Oasis.

[Namaste]

"Less Than The Cloud To The Wind"

Less than the cloud to the wind,
Less than the foam to the sea,
Less than the rose to the storm,
Am I to thee.

More than the star to the night,
More than the rain to the tree,
More than heaven to earth
Art thou to me.

-- Sara Teasdale

 

[Namaste]

"To E"

I have remembered beauty in the night,
Against black silences I waked to see
A shower of sunlight over Italy
And green Ravello dreaming on her height;
I have remembered music in the dark,
The clean swift brightness of a fugue of Bach's,
And running water singing on the rocks
When once in English woods I heard a lark.

But all remembered beauty is no more
Than a vague pelude to the thought of you--
You are the rarest soul I ever knew,
Lover of beauty, knightliest and best,
My thoughts seek you as waves that seek the shore,
And when I think of you I am at rest.

-- Sara Teasdale

 

[Gusty Wind]

[No message]

 

[Namaste]

Thank you Gusty Wind

 

[Namaste]

"Love"

In all earth's music, grand, or sweet, or strong,
To hear one name, as if 'twere set in song.

In all my poems, written 'neath the sun,
To find the praises, o'er and o'er, in one.

To feel thyself a lesser part of what
Hadst thou not found, the earth would be as naught.

To think all beauty, perfectness and grace,
As but the shadow of one worshiped face.

With that face's coming, to bask in warmth and light
And with its going to grope, as in the night.

To rather feel a dear hand's stinging blow
Than any caress another might bestow.

To rather sit in gloom, and hear one voice
Than, missing that, on mountain tops rejoice.

To lose all individual hope and aim,
And have no wish, but for another's fame.

To count grief naught, though great, if one is glad.
To feel no joy if that dear one is sad.

Do thy heart strings, responsive, answer this?
Then thou hast known true love in all its bliss.

-- Ella Wheeler Wilcox

 

[Namaste]

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

-- Robert Frost

 

[Namaste]

What is life? A frenzy. What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a fiction. And the greatest good is trivial; for all life is a dream and all dreams are dreams.

--Pedro Calderón de la Barca

 

[Gusty Wind]

[No message]

 

[Namaste]

Thanks Gusty Wind, you too

 

[Namaste]

Game of Love -- Michelle Branch & Santana

Tell me just what you want me to be
One kiss and boom you're the only one for me
So please tell me why don't you come around no more
Cause right now I'm crying outside the door of your candy store

It just takes a little bit of this
A little bit of that
It started with a kiss
Now we're up to bat
A little bit of laughs
A little bit of pain
I'm telling you, my babe
It's all in the game of love

This, whatever you make it to be
Sunshine set on this cold lonely sea
So please baby try and use me for what I'm good for
It ain't sayin' goodbye that's knocking down the door of your candy store

It's all in this game of love
You roll me
Control me
Console me
Please hold me
You guide me
Divide me
Into what...

Make me feel good, yeah

So please tell me why don't you come around no more
Cause right now I'm dying outside the door of your loving store

It's all in this game of love
It's all in the game of love
Yeah, in the game of love

Roll me
Control me
Please hold me
(make me feel good, yeah)

 

[Gusty Wind]

[No message]

 

[Namaste]

Sonnet LIII -- Shakespeare

What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since every one hath, every one, one shade,
And you but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you;
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new:
Speak of the spring, and foison of the year,
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear;
And you in every blessed shape we know.
In all external grace you have some part,
But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

-- For you, Gusty

 

[Gusty Wind]

[No message]

 

[Namaste]

One night when there was a clear moon, I sat down to write a poem about maple trees. But the dazzle of moonlight in the ink blinded me, and I could only write what I remembered, therefore, on the wrapping of my poem, I have inscribed your name.

-- Amy Lowell (1874 - 1923)

 

[Namaste]

If you only knew how I long for you, how the memory of last night leaves me delirious with joy and full of desire. How I long to give myself up in ecstasy to your sweet breath and to those kisses from your lips which fill me with delight.

-- Juliette Drouet to Victor Hugo, 1833

 

[Gusty Wind]

[No message]

 

[Namaste]

The Letter

I take my pen in hand..

there was a meadow
beside a field of oats, beside a wood,
beside a road, beside a day spread out
green at the edges, yellow at the heart.
The dust lifted a little, a finger's breadth,
the words of the wood pigeon traveled slow,
a slow half-pace behind the tick of time.

To tell you I am well and thinking of you...

and of the walk through the meadow, and of another walk
along the neat piled ruin of the town
under a pale heaven empty of all but death
and rain beginning. The river ran beside.

It has been a long time since I wrote, I have no news

I put my head between my hands and hope
my heart will choke me. I put out my hand
to touch you and touch air. I turn to sleep
and find a nightmare, hollowness and fear.

And by the way, I have had no letter now
For eight weeks, it must be

a long eight weeks,
because you have nothing to say, nothing at all
not even to record your emptiness
or guess what's to become of you, without love.

I know that you have cares,

ashes to shovel, broken glass to mend
and many a cloth to patch before sunset.

Write to me soon and tell me how you are

if you still tremble, sweat and glower, still stretch
a hand for me at dusk, play me the tune,
show me the leaves and towers, the lamb the rose.

Because I always wish to hear from you

and feel my heart swell and the blood run out
at the ungraceful syllable of your name
said through the scent of stocks, the little snore of fire, the shoreless waves of symphony, the murmuring night

I will end this letter now. I am yours with love.

Always with love, with love.

-- Elizabeth Riddell (1910 - )

 

[Gusty Wind]

[No message]

 

[Namaste]

 

[Namaste]

http://www.purpleroofs.com/cancunbeach-mx/cancunbeach-mx3.jpg

 

[Gusty Wind]

[No message]

 

[Gusty Wind]

[No message]

 

[Namaste]

Sea Fever -- John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

I love storms, Gusty

 

[Gusty Wind]

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[Gusty Wind]

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