoolboys, too, do flog for sport. No cool monsoons blow oft on Oxford dons.

Orthodox, jog-trot, book-worm Solomons! Bold Ostrogoths of ghosts no horror show. On London shop-fronts no hop-blossoms grow.

To crocks of gold no Dodo looks for food. On soft cloth footstools no old fox doth brood. Long storm-tost sloops forlorn do work to port.

Rooks do not roost on spoons, nor woodcocks snort Nor dog on snowdrop or on coltsfoot rolls. Nor common frog concocts long protocols.

Doth tax his sight, but far doth stray. Not work of man, nor sport of child. Finds Nassan in that mazy wild; Lax grow his joints, limbs toil in vain — Poor wight I why didst thou quit that plain.

Vainly for succour Nassan calls. And qiiiclcly hears the sheep's low cry. But man, who tastes his finest wheat. Should joy to lift his praises high.

Mark my melodious midnight moans; Much may my melting music mean, My modulated monotones. My mouth, my mind, my memory, Must mingling murmur "Madeline.

Mankind's malevolence may make Much melancholy music mine; Many my motives may mistake. My modest merits much malign.

Midst Murcia's misty mounts marine, Meet me 'mid moonlight— marry me. Behold, Boreas' bitter blast by brief Bright beams becalmed; balmy breezes breathe.

By bending birchen bough By bush, by beech, by buttressed branches bare By bluebell-brightened bramble-brake; bestow Bespeckled broods; but bold bad boys beware Babble, blithe brooklet!

Barren borders breach Bathe broomy banks, bright buttercups bedew Briskly by bridge, by beetling bluff, by beach, Beckoned by bravely bounding billows blue!

S'jsan Simpson strolled sedately, Stifling sobs, suppressing sighs. Seeing Stephen Slocum, stately She stopped, showing some surprise.

Summer's season slowly stretches, Susan Simpson Slocum she — So she signed some simple sketches — Soul sought soul successfully. The cracking craws and keckling jays.

They deav'd me with their din; The painted pawn, with Argus eyes, Can on his May-cock call. The turtle wails on withered trees.

And echo answers all. Repeating with greeting, How fair Narcissus fell. By lying and spying His shadow in the well. The air was sober, saft, and sweet, Nae misty vapours, wind, nor weet, But quiet, calm, and clear; To foster Flora's fragrant flowers.

Whereon Apollo's paramours Had trinkled mony a tear; The which, like silver shakers, shined. Embroidering Beauty's bed, Wherewith their heavy heads declined In Maye's colours clad; Some knopping, some dropping Of balmy liquor sweet.

Far, far away, down the foam-frescoed reach. Where ravening rocks cleave the crest of the seas, Sigheth the sound of thy sonorous speech.

As grey gull and guillemot gather their fees; Taking toll of the beasts that are bred in the as. Foam-flakes fly farther than faint eyes can follow — Drop down the desolate dunes and are done; Fleeter than foam-flowers flitteth the Swallow, Sheer for the sweets of the South and the Sun: What is thy tale, O thou treacherous Swallow?

Sing me thy secret, Beloved of the Skies, That I may gather my garments and follow — Flee on the path of thy pinions and rise Where strong storms cease and the weary wind dies.

I am bound with the chains of my sorrow; Swallow, swift Swallow, ah, wait, for a while! Stay but a moment — it may be to-morrow Chains shall be severed and sad souls shall smile!

Pitiless Swallow, full flushed for thy pleasure, Canst thou not even one instant allow To weaker-winged wanderers?

Why wilfully wage you this war? Is All pity purged out of your breast? We had smote and made redder than roses. With juice not of fruit nor of bud, The truculent townspeople's noses.

And bathed brutal butchers in blood; And we all aglow in our glories. Heard you not in the deafening din; And ye came, O ye procuratores, And ran us all in!

Sweet young sunbeams do subdue Angry aged winter. Blasts are mild and seas are calm, Every meadow flows with balm, The earth wears all her riches, Harmonious birds sing such a psalm As ear and heart bewitches.

Reserve sweet spring this nymph of ours. Eternal garlands of thy flowers. Green garlands never wasting; In her shall last our state's fair spring, Now and forever flourishing.

As long as heaven is lasting. On Fomham's glebe and pasture land A blessing pray. Long, long may stand, Not touch'd by time, the Rectory blithe.

No grudging churl dispute his tithe. At Easter be the offerings due With cheerful spirit paid. Each pew In decent order fiU'd.

No noise Loud intervene to drown the voice. Learning or wisdom, of the Teacher. Dear as the mother holds her infant's grave.

In Love's warm regions, warm, romantic Spain. And should your fate to courts your steps ordain. Kings would in vain to regal pomp appeal.

And lordly bishops kneel to you in vain. Love's power, nor Churchman's zeal Endure 'gainst Love's time's up untarnished steel.

Don't waggle your head "Like a blundering, sleepy old cow! I hate thy flattering smile! Return to me those years I spent in vain. In early youth the victim of thy guile.

Each joy took wing ne'er to return again, — Ne'er to return; for, chilled by hopes deceived, Dully the slow-paced hours now move along; So changed the times when thoughtless I believed Her honeyed words, and heard her siren song.

If e'er, as me, she lure some youth to stray. Perhaps, before too late, he'll listen to my lay. Eager eye and willing ear, Pleased a simple tale to hear — Long has paled that sunny sky: Echoes fade and memories die: Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise, Alice, moving under skies Never seen by waking eyes. Children, yet, the tale to hear, Eager eye and willing ear.

Lovingly shall nestle near. In a Wonderland they lie. Dreaming as the days go by. Not in wedlock, I ween, has the unity been.

In the drama of marriage, each wandering gout To a new face would fly — all except you and I Each seeking to alter the spell in their scene.

Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda, Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.

Search narrowly the lines! Search well the measure — The words — the syllables! Do not forget The trivialest point, or you may lose your labour!

And yet there is in this no Gordian knot Which one might not undo without a sabre, If one could merely comprehend the plot.

You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do! Crosses sometimes Are cures. Now let us prove, That no strength Shall Abate the power of love: Riches, wise men call Frail fortune's Badges, In true love lies all.

That All may know when men grant no Redress, Much love can sweeten the unhappinesS. And the depths of the ocean its presence confessed; Twill be found in the sphere when 'tis riven asunder.

Be seen in the lightning, and heard in the thunder. Twas allotted to man with his earliest breath, It assists at his birth and attends him in death.

Presides o'er his happiness, honor, and health. Is the prop of his house and the end of his wealth. In the heaps of the miser is hoarded with care, But is sure to be lost in his prodigal heir.

It begins every hope, every wish it must bound. It prays with the hermit, with monarchs is crowned; Without it the soldier, the sailor, may roam.

But woe to the wretch who expels it from home. In the whisper of conscience 'tis sure to be found. Nor e'en in the whirlwind of passion is drowned; 'Twill soften the heart, but, though deaf to the ear, It will make it acutely and instantly hear; [79] A W himsey Anthology But, In short, let it rest like a delicate flowei Oh, breathe on it softly, it dies in an hour.

I resides in a Hattic, and loves not to roam. And yet I'm invariably absent from 'Ome. Of Heternity I'm the beginning! And placed by your most learned society In Hexile, Hanguish, and Hanxiety, Nay, charged without one just pretence With Harrogance and Himpudence, — I here demand full restitution.

And beg you'll mend your Hellocution. Fm a stranger alike to the fool and the sage. And though Fm distinguished on history's page, I always am greatest alone.

I'm not in the earth, nor the sun, nor the moon; You may search all the sky, Fm not there; In the morning and evening, though not in the noon. You may plainly perceive me, for, like a balloon, I am always suspended in air.

Though in wit and in wisdom I equally reign, Fm the heart of all sin, and have long lived in vaii Yet I ne'er shall be found in the tomb.

The point essential in a tenant's lease; The farmer's comfort as he drives the plough, A soldier's duty, and a lover's vow; A contract made before the nuptial tie, A blessing riches never can supply; A spot that adds new charms to pretty faces.

An engine used in fundamental cases; A planet seen between the earth and sun, A prize that merit never yet has won; A loss which prudence seldom can retrieve.

The death of Judas, and the fall of Eve; A part between the ankle and the knee, A papist's toast and a physician's fee; A wife's ambition and a parson's dues, A miser's idol, and the badge of Jews.

If now your happy genius can divine A corresponding word for every line, [82] Enigmas and Charades By the first letters plainly may be found An ancient city that is much renowned.

I have Kings at my feet, who await but my nod To kneel down in the dust. On the ground I have trod. I never have passed but one night in the dark, And that was like Noah, alone in the ark.

My weight is three pounds, my length is one mile. And when you have guessed me, you'll say with a smile That my first and my last are the best of this isle.

I'm a bird of bright plumage, yet less like a bird Nothing in nature ever was seen. Darkness destroys me, and light is my death; You can't keep me alive without stopping breath.

If my name can't be guessed by a boy or a n By a girl or a woman it certainly can. My body he did make complete; But without arms, or legs, or feet.

My ways and actions did control And I was made without a soul. A living creature I became; 'Twas Adam that gave me my name. Then from his presence I withdrew; Nor more of Adam ever knew.

I did my Maker's laws obey: From them I never went astray; Thousands of miles I roam in fear; But seldom on the land appear.

But God in me did something see. And put a living soul in me. A soul in me the Lord did claim. And took from me that soul again.

The whale that swallowed Jonah. And without arms, or legs, or soul, I travel now from pole to pole; I labor hard both day and night; To fallen man I give great light.

Thousands of people young and old. Do by my death great light behold. No fear of death doth trouble me. Nor happiness I cannot see.

To heaven above I ne'er shall go; — Nor to the grave, nor hell below. The Scriptures I cannot believe Whether right or wrong I can't conceive.

Although my name therein is found They are to me an empty sound. And when friends these lines do read Go search the Scriptures with all speed. And if my name you can't find there.

It will be strange — I do declare. Homeless and desolate, Void of a mind; Guileless, deceiving. See I Samuel xix.

Then they were neither Alive at my birth; Lodged in a palace,. Hunted by malice, I did not inherit By lineage or merit A spot on the earth.

No one baptized me, A sponsor I had Who ne'er catechised me; She gave me the name To her heart was the dearest. She gave me the place To her bosom was nearest; But one look of kindness She cast on me never.

Nor a word in my blindness I heard from her ever. Naught could alarm me; I saved, I destroyed; I blessed, I annoyed; Kept a crown for a Prince, But had none of my own; Filled the place of a King, But ne'er sat on a throne; Rescued a warrior; baffled a plot; Was what I seemed not, Seemed what I was not; Devoted to slaughter, A price on my head, A King's lovely daughter Watched by my bed; Though gently she dressed me.

Fainting with fear, She never caressed me Nor wiped off a tear. Never moistened my lips Though parching and dry What marvel a blight Should pursue till she die!

Wretched and poor; 'Twas royalty cursed me In secret, I'm sure. Fathom the mystery, Deep in my history! Was I a man? Solve it who can!

Honor depends on pedigree, Then stand by — clear the way — And let me have fair play. For, though you boast thro' ages dark Your pedigree from Noah's ark, I, too, was with him there.

Adam I, Unless they were together. Not such an end but I have breath. Therefore to such a kind of death I have but small objection. Although my middle's left, there's nothing there.

What is my head cut off? A sounding sea; What is my tail cut off? And the screaming trump and the thun- dering-drum Are calling thee to die.

Thy task is taught, thy shroud is wrought; So forward and farewell! Toll ye my Second, toll; Fling high the flambeau's light; And sing the hymn for a parted soul Beneath the silent night; The helm upon his head, The cross upon his breast, Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed: Now take him to his rest!

Call ye my Whole, go call The lord of lute and lay, And let him greet the sable pall With a noble song to-day; Ay, call him by his name.

No fitter hand may crave To light the flame of a soldier's fame On the turf of a soldier's grave! I then met large numbers, whose drink was not sherbet.

Who scarce could look up when their eyes the gas- glare met ; So when I had learned from commercial adviser.

That mere gait for sand was the great fertiliser, I bade Mr, Eaglet, although 'twas ideal. Get some from the clay-pit, and so get'm real ; Then, just as my footstep was leaving the portal, I met an elm targe on a great Highland mortal.

With the maid he had wooed by the loch's flowery margelet, And rowed in his boat, which for rhyme's sake call bargelet, [91] A Whimsey Anthology And blithe to the breeze would have set the sail daily, But it blew at that rate which our sailors term gahy aye; I stumbled against the fair bride he had married.

When a merle gat at large from a cage that she car- ried; She gave a loud screech! But lame as I was, Fd no wish to get lamer ; So I made my escape — ne'er an antelope fleeter.

Lest my verse, like the poet, should limp through lag metre. Small talk it was, no doubt, because the smaller folk were there.

And they, the young monopolists! Conundrums, riddles, rebuses, cross-questions, puns atrocious. Taxed all their ingenuity, till Peter the precocious — Old head on shoulders juvenile — cried, 'Now for a new task.

Let's try our hand at Palindromes! A limner, by photography dead beat in competition. A nonsense-loving nephew might his soldier uncle dun, With Now stop, Major-generaly are negro jam pots won I A supercilious grocer, if inclined that way, might snub A child with.

But Ragusa store, babe, rots a sugar tub! Thy sceptre, Alexander, is a fortress, cried Hephses- tion; Great A. No, it's a bar of gold, a bad log for a bastion I A timid creature fearing rodents — mice, and such small fry — Stop, Syrian, I start at rats in airy spots, might cry.

A crazy dentist might declare, as something strange or new. That Paget saw an Irish toothy sir, in a waste-gap! A surly student, hating sweets, might answer with elan, Name tarts, no, medieval slave, I demonstrate man!

He who in Nature's bitters findeth sweet food every day. Sin, oro, caret arcana cratera coronis Unam areas, animes semina sacra manu. Angere regnato, mutatum, o tangere regna, Sana tero, tauris si ruat oret anas: Milo subi rivis, summus si viribus olim, Muta sedes; animal lamina sede satum.

Tangeret, i videas, illisae divite regnat; Aut atros ubinam manibus orta tua! O tu casurus, rem non mersurus acuto Telo, sis-ne, tenet?

Backed like a bean, Tailed like a bat, And footed like a cat. Stand fast at root. Bear well at top; Every little twig Bear an apple big; Every little bough Bear an apple now; Hats full!

And whence thou may'st bear apples enow! Bushel — bushel — sacks full, Old parson's breeches full. And my pockets full too!

And a child that's bom on the Sabbath-day Is fair and wise and good and gay. Fait vivre d'ans nonante et neuf. Of these five things beware: Of whom you speak.

To whom you speak, And how, and when, and where. And hath nought; He that looketh in his purse And findeth nought — He may be sorry, And say nought.

He that may and will not. He then that would shall not, He that would and cannot, May repent and sigh not. He that sweareth Till no man trust him; He that lieth; Till no man believe him; He that borroweth Till no man will lend him, — Let him go where No man knoweth him.

He that hath a good master, And cannot keep him; [lOl] A W him 5 ey Anthology He that hath a good servant, And not content with him; He that hath such conditions That no man loveth him, — May well know other, But few men will know him.

He who knows not, and knows that he knows not; he is simple, teach him. He who knows, and knows not that he knows; he is asleep, wake him. He who knows, and knows that he knows; he is wise, follow him.

It's like a lion at the door; And when the door begins to crack. It's like a stick across your back; And when your back begins to smart, It's like a penknife in your heart; And when your heart begins to bleed, You're dead, and dead, and dead indeed.

Drink ere you eat. And while you eat, And after you have eaten! How few remain of all those valiant hosts That peopled once the prairies and the coasts?

The hollow winds begin to blow; 2. The clouds look black, the glass is low, 3. The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep, 4. And spiders from their cobwebs peep.

Last night the sun went pale to bed, 6. The moon in halos hid her head; 7. The boding shepherd heaves a sigh, 8. For see, a rainbow spans the sky!

The walls are damp, the ditches smell, Christopher Colombo—pleasant name—is—is he dead? Is—is this the first time this gentleman was ever on a bust?

Bei dem Text kommt mir nur "pesto" geschlagen, gestossen in den Sinn Das haut einem vom Hocker! O Mensch, du wirst nie nebenbei der Möwe Flug erreichen.

Were scattered all weeping away. I will go to Samarra and there Death will not find me. Then the merchant went down to the marketplace and he saw me standing in the crowd and he came to me and said: I was astonished to see him in Bagdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.

Nach einer Weile kam der Diener zitternd und zutiefst erschrocken retour und berichtete seinem Herrn: Bitte leihe mir jetzt dein Pferd, damit ich aus der Stadt reiten und meinem Schicksal entrinnen kann.

In Samarra wird er mich nicht finden Später ging der Händler zurück auf den Marktplatz, traf dort auf den Tod und fragte ihn: Seitlich von dem Plauderzweck Nahmen sie dabei: Schein — verlognes Schaumgebäck, Sinn — verlornes Ei.

Aber lassen wir den Tod und Nekromantenspiel beiseite! Darf ich meinen allerliebsten Country Song zitieren?

The King of Country singt! Leider hat das kurze Leben von Hank Williams nur 29 Jahre gedauert. Trotzdem hat er die Zeit gefunden, the greatest country music star of all time zu werden.

Zur Übung habe ich versucht, den Song zu übersetzen. Und ich habe riesige Probleme gehabt - mit dem Englischen und mit dem Deutschen - schon ab der ersten Zeile, wo das Leitmotiv steht: What's cookin' good lookin'?

Klar, nichts mit dem Kochen zu tun! Hey, sag' mal, Du Schöne, was ist los? How's about cooking something up with me? Dass wir etwas Neues finden können?

Und ich kenne einen Platz gerade über dem Hügel. Say, hey, good looking, what you got cooking? I'm free and ready, so we can go steady. Ich bin frei und bereit, also können wir fest miteinander hingehen.

How's about saving all your time for me? Wie wär's mit dem Aufbewahren Deiner ganzen Zeit für mich? No more looking, I know I been cooking.

Nicht mehr gucken, ich weiss, ich habe angemacht. How's about keeping steady company? Wie wär's mit dem ständigen Zusammensein?

Weil ich Deinen Namen unten auf jede Seite schreibe. Comment Deine eingestellte Zwiegespräch ist ein ziemlich hintersinniges Gedicht Dana aber mir gefällt es auch sehr Irgendwie habe ich das Gefühl Du nimmst die Leute ganz schön auf die Schippe Im Schnee Wie naht das finster türmende Gewölk so schwarz und schwer!

Wie jagt der Wind, der stürmende, Das Schneegestöber her! Verschwunden ist die blühende Und grüne Weltgestalt; levrai. Wohl dem, der nun zufrieden ist Und innerlich sich kennt!

Dem warm ein Herz beschieden ist, Das heimlich loht und brennt! Wo, traulich sich dran schmiegend, es Die wache Seele schürt, Ein perlend, nie versiegendes Gedankenbrauwerk rührt!

Comment moustique hat geschrieben: Da ich aber Französisch besser als Deutsch kenne, habe ich bei LEO die Übersetzung gesucht - und ich habe eine ganze Serie der mehr oder weniger angenehmen Varianten bekommen: Nichts davon war meine Absicht.

Und ich verstehe immer nicht, warum Du das geschrieben hast - oder willst Du mich auf die Schippe nehmen?! Ich lasse Dir meinen Freund Heinrich schreiben - und zwar auf Englisch, da wir hier auch ein bisschen auf Englisch quasseln sollen: They are still that wooden pedantic lot: Aber das Original ist ach!

In French maybe an alternative proposition: Ist das nicht ein Stückchen Frühling in der Seele? Da ist er denn bald dort, bald hier, Gut Regiment zu führen.

Und wenn er durchzieht, stehen wir Und sehn ihn an und frieren. Her distressing light she spays. And, this moment, run away.

Comment Er gefällt mir, Claus, Dein biological scientist and poet! Und hier ist mein preferred vampire: Comment Ein deutsches Lied in 40 Sprachen!

Underneath the lantern, By the barrack gate Darling I remember The way you used to wait Devant la caserne Quand le jour s'enfuit, La vieille lanterne Soudain s'allume et luit Kasarmu ees väraval, öisel kõnniteel latern tookord säras, ta särab nüüdki veel Tutte le sere sotto quel fanal presso la caserma ti stavo ad aspettar Onder de lantaren, bij de groote poort, vrijen vele paren bij avond ongestoord Kasarmimme eessä suuri portti on, Illan pimetessä jään lyhdyn valohon So wird "Lili Marleen" in Vatikan gesungen!

Den mein Mund nicht nehmen kann! Hard, how hard is this loss to bear Schwer, wie schwer ist er zu tragen! Despite my being a man!

Und ich bin doch sonst ein Mann. Matt der Druck von deiner Hand. O wie hat es mich entzückt! Like those that the violet earned So erfreuet uns ein Veilchen, When plucked in March so early.

Das man früh im März gepflückt. Keine Rose mehr für dich. Spring is the season, dear Frances, Frühling ist es, liebes Fränzchen, But for me, alas, it is autumn.

Aber leider Herbst für mich! Comment Dazu fällt mir ein: Weiter geht es hier: Comment Dana, Dein Zwiegespräch ist einfach nur gut. Comment Mir gefiel das auch sehr gut, oopsy.

Stand in meinem Gedichtekalender, ich kannte es vorher auch nicht. Mancher auf der Wanderschaft kommt ans Tor auf dunklen Pfaden. Golden blüht der Baum der Gnaden aus der Erde kühlem Saft.

Wanderer, tritt still herein; Schmerz versteinerte die Schwelle. Da erglänzt in reiner Helle auf dem Tische Brot und Wein. Comment Love's Philosophy The fountains mingle with the river, And the rivers with the ocean, The winds of heaven mix forever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by law divine In one another's being mingle;-- Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven And the waves clasp one another No sister flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea; What are all these kissings worth If thou kiss not me?

Percy Bysshe Shelley, Comment Hoffnung Es reden und träumen die Menschen viel Von bessern künftigen Tagen, Nach einem glücklichen goldenen Ziel Sieht man sie rennen und jagen.

Die Welt wird alt und wieder jung, Doch der Mensch hofft immer Verbesserung. Zu was Besserm sind wir geboren! Und was die innere Stimme spricht, Das täuscht die hoffende Seele nicht.

Friedrich Schiller - Wie feierlich die Gegend schweigt! Wach auf, o Herz, zu wildem Klagen! Nikolaus Lenau — Die Menschenkinder Im Schneegestöber rennen Und laufen immer geschwinder.

Die machten bald wichtige Mienen Und wurden erstaunlich klug, Die Flügel gar unnütz ihn'n schienen, Sie schämten sich deren genug.

Nun stattlich in Hosen und Frack! So wurden sie immer gescheuter Und applizierten sich recht - Das wurden ansehnliche Leute, Befanden sich gar nicht schlecht.

Joseph von Eichendorff, He turned over slowly and then he said, "I wonder if spring is on the way, I'll go and check the weather today.

If I see my shadow between eleven and noon, I then will know that I'm out too soon. I'll crawl back in bed for six weeks more, Pull up the warm covers and snore and snore.

But if no shadow gives me a scare, I know that spring is in the air, I'll wake my friends and wish them cheer, With glorious news that spring is here.

Interessant ist das, bei uns feiert man morgen Maria Lichtmess Zu Abwechslung mal 3 Bauernregeln Wenn's an Lichtmess stürmt und schneit, ist der Frühling nicht mehr weit; ist es aber klar und hell, kommt der Lenz wohl nicht so schnell.

Sonnt sich der Dachs in der Lichtmesswoche, bleibt er 4 Wochen noch im Loche. Comment Narretei Torheiten begangen, Torheiten gemacht, Ich mache deren noch immer.

Ich hab sie gemacht bei Tag und bei Nacht, Die nächtlichen waren weit schlimmer. Ich machte viele sogar mit Verstand, Die waren noch viel dümmer.

Comment Wir denken selten bei dem Licht an Finsternis, beim Glück ans Elend, bei der Zufriedenheit an Schmerz, aber umgekehrt jederzeit. When your vision has gone no part of the world can find you.

Time to go into the dark where the night has eyes to recognize its own. There you can be sure you are not beyond love. Der Seufzer dacht an ein Maidelein und blieb erglühend stehen.

Da schmolz die Eisbahn unter ihm ein - und er sank - und ward nimmer gesehen. Comment If If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dreamand not make dreams your master; If you can thinkand not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings, And never breathe a word about your loss: If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, Andwhich is moreyou'll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling — So gilt's nach freiem Herrenrecht Und muckst du noch und willst du trutzen, So werd' ich dir den Kamm schon stutzen Du wirst gesperrt nach meinem Recht, Denn ich bin Herr und du bist Knecht!

So ist es gut, so ist es recht, Denn ich bin Herr und du bist Knecht! Ja, ich bin Herr und du bist Knecht! Was faselst du von Menschenrecht, Die blöde, alberne Tirade?

Ich bin zum Herren auserseh'n, Du kannst als Knecht nur fortbesteh'n. Georg Weerth - Comment Aschermittwoch Gestern noch ging ich gepudert und süchtig In der vielbunten tönenden Welt.

Heute ist alles schon lange ersoffen. Hier ist ein Ding. Dort ist ein Ding. Etwas sieht so aus. Etwas sieht anders aus.

Wie leicht pustet einer die ganze Blühende Erde aus. Der Himmel ist kalt und blau. Oder der Mond ist gelb und platt. Ein Wald hat viele einzelne Bäume.

Ist nichts mehr zum Weinen. Ist nichts mehr zum Schreien. Wo bin ich — Alfred Lichtenstein — In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul. Aus "Ellens drittem Gesang" eine Strophe: Oh Mother, hear a suppliant child!

Wir schlafen sicher bis zum Morgen, Ob Menschen noch so grausam sind. Comment When You Are Old When you are old and gray and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face among a crowd of stars.

A Widow for One Year. Comment Praise of a Man He went through a company like a lamplighter — see the dull minds, one after another, begin to glow, to shed a beneficent light.

Norman MacCaig — Scottish poet. His poetry, in modern English, is known for its humour, simplicity of language and great popularity.

Comment Mein Leben ist wie leise See Mein Leben ist wie leise See: Wohnt in den Uferhäusern das Weh, wagt sich nicht aus den Höfen.

Nur manchmal zittert ein Nahn und Fliehn: Aufgestörte Wünsche ziehn Darüber wie silberne Möwen. Und dann ist alles wieder still.

Rainer Maria Rilke Comment The Cat and the Moon The cat went here and there And the moon spun round like a top, And the nearest kin of the moon, The creeping cat, looked up.

Black Minnaloushe stared at the moon, For, wander and wail as he would, The pure cold light in the sky Troubled his animal blood. Minnaloushe runs in the grass Lifting his delicate feet.

Do you dance, Minnaloushe, do you dance? When two close kindred meet, What better than call a dance?

Maybe the moon may learn, Tired of that courtly fashion, A new dance turn. Minnaloushe creeps through the grass From moonlit place to place, The sacred moon overhead Has taken a new phase.

Does Minnaloushe know that his pupils Will pass from change to change, And that from round to crescent, From crescent to round they range?

Minnaloushe creeps through the grass Alone, important and wise, And lifts to the changing moon His changing eyes.

Und der Mond drehte sich wie ein Kreisel. Und die beste Vertraute des Mondes, die schleichende Katze, blickte empor.

Auf so manchem Antlitz Ganzes Eismeer schwebt. So with my eyes I traced the line Of the horizon, thin and fine, Straight around till I was come Back to where I'd started from; And all I saw from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood.

Over these things I could not see; These were the things that bounded me; And I could touch them with my hand, Almost, I thought, from where I stand.

And all at once things seemed so small My breath came short, and scarce at all. But, sure, the sky is big, I said; Miles and miles above my head; So here upon my back I'll lie And look my fill into the sky.

And so I looked, and, after all, The sky was not so very tall. The sky, I said, must somewhere stop, And—sure enough! The sky, I thought, is not so grand; I 'most could touch it with my hand!

And reaching up my hand to try, I screamed to feel it touch the sky. I saw and heard, and knew at last The How and Why of all things, past, And present, and forevermore.

The Universe, cleft to the core, Lay open to my probing sense That, sick'ning, I would fain pluck thence But could not,—nay!

But needs must suck At the great wound, and could not pluck My lips away till I had drawn All venom out. For my omniscience paid I toll In infinite remorse of soul.

All sin was of my sinning, all Atoning mine, and mine the gall Of all regret. Mine was the weight Of every brooded wrong, the hate That stood behind each envious thrust, Mine every greed, mine every lust.

And all the while for every grief, Each suffering, I craved relief With individual desire,— Craved all in vain!

And felt fierce fire About a thousand people crawl; Perished with each,—then mourned for all! A man was starving in Capri; He moved his eyes and looked at me; I felt his gaze, I heard his moan, And knew his hunger as my own.

I saw at sea a great fog bank Between two ships that struck and sank; A thousand screams the heavens smote; And every scream tore through my throat.

No hurt I did not feel, no death That was not mine; mine each last breath That, crying, met an answering cry From the compassion that was I.

All suffering mine, and mine its rod; Mine, pity like the pity of God. Infinity Pressed down upon the finite Me! My anguished spirit, like a bird, Beating against my lips I heard; Yet lay the weight so close about There was no room for it without.

And so beneath the weight lay I And suffered death, but could not die. Long had I lain thus, craving death, When quietly the earth beneath Gave way, and inch by inch, so great At last had grown the crushing weight, Into the earth I sank till I Full six feet under ground did lie, And sank no more,—there is no weight Can follow here, however great.

From off my breast I felt it roll, And as it went my tortured soul Burst forth and fled in such a gust That all about me swirled the dust. Deep in the earth I rested now; Cool is its hand upon the brow And soft its breast beneath the head Of one who is so gladly dead.

And all at once, and over all The pitying rain began to fall; I lay and heard each pattering hoof Upon my lowly, thatched roof, And seemed to love the sound far more Than ever I had done before.

For rain it hath a friendly sound To one who's six feet underground; And scarce the friendly voice or face: A grave is such a quiet place.

The rain, I said, is kind to come And speak to me in my new home. I would I were alive again To kiss the fingers of the rain, To drink into my eyes the shine Of every slanting silver line, To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze From drenched and dripping apple-trees.

For soon the shower will be done, And then the broad face of the sun Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth Until the world with answering mirth Shakes joyously, and each round drop Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.

How can I bear it; buried here, While overhead the sky grows clear And blue again after the storm? O, multi-colored, multiform, Beloved beauty over me, That I shall never, never see Again!

Spring-silver, autumn-gold, That I shall never more behold! Sleeping your myriad magics through, Close-sepulchred away from you!

O God, I cried, give me new birth, And put me back upon the earth! Upset each cloud's gigantic gourd And let the heavy rain, down-poured In one big torrent, set me free, Washing my grave away from me!

I ceased; and through the breathless hush That answered me, the far-off rush Of herald wings came whispering Like music down the vibrant string Of my ascending prayer, and—crash!

Before the wild wind's whistling lash The startled storm-clouds reared on high And plunged in terror down the sky, And the big rain in one black wave Fell from the sky and struck my grave.

I know not how such things can be; I only know there came to me A fragrance such as never clings To aught save happy living things; A sound as of some joyous elf Singing sweet songs to please himself, And, through and over everything, A sense of glad awakening.

The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear, Whispering to me I could hear; I felt the rain's cool finger-tips Brushed tenderly across my lips, Laid gently on my sealed sight, And all at once the heavy night Fell from my eyes and I could see,— A drenched and dripping apple-tree, A last long line of silver rain, A sky grown clear and blue again.

And as I looked a quickening gust Of wind blew up to me and thrust Into my face a miracle Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,— I know not how such things can be!

Up then from the ground sprang I And hailed the earth with such a cry As is not heard save from a man Who has been dead, and lives again.

About the trees my arms I wound; Like one gone mad I hugged the ground; I raised my quivering arms on high; I laughed and laughed into the sky, Till at my throat a strangling sob Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb Sent instant tears into my eyes; O God, I cried, no dark disguise Can e'er hereafter hide from me Thy radiant identity!

Thou canst not move across the grass But my quick eyes will see Thee pass, Nor speak, however silently, But my hushed voice will answer Thee.

I know the path that tells Thy way Through the cool eve of every day; God, I can push the grass apart And lay my finger on Thy heart!

The world stands out on either side No wider than the heart is wide; Above the world is stretched the sky,— No higher than the soul is high.

The heart can push the sea and land Farther away on either hand; The soul can split the sky in two, And let the face of God shine through.

But East and West will pinch the heart That can not keep them pushed apart; And he whose soul is flat—the sky Will cave in on him by and by.

Wilhelm Busch - Schon beim ersten Sonnenschimmer Steigt der Lenz ins Wartezimmer. Manche Knospe wird verschneit Zwar im frühen Lenz auf Erden.

Alles dauert seine Zeit, nur Geduld, es wird schon werden. Folgt auch noch ein rauher Schauer, lacht der Himmel um so blauer. Leichter schlägt das Menschenherz Zwischen Februar und März.

O frischer Duft, o neuer Klang! Nun, armes Herze, sei nicht bang! Es blüht das fernste, tiefste Tal: Allein man nimmt sich nicht in acht, Und schlupp!

Zuerst hast du es gut, mein Sohn, Doch pass mal auf, man kommt dir schon! Bereits dein braves Elternpaar Erscheint dir häufig sonderbar.

Es saust der Stab, dann geht es schwapp! Sieh da, mein Sohn, du kriegst was ab! Und schon erscheint dir unabwendlich Der Schmerzensruf: Das ist ja schändlich!

Du wächst heran, du suchst das Weite, Jedoch die Welt ist voller Leute; Vorherrschend Juden, Weiber, Christen, Die dich ganz schrecklich überlisten Und die, anstatt dir was zu schenken, Wie du wohl möchtest, nicht dran denken.

Und wieder scheint dir unabweislich Der Schmerzensruf: Weil jeder dies mit Eifer tut, So sieht man wohl, es tut ihm gut. Man setzt sich auch zu diesen Herrn, Man tut es häufig, tut es gern, Und möglichst lange tut man's auch; Die Nase schwillt, es wächst der Bauch, Und bald, mein Sohn, wirst du mit Graun Im Spiegelglas dein Bildnis schaun, Und wieder scheint dir unerlässlich Der Schmerzensruf: Das ist ja grässlich!!

Mein lieber Sohn, du tust mir leid, Dir mangelt die Enthaltsamkeit. Enthaltsamkeit ist das Vergnügen An Sachen, welche wir nicht kriegen.

Wer nichts gebraucht, der hat genug! Wilhelm Müller Edith: Bei mir ist in einer Ecke immer noch etwas Schnee vorhanden. Joseph von Eichendorff Comment Die Klage eines Engels Oh wüsstest du, wie sehr dein Antlitz sich verändert, wenn du mitten in dem Blick, dem stillen reinen, der dich mir vereint, dich innerlich verlierst und von mir kehrst!

Dann warte schweigend ich oft lange. Und wäre ich ein Mensch wie du, dem stillen reinmich tötete verschmähter Liebe Pein, so aber gab unendliche Geduld der Vater mir, und unerschütterlich erwarte ich dich, wann immer du kommst.

Und diesen sanften Vorwurf selber nimm als Vorwurf nicht, als keusche Botschaft nur. You stand about the streets, You loiter at the corners and bus-stops, You do next to nothing at all.

You do not even express our inner nobilitys, You will come to a very bad end. Ezra Pound Weitere Anweisungen Kommt, meine Lieder, wir wollen unsere niederen Leidenschaften ausdrücken Lasst uns unseren Neid ausdrücken auf den mit einem festen Job und ohne Sorgen um die Zukunft.

Ihr bringt noch nicht einmal unsere innere Noblesse zum Ausdruck, Ihr werdet ein ganz schlimmes Ende nehmen. Ich bin halb zerplatzt.

Ich habe mit euch so viel gesprochen, dass ich euch fast um mich herum sehe, Unverschämte kleine Biester! Aber du, neuestes Lied in der Bande, Du bist nicht alt genug, um viel Unheil angerichtet zu haben.

Ich bringe dir einen grünen Mantel aus China Mit aufgestickten Drachen. Comment A March Snow Let the old snow be covered with the new: The trampled snow, so soiled, and stained, and sodden.

Let it be hidden wholly from our view By pure white flakes, all trackless and untrodden. When Winter dies, low at the sweet Spring's feet Let him be mantled in a clean, white sheet.

Let the old life be covered by the new: The old past life so full of sad mistakes, Let it be wholly hidden from the view By deeds as white and silent as snow-flakes.

Ere this earth life melts in the eternal Spring Let the white mantle of repentance fling Soft drapery about it, fold on fold, Even as the new snow covers up the old.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox - Comment Die Kälte Die Kälte ist zurückgekehrt. Es friert der Osterhase. Man lebt nicht länger unversehrt, der Wind bläst um die Nase.

März in Wiesenfeld, lebt und arbeitet in Würzburg. Comment Wird erst die Erde österlich Wird erst die Erde österlich versammeln alle Hasen sich in frühlinglichem Reigen.

Sie tanzen um den Grasgeruch sehr "frey" und "hold". Das Hasenbuch steckt doch in jedem Hasen. Rainer Maria Rilke Frohe Ostern!

Kehre dich um, von diesen Höhen Nach der Stadt zurück zu sehen! Aus dem hohlen finstern Tor Dringt ein buntes Gewimmel hervor. Jeder sonnt sich heute so gern.

Sie feiern die Auferstehung des Herrn, Denn sie sind selber auferstanden: Selbst von des Berges fernen Pfaden Blinken uns farbige Kleider an.

Hier bin ich Mensch, hier darf ichs sein! Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice; I'm sure you're very welcome -- will you please to take a slice?

I've a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf, If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself. So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly, And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly.

Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing, "Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing; Your robes are green and purple -- there's a crest upon your head; Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!

At last, Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast. He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den, Within his little parlour -- but she ne'er came out again!

And now dear little children, who may this story read, To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed: Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye, And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.

Dieses Gedicht finde ich absolut hinreissend, obwohl das Ende der Fliege nicht gerade nach meinem Gusto ist Comment Kuckuck Wir Vögel singen nicht egal; Der singet laut, der andre leise, Kauz nicht wie ich, ich nicht wie Nachtigall, Ein jeder hat so seine Weise.

Matthias Claudius - Weil's so schön ist, stelle ich es auch hier rein. Comment Des Menschen Seele gleicht dem Wasser: Seele des Menschen, wie gleichst du dem Wasser!

Schicksal des Menschen, wie gleichst du dem Wind. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Comment Was reif in diesen Zeilen steht, was lächelnd winkt und sinnend fleht, das soll kein Kind betrüben; die Einfalt hat es ausgesät, die Schwermut hat hindurchgeweht, die Sehnsucht hat's getrieben.

Hermann Löns - Comment Evening Star 'Twas noontide of summer, And mid-time of night; And stars, in their orbits, Shone pale, thro' the light Of the brighter, cold moon, 'Mid planets her slaves, Herself in the Heavens, Her beam on the waves.

I gazed awhile On her cold smile; Too cold- too cold for me- There pass'd, as a shroud, A fleecy cloud, And I turned away to thee, Proud Evening Star, In thy glory afar, And dearer thy beam shall be; For joy to my heart Is the proud part Thou bearest in Heaven at night, And more I admire Thy distant fire, Than that colder, lowly light.

Edgar Allan Poe Comment Death of a Naturalist All year the flax-dam festered in the heart Of the townland; green and heavy headed Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods.

Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun. Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebottles Wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell. April Irischer Schriftsteller.

Tod eines Naturforschers Das ganze Jahr über verfaulte der Leindamm Im Herzen der Gemarkung; grüner und schwerköpfiger Flachs war dort verrottet, niedergedrückt von riesigen Jeden Tag schwitzte er in der zermürbenden Sonne.

Hier füllte ich jedes Frühjahr Ganze Musgläser mit den gallertartigen Pünktchen Und reihte sie zu Hause auf den Fenstersimsen auf, Auf den Regalen in der Schule, und wartete und schaute bis Die dicker werdenden Punkte zu behände schwimmenden Kaulquappen aufquollen.

Man konnte mit Fröschen auch Die Luft war von einem Bass-Chor erfüllt. Das Klapsen und Plumpsen waren obszöne Drohungen.

Mir wurde übel, ich wandte mich ab und rannte weg. Die grandiosen Schleimkönige Hatten sich versammelt, um Rache zu nehmen, und ich wusste, Tauchte ich meine Hand ein, der Laich würde sie packen.

Wolke warf den Blitz, sie flogen Voll von Angst hin, galoppierten. Comment Erinnerung an Marie A. Und über uns im schönen Sommerhimmel War eine Wolke, die ich lange sah Sie war sehr weiss und ungeheuer oben Und als ich aufsah, war sie nimmer da Berthold Brecht schrieb dieses Gedicht in der Urfassung am Februar auf einer Zugfahrt nach Berlin in sein Notizbuch Erinnerungen in einer vergehenden weissen Wolke Ja, Brecht hat auch einen Blick für das Schöne Und schmücke den Hut, der dich begleitet, Mit einem grünen Reis.

Den 5 mars lämnar Kungl. Göteborgs Kvinnliga Folkskoleseminarium vid Sigrid Rudebecks skola — vilket var det formella namnet — började sin verksamhet med höstterminen Antalet sökande var 41 till den första avdelning som upprättats, och 28 av dessa antogs efter inträdesprövningar.

Önskar eleven kvarstanna under julferierna, erlägges härför 30 kronor. Rudebeck var starkt engagerad i missionen, och bildades "Barnamissionsföreningen" bland skolans elever.

Evangeliska Fosterlandsstiftelsen och Svenska Israelsmissionen nämns särskilt. Föreningens ledare och kassaförvaltare var under en tid pastor Edvard Osterman.

Den arrangeras av skolornas elevföreningar. Denna artikel om en plats i Göteborg behöver bilder. Gymnasieskolor i Göteborg Utbildningsinstitutioner bildade Vasastaden.

Visningar Visa Redigera Redigera wikitext Visa historik. Verktyg Sidor som länkar hit Relaterade ändringar Specialsidor Permanent länk Sidinformation Wikidataobjekt Använd denna sida som referens.

Sidan redigerades senast den 9 november kl. Wikipedias text är tillgänglig under licensen Creative Commons Erkännande-dela-lika 3.

och omkring Fortunes sprider glädje 88 sig jackpottar -

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