From Psyche, with Other Poems, 3rd edition (1811)

PSYCHE; OR THE LEGEND OF LOVE (EXTRACT)


Here Cupid tempers his unerring darts,
And in the fount of bliss delights to play;
Here mingles balmy sighs and pleasing smarts,
And here the honeyed draught will oft allay1
With that black poison's all-polluting sway,
For wretched man. Hither, as Venus willed,
For Psyche's punishment he bent his way;
From either stream his amber vase he filled --
For her were meant the drops which grief alone distilled.

His quiver, sparkling bright with gems and gold,
From his fair plumed shoulder graceful hung,
And from its top in brilliant cords enrolled
Each little vase resplendently was slung;
Still as he flew, around him sportive clung
His frolic train of winged zephyrs light,
Wafting the fragrance which his tresses flung,
While odours dropped from every ringlet bright,
And from his blue eyes beamed ineffable delight.

Wrapped in a cloud unseen by mortal eye,
He sought the chamber of the royal maid --
There, lulled by careless soft security,
Of the impending mischief nought afraid,
Upon her purple couch was Psyche laid,
Her radiant eyes a downy slumber sealed;
In light transparent veil alone arrayed,
Her bosom's opening charms were half-revealed,
And scarce the lucid folds her polished limbs concealed.

A placid smile plays o'er each roseate lip --
Sweet severed lips, while thus your pearls disclose,
That slumbering thus unconscious she may sip
The cruel presage of her future woes!
Lightly, as fall the dews upon the rose,
Upon the coral gates of that sweet cell
The fatal drops he pours -- nor yet he knows,
Nor, though a god, can he presaging tell
How he himself shall mourn the ills of that sad spell!

Nor yet content, he from his quiver drew,
Sharpened with skill divine, a shining dart;
No need had he for bow, since thus too true
His hand might wound her all-exposed heart;
Yet her fair side he touched with gentlest art,
And half-relenting on her beauties gazed:
Just then awaking with a sudden start
Her opening eye in humid lustre blazed --
Unseen he still remained, enchanted and amazed.

The dart which in his hand now trembling stood,
As o'er the couch he bent with ravished eye,
Drew with its daring point celestial blood
From his smooth neck's unblemished ivory;
Heedless of this, but with a pitying sigh
(The evil done now anxious to repair),
He shed in haste the balmy drops of joy
O'er all the silky ringlets of her hair,
Then stretched his plumes divine, and breathed celestial air.

Unhappy Psyche! Soon the latent wound
The fading roses of her cheek confess;
Her eyes' bright beams, in swimming sorrows drowned,
Sparkle no more with life and happiness,
Her parent's fond exulting heart to bless;
She shuns adoring crowds, and seeks to hide
The pining sorrows which her soul oppress,
Till to her mother's tears no more denied,
The secret grief she owns, for which she lingering sighed.

A dream of mingled terror and delight
Still heavy hangs upon her troubled soul,
An angry form still swims before her sight,
And still the vengeful thunders seem to roll;
Still crushed to earth she feels the stern control
Of Venus unrelenting, unappeased.
The dream returns, she feels the fancied dole;
Once more the furies on her heart have seized,
But still she views the youth who all her sufferings eased.

Of wondrous beauty did the vision seem,
And in the freshest prime of youthful years;
Such at the close of her distressful dream
A graceful champion to her eyes appears;
Her loved deliverer from her foes and fears
She seems in grateful transport still to press,
Still his soft voice sounds in her ravished ears;
Dissolved in fondest tears of tenderness
His form she oft invokes her waking eyes to bless.

Nor was it quite a dream, for as she woke,
Ere heavenly mists concealed him from her eye,
One sudden transitory view she took
Of Love's most radiant bright divinity --
From the fair image never can she fly,
As still consumed with vain desire she pines;
While her fond parents heave the anxious sigh,
And to avert her fate seek holy shrines
The threatened ills to learn by auguries and signs.

Mary Tighe (1772--1810)

I memorized this in high school and have always gone back to it in my mind....

THE LOVE SONG OF J. ALFRED PRUFROCK
by T. S. Eliot

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question....
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair--
(They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!")
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin--
(They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!")
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all--
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all--
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . . . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the doors of silent seas.
. . . . . . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers.
Stretched on on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald)
brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"--
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all;
That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts
that trail along the floor--
And this, and so much more?--
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while If one, settling a
pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."
. . . . . . . . .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Fantastic. And memorised too, astounding!!

Very nice Greg,Thanks for sharing!

......Why did half these men not make to the seats of power?? Could have prevented lots!



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN, A DIRGE


I

When chill November's surly blast
Made fields and forests bare,
One ev'ning, as I wand'red forth
Along the banks of Aire,
I spied a man whose aged step
Seemed weary, worn with care;
His face was furrowed o'er with years
And hoary was his hair.


II

'Young stranger, whither wand'rest thou?'
Began the rev'rend sage,
'Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain,
Or youthful pleasure's rage?
Or haply, pressed with cares and woes,
Too soon thou hast began
To wander forth, with me to mourn
The miseries of man.


III

The sun that overhangs yon moors,
Out-spreading far and wide,
Where hundreds labour to support
A haughty lordling's pride;
I've seen yon weary winter sun
Twice forty times return,
And ev'ry time has added proofs
That man was made to mourn.


IV

Oh man, while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time!
Misspending all thy precious hours,
Thy glorious, youthful prime!
Alternate follies take the sway,
Licentious passions burn,
Which tenfold force gives nature's law
That man was made to mourn.


V

Look not alone on youthful prime
Or manhood's active might;
Man then is useful to his kind,
Supported is his right:
But see him on the edge of life,
With cares and sorrows worn,
Then age and want (oh, ill-matched pair!)
Show man was made to mourn


VI

A few seem favourites of fate,
In pleasure's lap caressed;
Yet think not all the rich and great
Are likewise truly blessed.
But oh! what crowds in ev'ry land,
All wretched and forlorn,
Through weary life this lesson learn --
That man was made to mourn!


VII

Many and sharp the num'rous ills
Enwoven with our frame!
More pointed still we make ourselves
Regret, remorse and shame!
And man, whose heav'n-erected face
The smiles of love adorn,
Man's inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn!


VIII

See yonder poor, o'erlaboured wight,
So abject, mean and vile,
Who begs a brother of the earth
To give him leave to toil;
And see his lordly fellow-worm
The poor petition spurn --
Unmindful, though a weeping wife
And helpless offspring mourn.


IX

If I'm designed yon lordling's slave,
By nature's law designed,
Why was an independent wish
E'er planted in my mind?
If not, why am I subject to
His cruelty or scorn?
Or why has man the will and pow'r
To make his fellow mourn?


X

Yet let not this too much, my son,
Disturb thy youthful breast;
This partial view of humankind
Is surely not the last!
The poor, oppressed, honest man
Had never, sure, been born,
Had there not been some recompense
To comfort those that mourn!


XI

Oh death -- the poor man's dearest friend,
The kindest and the best!
Welcome the hour, my aged limbs
Are laid with thee at rest!
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow,
From pomp and pleasure torn;
But oh, a blessed relief for those
That weary-laden mourn!'





Robert Burns (1759--96)

Indeed! Wonderful piece,Aragon,thank you!

They were not power seekers, Aragon. A different breed entirely. Much higher. Excellent poem! :o)

A RISING STAR
by yours truly

what is the difference, and how not the same?
you demand far more than she ever would
you ask not for my body, my passion, but my Soul
broken and laid at your feet. what does not fit
you would cast to the dogs in the street
and i do always what i must, never what i should

a one-night stand is not a river of timeless love
but much more comforting all-in-all in a spot
you would make whole what perhaps is not broken
or broken and each piece needs a touch
i imagine the stars are shattered fragments of one Love
and a rising star can be what it is not

what is the difference, where the dividing line?
surely depth, and space, and motion, and Time
pointing upwards, i show you a star alone and glittering
on its way to dying, smothered by impossible existence
i speak this in sadness, without pretense
some things are different because they are more sublime

shall we go round in circles, or argue a causeless case?
why that anger, those tears, on your face?
I am what I am, lost and afloat in the Void
I cannot Unmake me, neither bend my back to the plow
perhaps others are wiser, for I do not know my place
only gaze at the stars and wonder

You guy's are really putting some good poetry on here. I could just spend all my time here reading. It's like a very good book I get started and don't want to put it down till it's finished. :o)

I LEFT A NOTE

I left this note on the bridge
to represent troubled waters...
Because your hands once
big and strong
did offer so much love
and promise to encircle me
and protect me from all wrong.
A promise like a wedding ring
without an end
that offers a shield from all the world
That two shall stand forever strong.
Somehow I find the circle broke
and much to my dismay
The hands that were to keep me safe
and make me feel so loved.
I find puts the world first and
gives to others before our own.
The bond so strong I thought would last
snapped the circle and ring in half.
When finding that my healthly needs
would always be put last.
Forgive me as I shed a tear,
How foolish I must seem.
To think I mght come before anothers need
or a night out on the town.
What made me think the bills or food
and cleaniness should matter?
So many times as I lay ill or
lost a loved one along the way...
I found would always be a burden
I alone would care.
For I know it shall 'always' be
and it will never change.
But other's wishes, another's frills,
other's 'have to's',
someone's meal and a pitcher of ale
will always come before ...
A circle of love a home built strong
and a scacred bond of a wedding ring.

Pattricia Pummill © 2001

Both excellent Usurper and CurrentRiver.

I know how you feel about the boards, it is super :o)

The guilded pen,the fragrant bow
Can sometimes yield to passion's row
What once was pure is now beset
with doubt and pain and some regret

For of each half there is desire
that sometimes Love cannot mire
Although it's real and full of want
Perhaps it's not best to flaunt

The Love was real but was it blind
to touch of flesh and not the mind
Within each soul there lies a need
to be One with the lost seed

The time will come for this I'm sure
when flesh and mind and soul are pure
Until that day,we sit and wait
And hope the pain is not too great

Another awesome one....Pattrica Pummill......wonderful wanda!!thanks for giving to us......Granny

"Beauty"

The beauty all about us
so brilliant and alive.
To many there is an energy there that
needs to come alive.
For in their hearts, their souls,
there unique beauty has been brought out
like a blast of an explosion of
beautiful colors of the rainbow so
pure brightness that fills the sky.

Come alive around us
those of the rainbow that glows
Come alive and tell those around
the joy you can explode!

We will be the extension of your beauty
telling all around us.
Sharing the joy to those about us
so sad and in need
Sharing your beauty of the rainbow
colors
Which is so alive with the brilliance of it all.


Come alive we will come.!
Come alive we shall come.!
Oh, See all the beauty we will find!

~~Edrena M Wilson~~
2003

Very nice Granny! So uplifting! :-)

Very good Granny.

thank you...just trying :):) but trying means...you have to keep going right LOL

Awesome Granny :o) Sheer Poetry!!

BLOEDDIER I BOBLOEDD Y BYD

A sylwoch mor ddiamser
yw dyn wrth ddod at iaith newydd?
Bydd, fe fydd yn baglu dros gytseiniaid,
yn gohirio llafariaid,
yn gwisgo holl arfogaeth ei ddyhead
am fuddugoliaeth dros fynegiant.
A bydd, fe fydd ei dafod
fel baban bach ar ei ben ôl.

Felly, bydded i bob un o genhedloedd byd
ddysgu iaith esgymun ei gymydog.
Ie, cropian a chwrian mewn corneli,
colli cwsg wrth ei thrwsglo;
cans fel hyn y daw dileu yr amserau.
Ni ddaw'r gorffennol yn rhwydd ar dafod.
Erys iaith heddiw. Bydd yn ddeiseb hedd –
gan dynnu i lawr yr holl ferfau pigog;
ni fyd yr amherffaith mor berffaith
a phan nad yw.

A bydd agen, hollt a rhwyg
yn cael eu cyfrannu'n geg agored.
Pob newydd ddysgwr â chof
am gyweirio cystrawennau
cyfod o'i wely, unioni llef.

Ni fydd amser i ledu llid,
cans bydd llwythau wedi eu llethu
â chyfoeth yr holl gerrig arloesi.

A thrwy'r babanod yn Babel bydd iau
wedi ei chodi a'r Uniaith yn iachâu
wrth ymryddhau, rhyddhau wrth hau.

Would that be Welsh? :-) Looks interesting!

Do you have a translation as well?

My first attempt... go easy on me!!

Ahem... BrainKing


Usurper started the whole 'poem' thing,
But its grown like a rolling stone.
Aragon built on Usurpers base
with the fellowship, and oh, how its grown!

The foundation, of course, was set by Fencer,
good old Brain King itself.
Without it all this talent
may have stayed on the shelf!

Current River and Stardust
are also famous here,
And Granny and Dano
regularly appear.

There are legends elsewhere too..
post a quiz.. and what do we find?
Big Bad Wolf, or Aragon,
always close at hand!

Chatty and Lilac
are good for a giggle,
feeling blue? feeling sad?
They'll make you laugh 'till you jiggle!

Then theres Bumble and Panda,
parents of two sets of twins!
A wonder they have time for games,
let alone making them wins!

And last but not least
my two special mates.
Medic and Lamby,
you're both real great :o)

Theres so many top people
on this wonderful site,
I couldn't even begin
to bring them all to light.

If your name is here or not,
I thank you all the same.
For making this one big happy family
Who love playing the games!

The dark night of the soul

Upon a darkened night
the flame of love was burning in my breast
And by a lantern bright
I fled my house while all in quiet rest

Shrouded by the night
and by the secret star I quickly fled
The veil concealed my eyes
while all within lay quiet as the dead

Oh night thou was my guide
oh night more loving than the rising sun
Oh night that joined the lover
to the beloved one
transforming each of them into the other

Upon that misty night
in secrecy, beyond such mortal sight
Without a guide or light
than that which burned so deeply in my heart

That fire t´was led me on
and shone more bright than of the midday sun
To where he waited still
it was a place where no one else could come

Oh night thou was my guide
oh night more loving than the rising sun
Oh night that joined the lover
to the beloved one
transforming each of them into the other

Within my pounding heart
which kept itself entirely for him
He fell into his sleep
beneath the cedars all my love I gave
From o´ver the fortress walls
the wind would brush his hair against his brow
And with its smoothest hand
caressed my every sense it would allow

Oh night thou was my guide
oh night more loving than the rising sun
Oh night that joined the lover
to the beloved one
transforming each of them into the other

I lost myself to him
and laid my face upon my lovers breast
And care and grief grew dim
as in the mornings mist became the light
There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair
There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair
There they dimmed amongst the lilies fair

© Lyrics: St. John of the Cross - 15th century
Arranged and adapted by Loreena McKennitt
From her album: The mask and the mirror

Harley that was great! I feel honoured to be mentioned too! It sums up the site a treat & brought a smile to my face. Well done to you :o)

Excellent Harley!! A clear ten for the challenge if ya ask me!! :o)

Harley,you ROCK!!! Thank you so much...that put a well needed smile on my face!! Damn,that was good! I'm going to read it again!! :-)
And what do you make of that,Wanda? We're famous!!! LOL

LOL, thanks! I did that in about 10 mins, I've been working on a different one, very different, much darker, but I think I'll post that at the poetry fellowship.

I like yours too Cariad, although can't get much translated correctly?

LET THE WORLD'S PEOPLES SHOUT



Have you noticed how time-free a person is
when approaching a new language?
Yes, you stumble over consonants,
postpone vowels,
encumbered with all the armour of your longing
for the conquest of expresssion.
And yes, your tongue is like
a baby bumping along on its bottom.

Well then, let each of the world’s peoples learn
the excommunicated language of its neighbour,
yes, creep and crouch in corners,
lose sleep in messing it up,
since this is how tenses will be deleted.
The past will not come fluently on the tongue.
The language of today will stay. It will sue for peace,
pull down all the barbed-wire verbs.
The imperfect will never be so perfect
as when it ceases to exist.

And cleft, split, and rupture will be
made whole in the open mouth.
Each new learner will have the memory
of correcting constructions,
picking up one’s bed, rectifying speech.

There will be no time for spreading hatred,
since the tribes will be overcome
by the riches of all the founding stones -

And through the babies in Babel
a yoke will be raised, a United Languages heal
in freeing oneself, freeing in sowing the seed.

It looks good to me! I don't know what Menna Elfyn would make of her poetry in English though!

LOL - I would imagine non to pleased :o)

))) ))) Moloko (((

Where is the what if the what is in why ?

What is a god of phoney creation,
Where am I going with no destination,
What if the fish came from the sea,
What if my lover made me feel free,
What if my intake caused revelation,
What if the point was reincarnation,
What if my shoes don't match my jacket,
If it's not working why don't you smack it,
What if your mamma said you were fat,
If you are lost find where your at,
What is a number without any time,
You can't get higher with nothing to climb,
Why have a body if you ain't got a mind,
What is a searcher with nothing to find,
Why is the traffic refusing to stop,
Why climb the ladder if you can't reach the top,
Where is the what if the what is in why,
Where is the what if the what is in why
Where is the what if the what is in why,
What do you dream of when you sleep at night,
Wee how the blind man fills up with light,
What is a bird with nowhere to fly,
How can you leave and not say goodbye,
What is a hunter with nothing to find,
What is the goodness without the unkind,
When did the outfit fall out of fashion,
When did the lover run out of passion,
My reincarnation time a phoney creation rhyme,
With no destination mine my information's fine,
Why did the voice say don't step on the floor,
Why did the sign say so float through the door,
What is a god of phoney creation,
Where am I going with no destination,
What if the fish came from the sea,
What if my lover made me feel free,
What if my intake caused revelation,
What if the point was reincarnation,
What if my shoes don't match my jacket,
If it's not working why don't you smack it,
What if your mamma said you were fat,
If you are lost find where you're at,
Where is the what if the what is in why,
Where is the what if the what is in why,
Where is the what if the what is in why,
How did the loser get to be rich,
What is a salesman with nothing to pitch,
When did the fool get to be king,
Why did you leave when they asked you to sing,
Why loose belief if you got a dream,
What is a train that ran out of steam,
what is a spy with no-one to spy,
On who do you sleep with nothing to lie on,
What if the fruit don't fall from the tree,
What if these questions just won't let you be,
Why waste your time looking for proof,
What if the answer is never the truth.
'

I LIKE it!!!!!

That is deep danoschek, but very good indeed!!

Sehr gut mein herr. Ich spreche gutten deutsch nicht wahr?

don't nail me to that yet but well enough that I've always understood ... ;)
good to encounter the appealing air from this dine of natural hospitality ... :) ~*~

Jawohl, du sprichst sehr gut Deutsch! ;o)

Probiere mal einen Gedicht auf Deutsch; eine richtige "challenge", nicht wahr? lol

Harley.......That's good! You summed it all up in a nutshell. :o) I'll be like Star i'm going back and read it all over again very slowly.

Hey Stardust ....... I like being famous, don't you? :O)

Thanks Harley!

Morgen, morgen nur nicht Heute
sagen immer faulen Laute :)

vielleicht es ist Leute? LOL

Hmm Ich spreche keine deutsch aber deise volk gedenken Ich sprechen gut deutsch..sagen die varheit nicht? Vielen dank. LOL (Dano don't you dare!!!)

Genau... Leute!

in den Strassen
sie laufen mit geschwinde Pass

keine Zeit, keine Zeit
laufen sie genau in die Verganklichkeit...

~*Radiant 36:9*~

Une myriade de laguages peut faire la danse de poésie! Mais le meilleur est de beaucoup ceci, la langue d'amour!

This board is gOld - too g:):)d!!
brings you right in the correct mood..
keeps me thinking in rhymes,
wishing everyone: GoodTimes!!! :-)))

~*Radiant 36:9*~

So true Daedal,so true!! :-)

La langue d´amour,
toujours...
Caresse toi tes levres, tes mains,
ta lumičre,
ta chčre, comme un trésor pûr,
les jours sans toi ce sont trop dûrs..

Merci,
pour tes počmes et les počts aussi.. :-)

~*Radiant 36:9*~

Du ska inte tro det blir sommar
ifall inte nå'n sätter fart
på sommarn å gör lite somrigt
för då kommer blommorna snart.

Astrid Lindgren

ahhh so viele Leute ... 0:)

und so viele Sprachen ... multilingual - I think it's good we dare ... ;) ~*~

Swedish´ cute... can you send us the translation, please.. Astrid Lindgren wrote such beauties :-) Thanks and Goodnite..

Starlight Starbright
First star I see tonight
I wish I may
I wish I might
have this wish
I wish tonight

:o).... this has gotta be good if it's by William Blake. :o)

she´ll be yours
of course

twinkle twinkle little star
bright and breezy
angels´tender touch and smile..
please shine upon me for a while