Crossing the Bar
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)

Sunset and evening star,
⁠         And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
⁠         When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
⁠         Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
⁠         Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
⁠         And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
⁠         When I embark;

For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place
⁠         The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
⁠         When I have crost the bar.

Views: 36

Kusslied
by Paul Fleming (1609-1640)

Nirgends hin als auf den Mund:
Da sinkt’s in des Herzens Grund;
Nicht zu frei, nicht zu gezwungen,
Nicht mit allzu trägen Zungen.

Nicht zu wenig, nicht zu viel:
Beides wird sonst Kinderspiel.
Nicht zu laut und nicht zu leise:
Nur im Mass ist rechte Weise.

Nicht zu hart und nicht zu weich,
Bald zugleich, bald nicht zugleich.
Nicht zu langsam, nicht zu schnelle,
Nicht stets auf die gleiche Stelle.

Halb gebissen, halb gehaucht,
Halb die Lippen eingetaucht,
Nicht ohn’ Unterschied der Zeiten,
Mehr allein denn vor den Leuten.

Küsse nun ein Jedermann,
Wie er weiss, will, soll und kann!
Ich nur und die Liebste wissen,
Wie wir uns recht sollen küssen

Views: 37

Going and Coming
by Damon Runyon (1880-1946)

When we went to Marishoa, warn’t we feelin’ gay,
Slippin’ ’long th’ dusty road an’ singin’ on th’ way;
When we went to Marishoa, warn’t we feelin’ fine —
Eighty hoss, two hundred foot an’ field guns in th’ line:
               (Marishoa is up a hill —
               Marishoa is up there still — )
’Ray! We went to Marishoa feelin’ pretty fine!

When we came from Marishoa, bringin’ o’ our dead,
Heads hangin’ heavy an’ our hearts as chunks o’ lead;
When we come from Marishoa, not a song wuz heard —
Not a smilin’ face we brought, not a cheerin’ word —
               (Marishoa is up a hill —
               Marishoa is up there still — )
An’ we left ’em layin’ there with th’ Chaplain’s Word!

Views: 30

Autumn Thoughts
by Robert Huntington (1958-)

The autumn leaves sparkle, every hue
Glistening, orange, gold and scarlet red;
What would I say? “They’re wrinkled, dry and dead”
If I looked up without thinking of you.

Majestic storm clouds thrill while peeking through
Behind them brilliant flaming flecks appear
As the sun sets. “Oppressive, dark and drear”
I’d call it if I didn’t think of you.

Views: 65

The Emperor of Ice-Cream
by Wallace Stevens (1879-1955)

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month’s newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Views: 21