tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27895987841812236332024-02-02T10:12:59.258-08:00Sammi ZhengSammihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12209358821312026027noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2789598784181223633.post-82231930050106960852009-10-19T05:09:00.000-07:002009-10-19T05:19:37.083-07:00近期大爱—微卷中长发<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxCChbzJbkzZizMq1MWaCey2AtVEJLSP_xRo11XNsLJr5ua6dQsD4dG59CAmi5vWCbzEGEl8w1VHR2OxWWqnED0fNO1BX-pvDCu9w_IMCZlYitEEzoOuyWVo1flzn4ibEZo_LZAZr4tlds/s1600-h/00e04c8173e50b3d078c01.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394284545316166514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxCChbzJbkzZizMq1MWaCey2AtVEJLSP_xRo11XNsLJr5ua6dQsD4dG59CAmi5vWCbzEGEl8w1VHR2OxWWqnED0fNO1BX-pvDCu9w_IMCZlYitEEzoOuyWVo1flzn4ibEZo_LZAZr4tlds/s320/00e04c8173e50b3d078c01.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSpm9JuH1ixm2gnGL4t1Fv3d4KZ95ozpD1wv-nA0WYviJHXwXT7KgG2ZwOiHz5o0zW5oeyXakm9iL6R1K-GiReicgHPQMIgje-fvD6J4uMxr2sdsP3o5oou1zLI0EQOYgRzkcl86b2-qoN/s1600-h/20090720143019_718.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 267px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394283897155178898" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSpm9JuH1ixm2gnGL4t1Fv3d4KZ95ozpD1wv-nA0WYviJHXwXT7KgG2ZwOiHz5o0zW5oeyXakm9iL6R1K-GiReicgHPQMIgje-fvD6J4uMxr2sdsP3o5oou1zLI0EQOYgRzkcl86b2-qoN/s320/20090720143019_718.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLlGK4ckMRmFfQofBS6RLHoCaD6bBHiyH-o_5ubWGC7gqLSQnHFKVQCnHD3OL8O-OYnCVqRUWhj3DxSiyFy0G2pbIdx9lMy2T6nHaX1ab5LxAtysQljQrdLya1ivM2GcLIbz86xbTmVrmX/s1600-h/2009051207240439.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 253px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394283888615282066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLlGK4ckMRmFfQofBS6RLHoCaD6bBHiyH-o_5ubWGC7gqLSQnHFKVQCnHD3OL8O-OYnCVqRUWhj3DxSiyFy0G2pbIdx9lMy2T6nHaX1ab5LxAtysQljQrdLya1ivM2GcLIbz86xbTmVrmX/s320/2009051207240439.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZW7qfRtzTVpzlBlJ05irf95BC4dPFF6uxzvWe9UbahEtHNDclbU5um3QgQzWNKs5VdJ1rpDlYfCMiNGT4byiikS2ZdU7_CsNwRXOFZJjRb3XeRKOFHrgG5PO9P76YGm-WDPlD6OgEX5a/s1600-h/2009041307223990.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 227px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394283881042904818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZW7qfRtzTVpzlBlJ05irf95BC4dPFF6uxzvWe9UbahEtHNDclbU5um3QgQzWNKs5VdJ1rpDlYfCMiNGT4byiikS2ZdU7_CsNwRXOFZJjRb3XeRKOFHrgG5PO9P76YGm-WDPlD6OgEX5a/s320/2009041307223990.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfFDQoZXKTaqBbg0N0O4pAuOk02oR20Wt1OyEE7Pm-sBRZPws3Kgk7rjyv-x2Y28rgQ_nlndiDsqYb6Phh4DMreeGqN9X_CBrg4U44bdfH7SblTt4psU2dOtGzkQhFHzUqEF6M_PsVPMPd/s1600-h/1236947914_49ba53caed59a.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394283869355119570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfFDQoZXKTaqBbg0N0O4pAuOk02oR20Wt1OyEE7Pm-sBRZPws3Kgk7rjyv-x2Y28rgQ_nlndiDsqYb6Phh4DMreeGqN9X_CBrg4U44bdfH7SblTt4psU2dOtGzkQhFHzUqEF6M_PsVPMPd/s320/1236947914_49ba53caed59a.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0XB2F9qsCcx1XACtfk6MLBYXsNqHceQ5UBqTBAgOqPIoS8F6zSUimqBDSFKQNdqvPbS_t-uJ8c9CvvDYQ8JEznihNVV3-DHEixzc2NTH1O1YirdZ_w4ONGk8sDqseOJ0RAaXpbeFdGw9R/s1600-h/123b9f018019b6b0d8202133a8388a92.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 135px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394283875927484530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0XB2F9qsCcx1XACtfk6MLBYXsNqHceQ5UBqTBAgOqPIoS8F6zSUimqBDSFKQNdqvPbS_t-uJ8c9CvvDYQ8JEznihNVV3-DHEixzc2NTH1O1YirdZ_w4ONGk8sDqseOJ0RAaXpbeFdGw9R/s320/123b9f018019b6b0d8202133a8388a92.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Sammihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12209358821312026027noreply@blogger.com55tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2789598784181223633.post-87111073535948651842009-10-04T07:58:00.000-07:002009-10-04T08:04:12.999-07:00拯救你有缺陷的眼睛<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3LmBLiXBb4dDWn5ALOg8NKRN1uDfWvPgzu2scf4fXQowkULFanHaUHvkhMq1H9Tn1dHzOUD4KJ2qs1ZbkYQJKnPM-xSCRz3n9dI0TzKbGuOLxVjUhBwZiQUQHCj2XQFQmm7bHO8waBtxW/s1600-h/200752414486664.bmp"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 171px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 196px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388760303021918146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3LmBLiXBb4dDWn5ALOg8NKRN1uDfWvPgzu2scf4fXQowkULFanHaUHvkhMq1H9Tn1dHzOUD4KJ2qs1ZbkYQJKnPM-xSCRz3n9dI0TzKbGuOLxVjUhBwZiQUQHCj2XQFQmm7bHO8waBtxW/s320/200752414486664.bmp" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg27NQabdQ_y_4zKuYFvCKvDhDH_2qRtkQh-XVEuMlsKAV3bYbHBWmfZm1JRl2OjIDJIxyR3sI3fyd-7bb8hT0RgqWbIdnetah9snWndv3lLfGE6OWtCv1wEy0ZW9e137IalEGOFnG8Wt7l/s1600-h/2007524145024459.bmp"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 178px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 198px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388760311302889746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg27NQabdQ_y_4zKuYFvCKvDhDH_2qRtkQh-XVEuMlsKAV3bYbHBWmfZm1JRl2OjIDJIxyR3sI3fyd-7bb8hT0RgqWbIdnetah9snWndv3lLfGE6OWtCv1wEy0ZW9e137IalEGOFnG8Wt7l/s320/2007524145024459.bmp" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong><span style="color:#333333;">小眼睛的大眼妆法:</span></strong> </span><br />a 用黑/深灰色眼线笔在上眼皮眼尾1/2~1/3部分画眼线,用米色珍珠光泽眼影修饰眼头位置;<br />b 深灰色眼影压在眼线上,再用刷子或指尖薄薄往上晕;<br />c 夹翘睫毛,刷上纤长效果的黑色睫毛膏,“打开”眼睛的“范围”,眼尾处要多刷几遍;如果你有黑眼圈或者眼袋,就不用再刷下睫毛了;<br />d 下眼头处涂上白色/银白色眼影/眼彩蜜;提示:用环绕眼眶的粗眼线让小眼睛变大的做法是不可取的,如果你不是80后怪怪美少女,或是为了Party特别营造的妆效,还是不要尝试这种奇怪呆板的画法了。<br /><br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#333333;">单眼皮/内双的双眼皮梦想:</span></strong><br />a 用深蓝紫色眼影画出外1/2~1/3的下眼线;<br />b 刷上纤长效果的黑色睫毛膏;<br />c 双眼皮贴纸自然是不可或缺的秘密武器;<br />d 将少量孔雀蓝或紫色眼影粉刷在眼尾处即可,晕开的范围不要太大,营造自然的深邃效果;提示:贴双眼皮贴纸时,在眼头起始处贴近眼线,而眼尾处则略为抬高,这样贴出的双眼皮效果更自然。<br /><br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#333333;">拯救“眼大无神”: </span></strong><br />a 先用第一部分介绍的方法使用遮瑕品遮盖掉眼袋、黑眼圈及眼周的小瑕疵;<br />b 用米色珍珠光泽眼影打亮上眼皮,眼周皮肤提亮之后干净均匀,眼睛自然就先有神了5分;<br />c 夹翘睫毛,刷上黑色纤长睫毛膏;若睫毛稀疏,可先刷一遍浓密型睫毛膏;提示:东方人的睫毛天生并不卷翘,加上又容易有黑眼圈,是令许多人看上去“眼大无神”的主要原因;所以只要打亮眼周皮肤,再刷上卷翘睫毛膏,就不需要更多修饰了。Sammihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12209358821312026027noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2789598784181223633.post-789239809675078432008-12-29T21:10:00.000-08:002008-12-29T21:13:15.304-08:00She Was a Phantom of Delight<em><span style="color:#3333ff;">by William Wordsworth (1770 – 1850)</span></em><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTPFDfYtWMQ8dbWURVDMmclhBNTNVxxo7KsoNOR1FSw4EsnrJVJFqTtVaEUInVI3MkuxaWG6gcFm9EcYiwkScjowgBhOAjv_rSlwSjxiNnp-C7IYD-Bz-TD3G8WQYXRvJztHJ7Kos0lC51/s1600-h/180px-William_Wordsworth_-_Project_Gutenberg_eText_12933.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285446504764299570" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 180px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 276px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTPFDfYtWMQ8dbWURVDMmclhBNTNVxxo7KsoNOR1FSw4EsnrJVJFqTtVaEUInVI3MkuxaWG6gcFm9EcYiwkScjowgBhOAjv_rSlwSjxiNnp-C7IYD-Bz-TD3G8WQYXRvJztHJ7Kos0lC51/s320/180px-William_Wordsworth_-_Project_Gutenberg_eText_12933.jpg" border="0" /></a>She was a phantom of delight<br />When first she gleamed upon my sight;<br />A lovely Apparition, sent<br />To be a moment's ornament;<br />Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;<br />Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;<br />But all things else about her drawn<br />From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;<br />A dancing Shape, an Image gay,<br />To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.<br /><br />I saw her upon a nearer view,<br />A Spirit, yet a Woman too!<br />Her household motions light and free,<br />And steps of virgin liberty;<br />A countenance in which did meet<br />Sweet records, promises as sweet;<br />A Creature not too bright or good<br />For human nature's daily food;<br />For transient sorrows, simple wiles,<br />Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles.<br /><br />And now I see with eye serene<br />The very pulse of the machine;<br />A Being breathing thoughtful breath,<br />A Traveler between life and death;<br />The reason firm, the temperate will,<br />Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;<br />A perfect Woman, nobly planned,<br />To warm, to comfort, and command;<br />And yet a Spirit still, and bright,<br />With something of angelic light.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimCipduodPNw25MxExsyYG0w81DrDTMVLkXHUDL5ztsVuQr1qP1EDgBzgZZ-dQ032DXRnQ9iVqvaJ1z-YXODChjqUOYHTB-DDq_mHFiLx_N9bmqF70YclMdwExdtaalhnxTG4uFl7hsVj1/s1600-h/kisspic.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285446575068521010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 344px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimCipduodPNw25MxExsyYG0w81DrDTMVLkXHUDL5ztsVuQr1qP1EDgBzgZZ-dQ032DXRnQ9iVqvaJ1z-YXODChjqUOYHTB-DDq_mHFiLx_N9bmqF70YclMdwExdtaalhnxTG4uFl7hsVj1/s400/kisspic.jpg" border="0" /></a>Sammihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12209358821312026027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2789598784181223633.post-7121775066903953612008-09-16T04:51:00.000-07:002008-09-16T04:58:39.542-07:00Retrospect<span style="color:#3333ff;"><em>by Rupert Brooke (1887 - 1915)<br /></em></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJlMKnw0N_24AHbzz2po3ErcRYfJmsUTAfCNJemlTSZAKO47ZT_dJWBRf4UEfnzoatQLotrBIv_BIGqOq3i-z6DaDpRD0Cn-yuSNQ9gWse0RrtIkd8j6PR9OgHR2-3uCn-5Yu5uFbloObk/s1600-h/270px-Rupert_Brooke_Q_71073.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246586998070976114" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJlMKnw0N_24AHbzz2po3ErcRYfJmsUTAfCNJemlTSZAKO47ZT_dJWBRf4UEfnzoatQLotrBIv_BIGqOq3i-z6DaDpRD0Cn-yuSNQ9gWse0RrtIkd8j6PR9OgHR2-3uCn-5Yu5uFbloObk/s400/270px-Rupert_Brooke_Q_71073.jpg" border="0" /></a>In your arms was still delight,<br />Quiet as a street at night;<br />And thoughts of you, I do remember,<br />Were green leaves in a darkened chamber,<br />Were dark clouds in a moonless sky.<br />Love, in you, went passing by,<br />Penetrative, remote, and rare,<br />Like a bird in the wide air;<br />And, as the bird, it left no trace<br />In the heaven of your face.<br />In your stupidity I found<br />The sweet hush after a sweet sound.<br />All about you was the light<br />That dims the graying end of night;<br />Desire was the unrisen sun,<br />Joy the day not yet begun,<br />With tree whispering to tree,<br />Without wind, quietly.<br />Wisdom slept within your hair,<br />And Long-suffering was there,<br />And, in the flowing of your dress,<br />Undiscerning Tenderness.<br />And when you thought, it seemed to me,<br />Infinitely, and like a sea,<br />About the sleight world you had known<br />Your vast unconsciousness was thrown. . . .<br /><br />O haven without wave or tide!<br />Silence, in which all songs have died!<br />Holy book, where all hearts are still!<br />And home at length, under the hill!<br />O mother quiet, breasts of peace,<br />Where love itself would faint and cease!<br />O infinite deep I never knew,<br />I would come back, come back to you;<br />Find you, as a pool unstirred,<br />Kneel down by you, and never a word;<br />Lay my head, and nothing said,<br />In your hands, ungarlanded.<br />And a long watch you would keep;<br />And I should sleep, and I should sleep!<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246587209286053586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgassV2f3dp1zoXpfy7_V67tCHpw_ayoXQzC1J3-ZB2_6KbE6GT9IKHvc5WkvfddkHbzsmkP2UQOE6yEuVHd_ezJ3jnJcmQfGGY5AMaR1ZEHLN_2qHX23bSYD6f0kEaYNeE9UYFlXWVj3KF/s400/beach_sunset_picture_t0762.jpg" border="0" />Sammihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12209358821312026027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2789598784181223633.post-37227683630523795492008-08-13T09:07:00.000-07:002008-08-13T09:13:06.162-07:00My First Love<em><span style="color:#3333ff;">by Wislawa Szymborska (1923 - )</span></em><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaUaixYOtm5DV5DosjuRR5k2N_dXsm1r61KgZm0-8Y7-x2ZslTnTBsdg2rqJcPjDs4xvTKL54omevXfbvPogO7PLotjswbdZN1BdQelue-wTCdVOj_VC-lBJX4khfW0f98XSNPchyEtU52/s1600-h/260px-Szymborska.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234035607276820034" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaUaixYOtm5DV5DosjuRR5k2N_dXsm1r61KgZm0-8Y7-x2ZslTnTBsdg2rqJcPjDs4xvTKL54omevXfbvPogO7PLotjswbdZN1BdQelue-wTCdVOj_VC-lBJX4khfW0f98XSNPchyEtU52/s320/260px-Szymborska.jpg" border="0" /></a>They say<br />the first love's most important.<br />That's very romantic,<br />but not my experience.<br /><br />Something was and wasn't there between us,<br />something went on and went away.<br /><br />My hands never tremble<br />when I stumble on silly keepsakes<br />and a sheaf of letters tied with string<br />— not even ribbon.<br /><br />Our only meeting after years:<br />two chairs chatting<br />at a chilly table.<br /><br />Other loves<br />still breathe deep inside me.<br />This one's too short of breath even to sigh.<br /><br />Yet just exactly as it is,<br />it does what the others still can't manage:<br />unremembered,<br />not even seen in dreams,<br />it introduces me to death.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234035743509376994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghN287jmyr4wADzJZUhv_pQO-3uCZjbXycSt57HfYgCj5J71ck9kJEiVUjWRHxSRLOGZ-2RZGYHPG3hekapfC7by3aokBLvXEwafeRko4TOK-4vzWc-_AdUsvwKXQ-0my1F1-ZyumNYspV/s400/Florabar.gif" border="0" />Sammihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12209358821312026027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2789598784181223633.post-76829153644374199652008-08-07T10:37:00.000-07:002008-08-07T10:41:24.988-07:00To a Stranger<div><em><span style="color:#3333ff;">by Walt Whitman (1819 - 1892)</span><br /></em><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKJXQoC4D26eE2Yp6sxG_3K-46qieOMlDNOAQlsgvg6d6tx8h1EgSVsAnMHMDARlFybzqYzz8ar0fvKR3phiaKRj9zQWuVSNo7vKsEmGMZXk4KwUPb1xsK0CVRpzD9Io9MmzAi_p-Hf9Kp/s1600-h/200px-Walt_Whitman_edit_2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231831756420810722" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKJXQoC4D26eE2Yp6sxG_3K-46qieOMlDNOAQlsgvg6d6tx8h1EgSVsAnMHMDARlFybzqYzz8ar0fvKR3phiaKRj9zQWuVSNo7vKsEmGMZXk4KwUPb1xsK0CVRpzD9Io9MmzAi_p-Hf9Kp/s200/200px-Walt_Whitman_edit_2.jpg" border="0" /></a>Passing stranger! you do not know<br />How longingly I look upon you,<br />You must be he I was seeking,<br />Or she I was seeking<br />(It comes to me as a dream)<br /><br />I have somewhere surely<br />Lived a life of joy with you,<br />All is recall'd as we flit by each other,<br />Fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,<br /><br /><br />You grew up with me,<br />Were a boy with me or a girl with me,<br />I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become<br />not yours only nor left my body mine only,<br /><br />You give me the pleasure of your eyes,<br />face, flesh as we pass,<br />You take of my beard, breast, hands,<br />in return,<br /><br />I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you<br />when I sit alone or wake at night, alone<br />I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again<br />I am to see to it that I do not lose you.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231832114230104818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0b2aL4IzmA7yAvoJAtKggAmjFwE2RhyihnAlUFin5U7SztpFC-LpiA68DHsmaOymOjkjza__L_qHe06FnYCBq3B8WdTzK1SHaf06eGGYFWzHuW_jV0-k9KBp7PgGYNKMqQHI-NTfareqb/s320/The-stranger.jpg" border="0" /></div>Sammihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12209358821312026027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2789598784181223633.post-66774533848693540912008-07-23T10:26:00.000-07:002008-12-08T22:15:22.030-08:00La Vita Nuova<span style="color:#3333ff;"><em>by Dante Alighieri (1265 - 1321)<br /></em></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ0U0ylp1kfiAJ6FPoO2p6cCr7rSgUQ3jGMlXIGvpbYVJwLUuU6UlKP3CfoKobQxgcwBJv1CvvOft1B4_aVA_41FCqbwKBONGE-iNsIeI03BI7aMIqywQZp0XHhI0cdW9ZTU2Kz9NchRir/s1600-h/199px-Dante-alighieri.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5226263176269141122" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ0U0ylp1kfiAJ6FPoO2p6cCr7rSgUQ3jGMlXIGvpbYVJwLUuU6UlKP3CfoKobQxgcwBJv1CvvOft1B4_aVA_41FCqbwKBONGE-iNsIeI03BI7aMIqywQZp0XHhI0cdW9ZTU2Kz9NchRir/s200/199px-Dante-alighieri.jpg" border="0" /></a>In that book which is<br />My memory . . .<br />On the first page<br />That is the chapter when<br />I first met you<br />Appear the words . . .<br />Here begins a new life<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5226263402454822130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1DGnuFUBVG52RUT-wr6QqdWie8I7Jsc5OP_MhegZtIs0U_6So6MbZGxb_vVwd8qJeSQ6d4ZDLYnCOme_T4mfVvzIYRIFNvvoRFdczoRPRPy6fHhtUfV1Uv5fDp4mRHlH4a_B3_JnQOJz_/s320/openbook.bmp" border="0" />Sammihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12209358821312026027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2789598784181223633.post-72538310941672430682008-07-09T10:18:00.000-07:002008-12-08T22:15:22.262-08:00Longing<div><div><em><span style="color:#3333ff;">by Matthew Arnold (1822 - 1888)</span></em><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbwYgvIlq0VLWe5cIRCwTMxTy4OgC0el-ue0Prq0nBFoB8o-pD6TqMngc1x4T77OVj_V8-Ywhw8VpYuv9FLuQUv8C8eA7jXW0n7PtCfnz_oNssoq4z14A3U-opL0Gs8J4sF90Xme_WzyfT/s1600-h/180px-Matthew_Arnold_-_Project_Gutenberg_eText_16745.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221065848176994034" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbwYgvIlq0VLWe5cIRCwTMxTy4OgC0el-ue0Prq0nBFoB8o-pD6TqMngc1x4T77OVj_V8-Ywhw8VpYuv9FLuQUv8C8eA7jXW0n7PtCfnz_oNssoq4z14A3U-opL0Gs8J4sF90Xme_WzyfT/s320/180px-Matthew_Arnold_-_Project_Gutenberg_eText_16745.jpg" border="0" /></a>Come to me in my dreams, and then<br />By day I shall be well again.<br />For then the night will more than pay<br />The hopeless longing of the day.<br /><br />Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times,<br />A messenger from radiant climes,<br />And smile on thy new world, and be<br />As kind to others as to me.<br /><br />Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth,<br />Come now, and let me dream it truth.<br />And part my hair, and kiss my brow,<br />And say My love! why sufferest thou? </div><div><br /><br />Come to me in my dreams, and then<br />By day I shall be well again.<br />For then the night will more than pay<br />The hopeless longing of the day. </div><div></div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221065932113883170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdaPYssT4e8uviFC4_e6p0FK8UowqXZeo8cT5t_0z0eJvBz9R_uhtWPkgdkbf9IRgPkAqzYX_34fxRltOaNIXydMpjjZ8L9Jx7PnSSkivHkrsAk3F1xe4uvNRVl-Udp7FwUL25K-1AOnUl/s400/Matthew_arnold_cartoon.png" border="0" /></div>Sammihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12209358821312026027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2789598784181223633.post-45721024260073559422008-07-02T10:00:00.000-07:002008-12-08T22:15:22.576-08:00Because She Would Ask Me Why I Loved Her<span style="color:#3333ff;"><em>by Christopher Brennan (1870-1932)<br /></em></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYpClFJd8VmDpaX6WOOcWx50p9Nmv6WRKV6yIXojUSYz1yztuosuP8clx4rZ9C8QlUFw82pFTELzroMD7d4_PRNSwiMJccJsMajBH6hti76-sLY4cuEfcoGXXLoKh_YpA6EcGh3lNGv3_u/s1600-h/brennanc.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218463502546827826" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYpClFJd8VmDpaX6WOOcWx50p9Nmv6WRKV6yIXojUSYz1yztuosuP8clx4rZ9C8QlUFw82pFTELzroMD7d4_PRNSwiMJccJsMajBH6hti76-sLY4cuEfcoGXXLoKh_YpA6EcGh3lNGv3_u/s320/brennanc.jpg" border="0" /></a>If questioning would make us wise<br />No eyes would ever gaze in eyes;<br />If all our tale were told in speech<br />No mouths would wander each to each.<br /><br />Were spirits free from mortal mesh<br />And love not bound in hearts of flesh<br />No aching breasts would yearn to meet<br />And find their ecstasy complete.<br /><br />For who is there that lives and knows<br />The secret powers by which he grows?<br />Were knowledge all, what were our need<br />To thrill and faint and sweetly bleed?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Then seek not, sweet, the "If" and "Why"<br />I love you now until I die.<br />For I must love because I live<br />And life in me is what you give.Sammihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12209358821312026027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2789598784181223633.post-55204752802426097802008-06-30T09:22:00.000-07:002008-12-08T22:15:22.790-08:00A Red, Red Rose<span style="color:#3333ff;"><em>by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796)</em><br /></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhlyeqarbTSMUOBZGPOyiVDUO77eRfauzyBFcvQZo8y_-nusjgFSH9I10ohtHHTXxArJ59vN-xPkNbxi7APohWBJq6aP0fybQX8E6cnW5ECc-iJ2moH9zXSKqSYOR9yWGljUeWeAacNi_k/s1600-h/200px-Robert_burns.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217711732934597314" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhlyeqarbTSMUOBZGPOyiVDUO77eRfauzyBFcvQZo8y_-nusjgFSH9I10ohtHHTXxArJ59vN-xPkNbxi7APohWBJq6aP0fybQX8E6cnW5ECc-iJ2moH9zXSKqSYOR9yWGljUeWeAacNi_k/s320/200px-Robert_burns.jpg" border="0" /></a>O my luve's like a red, red rose.<br />That's newly sprung in June;<br />O my luve's like a melodie<br />That's sweetly play'd in tune.<br /><br />As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,<br />So deep in luve am I;<br />And I will love thee still, my Dear,<br />Till a'the seas gang dry.<br /><br /><br />Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear,<br />And the rocks melt wi' the sun:<br />I will luve thee still, my Dear,<br />While the sands o'life shall run.<br /><br />And fare thee weel my only Luve!<br />And fare thee weel a while!<br />And I will come again, my Luve,<br />Tho' it were ten thousand mile!<br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217711996291951794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMv89MDafzMb2JMM5tKA3D23kbBQqPghJ2S6EnFXVccw81SwDfwLRWNqW9DOpY3PCOuaxEplpEZSshQZW_Cvq-fUkeVvHsh8t5gNp0_8WmA9M6cO59_GwHMDguXYSJwaMT_liGm8gzjNb_/s400/red_rose2.jpg" border="0" />Sammihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12209358821312026027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2789598784181223633.post-16848130008173016782008-06-27T08:23:00.000-07:002008-12-08T22:15:23.359-08:00i carry your heart<em><span style="color:#3333ff;">by E.E. Cummings (1894 - 1962) </span></em><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Ii-P90dyn7E_fCvmv0YKqpmurxQyskyXvT5H_c0weMFMTI0lBG5G3AejpphABz_3Szv0oFxNINRuEHmal8SOLNN8VduyaW2dzZGkfLlahsK9-pRfWcLXjnXff-dg71IEGRobDPSUTcUL/s1600-h/225px-E._E._Cummings_NYWTS.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216583675215958738" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Ii-P90dyn7E_fCvmv0YKqpmurxQyskyXvT5H_c0weMFMTI0lBG5G3AejpphABz_3Szv0oFxNINRuEHmal8SOLNN8VduyaW2dzZGkfLlahsK9-pRfWcLXjnXff-dg71IEGRobDPSUTcUL/s200/225px-E._E._Cummings_NYWTS.jpg" border="0" /></a>i carry your heart with me (i carry it in<br />my heart)i am never without it (anywhere<br />i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done<br />by only me is your doing,my darling)<br /><br />i fear<br />no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet) i want<br />no world (for beautiful you are my world,my true)<br />and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant<br />and whatever a sun will always sing is you<br /><br /><br />here is the deepest secret nobody knows<br />(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud<br />and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows<br />higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)<br />and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart<br /><br />i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)<br /><br /><div></div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216583901252201602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3uBdCuxbUrLYmLVekh40b37VigNhcFo2NsqMg3-Dfu4cdWHKezvOKC5jEePSy29f5wbfhmh762ZqRISgJKlPYnhCih60N2k3dlMqvMfOvvwSJeMeIWj1Yd82LGqwXprPcPgO6-0mcNQRF/s200/il_fullxfull.6452318.jpg" border="0" />Sammihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12209358821312026027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2789598784181223633.post-29123535994441876152008-06-25T02:08:00.000-07:002008-12-08T22:15:23.606-08:00Love And Life<div><div><em><span style="color:#3333ff;">by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (1647 - 1680)<br /></span></em><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkx2AfdjzLtmIPUVhnzHBm96oWaVofncYwbJq4BdR8mgmKf7jEHNLuzLoTcL3_MqmvqAPdNIdeUauHyui-K_3RBul-Ebl_RGJDglnm9-ZQBoxZoE7lAsTXi81ZXcdOBq-XyNKSK2geqJC8/s1600-h/225px-John_Wilmot2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215743971731189618" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkx2AfdjzLtmIPUVhnzHBm96oWaVofncYwbJq4BdR8mgmKf7jEHNLuzLoTcL3_MqmvqAPdNIdeUauHyui-K_3RBul-Ebl_RGJDglnm9-ZQBoxZoE7lAsTXi81ZXcdOBq-XyNKSK2geqJC8/s320/225px-John_Wilmot2.jpg" border="0" /></a>All my past life is mine no more;<br />...The flying hours are gone,<br />Like transitory dreams given o'er,<br />Whose images are kept in store<br />...By memory alone.<br />The time that is to come is not;<br />...How can it then be mine?<br />The present moment's all my lot;<br />And that, as fast as it is got,<br />...Phyllis, is only thine.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Then talk not of inconstancy,<br />...False hearts, and broken vows;<br />If I by miracle can be<br />This live-long minute true to thee,<br />...'Tis all that Heaven allows.<br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215744231957063058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx3I3Aorz_xLC89fP4aG6mMAFy5L6Ioa-yt-FqOhyh4r0_a9OCIVc3o92VFE3Lp3viQbNRmRZwz3EWvwenWS13WPb-h5PBJqvKnah1aHiFuvPq_Lo3qAmipiA1pBfyFnPaOBL-oKgahLbz/s320/x-ray-kiss.jpg" border="0" /></div>Sammihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12209358821312026027noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2789598784181223633.post-69545803651654558282008-06-24T08:43:00.001-07:002008-12-08T22:15:23.918-08:00The Passionate Shepherd to His Love<span style="color:#3333ff;"><em>by Christopher Marlowe (1564 - 1593)<br /></em></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguXeKuXoWC5YBxJ7M_8H87iWM1EfkDCBkcZfUZ__BrIBHVVo4O4DoeHY3JIchDMnCSh5ICn9P2LVk18Fb7T6G91FJ8jWBCayuP3LZVTAFFk9xWNJA_4864g2Ms8RbOV1KmzMxRImPWJatj/s1600-h/Christopher_Marlowe.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215475368999522546" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguXeKuXoWC5YBxJ7M_8H87iWM1EfkDCBkcZfUZ__BrIBHVVo4O4DoeHY3JIchDMnCSh5ICn9P2LVk18Fb7T6G91FJ8jWBCayuP3LZVTAFFk9xWNJA_4864g2Ms8RbOV1KmzMxRImPWJatj/s320/Christopher_Marlowe.jpg" border="0" /></a>Come live with me and be<br />my Love,<br />And we will all the pleasures<br />prove<br />That hills and valleys, dales and<br />fields,<br />Or woods or steepy mountain<br />yields.<br /><br />And we will sit upon the rocks,<br />And see the shepherds feed<br />their flocks<br />By shallow rivers, to whose falls<br />Melodious birds sing madrigals.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />And I will make beds of roses<br />And a thousand fragrant posies;<br />A cap of flowers, and a kirtle<br />Embroidered all with of myrtle;<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjixsOC0V-ivy9zvT_kQydF986Fvj2DN5jqxNW-6taDiCOayuijM6wOHueiVMfn2LXSy_WeB1BqCYb4XS981QGmmVfHeHuyVdqug86-UA4fywkywdfrBEW3j1WeTb5P4NbkvS8vY5yYbIbu/s1600-h/200px-Marlowe_theatre1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215475574847690210" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjixsOC0V-ivy9zvT_kQydF986Fvj2DN5jqxNW-6taDiCOayuijM6wOHueiVMfn2LXSy_WeB1BqCYb4XS981QGmmVfHeHuyVdqug86-UA4fywkywdfrBEW3j1WeTb5P4NbkvS8vY5yYbIbu/s320/200px-Marlowe_theatre1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />A gown made of the finest wool<br />Which from our pretty lambs we pull;<br />Fair-lined slippers for the cold,<br />With buckles of the purest gold;<br /><br />A belt of straw and ivy buds<br />With coral clasps and amber studs-<br />And if these pleasures may move,<br />Come live with me and by my Love.<br /><br />The shepherd swains shall dance and sing<br />For delight each May morning-<br />If these delights mind may move,<br />Then live with me and be my Love.Sammihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12209358821312026027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2789598784181223633.post-47157825429141913892008-06-23T05:54:00.000-07:002008-12-08T22:15:24.243-08:00To My Dear and Loving Husband<span style="color:#3333ff;"><em>Anne Bradstreet (1612 - 1672)<br /></em></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisMsa3u75DAhh_Nt5dK3cQlC4_80Kv6A7YwKv3ytOqMDCnXa1VvO7r5DN1SWBPY6F9jTLaEPWyex8_Hm1mb4ppUNuLaMkMxQZ1PkVtpu-Bvm7iR7d5S1ugqOs4-UwaixBuG9q_ZwBriDJw/s1600-h/anne-bradstreet.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215061829836845202" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisMsa3u75DAhh_Nt5dK3cQlC4_80Kv6A7YwKv3ytOqMDCnXa1VvO7r5DN1SWBPY6F9jTLaEPWyex8_Hm1mb4ppUNuLaMkMxQZ1PkVtpu-Bvm7iR7d5S1ugqOs4-UwaixBuG9q_ZwBriDJw/s320/anne-bradstreet.jpg" border="0" /></a>If ever two were one, then surely we.<br />If ever man were lov’d by wife, then thee.<br />If ever wife was happy in a man,<br />Compare with me, ye women, if you can.<br />I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold<br />Or all the riches that the East doth hold.<br /><div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,<br />Nor ought but love from thee give recompetence.<br />Thy love is such I can no way repay.<br />The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.<br />Then while we live, in love let’s so persever<br />That when we live no more, we may live ever.<br /><br /></div><div></div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215061974417525122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0iFzB379LuI53XnjTmBxHA_AknLfNtwg4RJ4r8pN_lJzlM3gcAiVNznEWYPsNGVuz6jKy4sTgsGmW2TQHpWgMxjnog0vYRpy5e4VrztcAm3RvkVompyjY67bn96R6wR3ej8FEdjgPcRW6/s320/wedding+rings.bmp" border="0" /></div><br /><p></p>Sammihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12209358821312026027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2789598784181223633.post-33027482636949954532008-06-22T11:20:00.000-07:002008-12-08T22:15:24.302-08:00When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be<div><em><span style="color:#3333ff;">by John Keats (1795 - 1821)</span></em><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2vgDCZ_0oUecLj-bBGKRCCbCFKwO504rGI8gVQl2mIKfh5dBhgk052PeCyqrMw0mVFAqnKjuxMrz4apuIvYuljQLSeSBwpKhUmgHuMxE9dcbo61SixPe0OfJr9Edr5NuGW-Ldu24Xwh0C/s1600-h/200px-John_Keats.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214773300905643666" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2vgDCZ_0oUecLj-bBGKRCCbCFKwO504rGI8gVQl2mIKfh5dBhgk052PeCyqrMw0mVFAqnKjuxMrz4apuIvYuljQLSeSBwpKhUmgHuMxE9dcbo61SixPe0OfJr9Edr5NuGW-Ldu24Xwh0C/s320/200px-John_Keats.jpg" border="0" /></a>When I have fears that I may cease to be<br />Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,<br />Before high-piled books, in charactery,<br />Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;<br />When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,<br />Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,<br />And think that I may never live to trace<br />Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;<br /></div><br /><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,<br />That I shall never look upon thee more,<br />Never have relish in the faery power<br />Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore<br />Of the wide world I stand alone, and think<br />Till love and fame to nothingness do sink. </div><br /><div></div><div> </div>Sammihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12209358821312026027noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2789598784181223633.post-77879163893809324392008-06-21T07:38:00.000-07:002008-12-08T22:15:24.649-08:00She Walks In Beauty<em><span style="color:#3333ff;">By George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788 - 1824)<br /></span></em><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJBNYR5PQ2GqBWBJjQ5dX8hwoFQwhdXtDwMKlZ5bT022d55sUD4hAMeLRAwZjZDfwRfZfi-5COeWKPqMvUgUkst7buQXplNHSof2gliN2jTCxmtOooKb0T11KryKqCJjfrhFMdZW9rdl7k/s1600-h/200px-George_Gordon_Byron2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214345036988882162" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJBNYR5PQ2GqBWBJjQ5dX8hwoFQwhdXtDwMKlZ5bT022d55sUD4hAMeLRAwZjZDfwRfZfi-5COeWKPqMvUgUkst7buQXplNHSof2gliN2jTCxmtOooKb0T11KryKqCJjfrhFMdZW9rdl7k/s320/200px-George_Gordon_Byron2.jpg" border="0" /></a>She walks in beauty, like the night<br />Of cloudless climes and starry skies;<br />And all that's best of dark and bright<br />Meet in her aspect and her eyes:<br />Thus mellow'd to that tender light<br />Which heaven to gaudy day denies.<br /><br />One shade the more, one ray the less,<br />Had half impair'd the nameless grace<br />Which waves in every raven tress,<br />Or softly lightens o'er her face;<br />Where thoughts serenely sweet express<br />How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,<br />So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,<br />The smiles that win, the tints that glow,<br />But tell of days in goodness spent,<br />A mind at peace with all below,<br />A heart whose love is innocent!<br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214345153932911986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2fVygLEWJRBW7lH1JOr5vcthOkQ3ecvHj387sw5p4_I3IC6rFZDAB2Qu8eiKKCAYEgMTleuIKTuPp4WGyVq8r5_MpO33QE0K7Km-7blp8-88hT4PeGZcBja4R43fjGuCrID_pev-Sh77c/s400/heart.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><p></p>Sammihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12209358821312026027noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2789598784181223633.post-28640657552679675432008-06-20T10:56:00.000-07:002008-12-08T22:15:24.863-08:00Life in a Love<em><span style="color:#3366ff;">by Robert Browning (1812-1889)<br /></span></em><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5t9p8Ihwc8Eh7iMxwREYxfWfIrofD4Qn4LnhcVZX68YY68GD_neV3oHC_2Gur1jWPyZsEwiFsdkh5ytfKRhV4Ro0TAi9LxYbqZdnOhANSAnJgZJvNowjbRc-MB8FQFS_iKy7faA-c_IhR/s1600-h/Robert_Browning.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214025115830231090" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5t9p8Ihwc8Eh7iMxwREYxfWfIrofD4Qn4LnhcVZX68YY68GD_neV3oHC_2Gur1jWPyZsEwiFsdkh5ytfKRhV4Ro0TAi9LxYbqZdnOhANSAnJgZJvNowjbRc-MB8FQFS_iKy7faA-c_IhR/s320/Robert_Browning.jpg" border="0" /></a>Escape me?<br />Never—<br />Beloved!<br />While I am I, and you are you,<br />So long as the world contains us both,<br />Me the loving and you the loth,<br />While the one eludes, must the other pursue.<br />My life is a fault at last, I fear—<br />It seems too much like a fate, indeed!<br />Though I do my best I shall scarce succeed—<br />But what if I fail of my purpose here?<br /><br /><br /><br />It is but to keep the nerves at strain,<br />To dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall,<br />And baffled, get up to begin again,—<br />So the chase takes up one's life, that's all.<br />While, look but once from your farthest bound,<br />At me so deep in the dust and dark,<br />No sooner the old hope drops to ground<br />Than a new one, straight to the selfsame mark,<br />I shape me—<br />Ever<br />Removed!<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214025538725901490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIuvHiZ5ftplBTpMTeiuF48lE18wmMuoI4U-1fPPfQHqLzc2-xbJ8-Di5TnKjnnTT2L-EvX0oObvRJBMYdv5PHkgZ1ndqz1U-h_KZ_GyGznG7JwhKVviXpQ_kicu5Z6s3UhULSoFDEsRgr/s200/1041811244_de828aaa68_o.jpg" border="0" />Sammihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12209358821312026027noreply@blogger.com0