Blandat - Mixed
Och lågorna slocknade sakta
kring, djävulens gestalt
och skönt det var att betrakta
hur ljust det blev i allt
hur ärkeängelns pannas valv
blev åter vitt och klart
och hur hans läpp av lycka skalv
och smålog underbart
- det gick genom allt som en salig fläkt
och helvetet var släkt.
+
Och mäniskan vandrar på jorden
om
och ingen vet, varifrån hon kom
och ingen vet, vart leden bär
och ingen vet, vad livet är
+
Vad rätt du tänkt, vad du i kärlek
vill
vad skönt du drömt, kan ej av tiden
härjas
det är en skörd som undan honom
bärgas
ty den hör evighetens rike till
Gå fram du mänsklighet, var glad
var tröst
ty du bär evigheten i ditt bröst
av V. Rydberg
My
Mind to Me a Kingdom Is
by Sir Edward Dyer
My mind to me a kingdom is,
Such present joys therein I find,
That it excels all other bliss
That earth affords or grows by kind:
Though much I want which most would have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave
*
No princely pomp, no wealthy store,
No force to win the victory,
No wily wit to save a sore,
No shape to feed a loving eye;
To none of these I yield as thrall:
For why? My mind doth serve for all.
*
I see how plenty [surfeits] oft,
And hasty climbers soon to fall;
I see that those which are aloft
Mishap doth threaten most of all;
They get with toil, they keep with fear:
Such cares my mind could never bear.
*
Content to live, this is my stay;
I seek no more than may suffice;
I press to bear no haughty sway;
Look, what I lack my mind supplies:
Lo, thus I triumph like a king,
Content with that my mind doth bring.
*
Some have to much, yet still do crave;
I little have, and seek no more.
They are but poor, though much they have,
And I am rich with little store;
They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lack, I leave; they pine, I live.
*
I laugh not at another's loss;
I grudge not at another's gain;
No wordly waves my mind can toss;
My state at one doth still remain:
I fear no foe, I fawn no friend;
I loathe not life, nor dread my end.
*
Some weigh their pleasure by their lust,
Their wisdom by their rage of will;
Their treasure is their only trust;
A cloaked craft their store of skill:
But all the pleasures that I find
Is to maintain a quiet mind.
*
My wealth is my health and perfect ease;
My conscience clear my chief defense;
I neither seek by bribes to please,
Nor by deceit to bear offense:
Thus do I live; thus will I die;
Would all did so as well as I!
To Chloe
by William Cartwright
There are two births; the one when light
First strikes the new awaken'd sense;
The other when two souls unite,
And we must count our life from thence:
When you loved me and I loved you
Then both of us were born anew
*
Love then to us new souls did give
And in those souls did plant new powers;
Since when another life we live,
The breath we breathe is his, not ours:
Love makes those young whom age doth chill,
And whom he finds young keeps young still.
The Fish, the Man, and the Spirit
by Leigh Hunt
TO A FISH
You strange, astonished-looking, angle faced,
Dreary-mouthered, gaping wretches of the sea,
Gulping salt-water everlastingly,
Cold-blooded, though with red your blood be
graced,
And mute, though dwellers in the roaring waste;
And you, all shapes beside, that fishy be--
Some round, some flat, some long, all devilry,
Legless, unloving, infamously chaste--
*
O scaly, slippery, wet, swift, staring wights,
What is't ye do? what life lead? eh, dull
goggles?
How do ye vary your vile days and nights?
How pass your Sundays? Are ye still but joggles
In ceaseless wash? Still nought but gapes,
and bites,
And drinks, and stares, diversified with boggles?
*
A FISH ANSWER
Amazing monster! that, for aught I know,
With the first sight of thee didst make our
race
Forever stare! oh flat and shocking face,
Grimly divided from the breast below!
Thou that on dry land horribly dost go
With a split body and most ridiculous pace,
Prong after prong, disgracer of all grace,
Long-useless-finned, haired, upright, unwet,
slow!
*
O breather of unbreathable, sword-sharp air,
How canst exist? How bear thyself, thou dry
And dreary sloth? What particle canst share
Of the only blessed life, the watery?
I sometimes see of ye an actual pair
Go by! linked fin by fin! most odiously.
*....
Man's life is warm, glad, sad, 'twixt loves
and graves,
Boundless in hope, honored with pangs austere,
Heaven-gazing; and his angel-wings he craves:
The fish is swift, small-needing, vague yet
clear,
A cold, sweet, silver life, wrapped in round
waves,
Quickened with touches of transporting fear.
Father William
by Lewis Carroll
"You are old, Father William," the young man
said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head--
Do you think, at your age, it is right?"
*
"In my youth," Father William replied to his
son,
"I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."
*
"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned
before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
yet you turned a back-somersault in at the
door--
Pray, what is the reason of that?"
*
"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook
his gray locks,
"I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment--one shilling
a box--
Allow me to sell you a couple?"
*
"You are old," said the youth, " and your
jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones
and the beak--
Pray, how did you manage to do it?"
*
"In my youth," said his father, " I took to
the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength with it gave to
my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life."
*
"You are old," said the youth, " one would
hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
¨Yet you balanced an eel on the end of
your nose--
What made you so awfully clever?"
*
"I have answered three questions, and that
is enough,"
Said his father; "don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such
stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you downstairs."
W.H. Auden
Funeral Blues
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy
bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
*
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks
of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton
gloves.
*
He was my North, my South, my East, and West.
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I
was wrong.
*
The stars are not wanted now: put out every
one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Tell Me the Truth About Love
Some say that love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go round,
And som say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.
*
Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or wuite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.
*
Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicide,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway-guides.
*
Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom lie a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is it singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.
*
I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't even there:
I tried the Thames at Midenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken run,
Or underneath the bed.
*
Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
Or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism is enough?
Are its stories vulgar or funny?
O tell me the truth about love.
*
When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.