Atomic Motions
by Titus Lucretius Carus (c. 99-55 BCE)
from Book II of De Rerum Natura

Cuius, uti memoro, rei simulacrum et imago
ante oculos semper nobis versatur et instat.
contemplator enim, cum solis lumina cumque
inserti fundunt radii per opaca domorum:
multa minuta modis multis per inane videbis
corpora misceri radiorum lumine in ipso
et vel ut aeterno certamine proelia pugnas
edere turmatim certantia nec dare pausam,
conciliis et discidiis exercita crebris;
conicere ut possis ex hoc, primordia rerum
quale sit in magno iactari semper inani.
dum taxat, rerum magnarum parva potest res
exemplare dare et vestigia notitiai.
     Hoc etiam magis haec animum te advertere par est
corpora quae in solis radiis turbare videntur,
quod tales turbae motus quoque materiai
significant clandestinos caecosque subesse.
multa videbis enim plagis ibi percita caecis
commutare viam retroque repulsa reverti
nunc huc nunc illuc in cunctas undique partis.
scilicet hic a principiis est omnibus error.
prima moventur enim per se primordia rerum,
inde ea quae parvo sunt corpora conciliatu
et quasi proxima sunt ad viris principiorum,
ictibus illorum caecis inpulsa cientur,
ipsaque porro paulo maiora lacessunt.
sic a principiis ascendit motus et exit
paulatim nostros ad sensus, ut moveantur
illa quoque, in solis quae lumine cernere quimus
nec quibus id faciant plagis apparet aperte.

Views: 35

Seltsame Genossen
by Wilhem Jensen (1837-1911)

Ist das ein seltsamliches Gewander:
Ihr schritt noch eben vergnügt miteinander
Durch Wälder und Wiesen udn Sonnenschein;
Du siehst dich um—da gehst du allein.

Er blieb zurück am Weggelände,
Das Wort auf den Lippen, er sprach’s nicht zu Ende;
Ein wunderbarlich Gebahren, und doch
Scheint dein’s verwunderlicher noch.

Ganz ruhig gehst des Weges du weiter,
Hast schnell einen andern vergnügten Begleiter,
Und fröhlich wieder zieht ihr drein
Durch Wälder und Wiesen und Sonnenschein.

So geht’s eine Weile, das seltsam Wandern:
Dann kommt es an dich, dann hörst du die andern
Noch weiter lachen ins sonnige Land,
Und du bleibst einsam am Wegesrand.

Views: 38

Whoso List to Hunt
by Thomas Wyatt (1503-1542)

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind!
But as for me, alas, I may no more;
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that furthest come behind.
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow; I leave off therefore,
Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I, may spend his time in vain.
And graven with diamonds in letters plain,
There is written her fair neck round about,
“Noli me tangere, for Caesar’s I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.”

Views: 35

Lines Written During a Period of Insanity
by William Cowper (1731-1800)

Hatred and vengence, my eternal portion
Scarce can endure delay of execution,
Wait with impatient readiness to seize my
      Soul in a moment.

Damned below Judas; more abhorred than he was,
Who for a few pence sold his holy Master!
Twice betrayed, Jesus me, the last delinquent,
      Deems the profanest.

Man disavows, and Deity disowns me:
Hell might afford my miseries a shelter;
Therefore Hell keeps her ever-hungry mouths all
      Bolted against me.

Hard lot! encompassed with a thousand dangers;
Weary, faint, trembling with a thousand terrors,
I’m called, if vanquished, to receive a sentence
      Worse than Abiram’s.

Him the vindictive rod of angry Justice
Sent quick and howling to the centre headlong;
I, fed with judgment, in a fleshy tomb am
      Buried above ground.

Views: 31

Peggy
by Allan Ramsay (1686-1758)

      My Peggy is a young thing,
            Just enter’d in her teens
Fair as the day, and sweet as May,
Fair as the day, and always gay;
      My Peggy is a young thing,
            And I’m not very auld,
      Yet well I like to meet her at
            The wawking of the fauld.

      My Peggy speaks sae sweetly
            Whene’er we meet alane,
I wish nae mair to lay my care,
I wish nae mair of a’ that’s rare;
      My Peggy speaks sae sweetly,
            To a’ the lave I’m cauld,
      But she gars a’ my spirits glow
            At wawking of the fauld.

      My Peggy smiles sae kindly
            Whene’er I whisper love,
That I look down on a’ the town,
That I look down upon a crown;
      My Peggy smiles sae kindly,
            It makes me blyth and bauld,
      And naething gi’es me sic delight
            As wawking of the fauld.

      My Peggy sings sae saftly
            When on my pipe I play,
By a’ the rest it is confest,
By a’ the rest, that she sings best;
      My Peggy sings sae saftly,
            And in her sangs are tauld
      With innocence the wale of sense,
            At wawking of the fauld.

Views: 23

Mnemosyne
by Trumbull Stickney (1874-1904)

It’s autumn in the country I remember.

How warm a wind blew here about the ways!
And shadows on the hillside lay to slumber
During the long sun-sweetened summer-days.

It’s cold abroad the country I remember.

The swallows veering skimmed the golden grain
At midday with a wing aslant and limber;
And yellow cattle browsed upon the plain.

It’s empty down the country I remember.

I had a sister lovely in my sight:
Her hair was dark, her eyes were very sombre;
We sang together in the woods at night.

It’s lonely in the country I remember.

The babble of our children fills my ears,
And on our hearth I stare the perished ember
To flames that show all starry thro’ my tears.

It’s dark about the country I remember.

There are the mountains where I lived. The path
Is slushed with cattle-tracks and fallen timber,
The stumps are twisted by the tempests’ wrath.

But that I knew these places are my own,
I’d ask how came such wretchedness to cumber
The earth, and I to people it alone.

It rains across the country I remember.

Views: 37

The Raggedy Man
by James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)

O The Raggedy Man! He works fer Pa;
An’ he’s the Goodest man ever you saw!
He comes to our house every day,
An’ waters the horses, an’ feeds ’em hay;
An’ he opens the shed—an’ we all ist laugh
When he drives out our little old wobble-ly calf;
An’ nen—ef our hired girl says he can—
He milks the cow fer ’Lizabuth Ann.—
   Ain’t he a’ awful good Raggedy Man?
      Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!

W’y, The Raggedy Man—He’s ist so good
He splits the kindlin’ an’ chops the wood;
An’ nen he spades in our garden, too,
An’ does most things ’at boys can’t do.—
He clumbed clean up in our big tree—
An’ shooked a’ apple down fer me—
An’ nother’n too, fer ’Lizabuth Ann—
An’ nother’n, too, fer The Raggedy Man.—
   Ain’t he a’ awful kind Raggedy Man?
      Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!

An’ The Raggedy Man, he knows most rhymes
An’n tells ’em ef I be good, sometime;
Knows ’bout Giunts, an’ Griffuns, an’ Elves,
An’ the Squidgicum-Squees ’at swallers therselves!
An’, wite by the pump in our pasture-lot,
He showed me the hole ’at the Wunks is got,
’At live ’way deep in the ground, an’ can
Turn into me, er ’Lizabuth Ann!
   Ain’t he a funny old Raggedy Man?
      Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!

The Raggedy Man—one time when he
Was makin’ a little bow-’n-’orry fer me,
Says, “When you’re big like your Pa is,
Air you go’ to keep a fine store like his—
An’ be a rich merchunt—an’ wear fine clothes?—
Er what air you go’ to be goodness knows!”
An’nen he laughed at ’Lizabuth Ann,
An’ I says, “’M go’ to be a Raggedy Man!
   I’m ist go’ to be a nice Raggedy Man!”
      Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!

Views: 36

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: 35