Author: Ollie (82.93.21.---)
Date: 12-23-05 20:56
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Poetry should help, not only to refine the language of the time, but to prevent it from changing too rapidly.
T. S. Eliot
That you were once unkind befriends me now,
And for that sorrow, which I then did feel,
Needs must I under my transgression bow,
Unless my nerves were brass or hammer\'d steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken,
As I by yours, you\'ve pass\'d a hell of time;
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffer\'d in your crime.
O! that our night of woe might have remember\'d
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me, then tender\'d
The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits!
But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.
If the federal government had been around when the Creator was putting His
hand to this state, Indiana wouldn\'t be here. It\'d still be waiting for an
environmental impact statement.
O me! what eyes hath Love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight;
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled,
That censures falsely what they see aright?
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
What means the world to say it is not so?
If it be not, then love doth well denote
Love\'s eye is not so true as all men\'s: no,
How can it? O! how can Love\'s eye be true,
That is so vexed with watching and with tears?
No marvel then, though I mistake my view;
The sun itself sees not, till heaven clears.
O cunning Love! with tears thou keep\'st me blind,
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.