Baltic Amber
Title: Rural CountrysideArtist: Chris PalmerBaltic Amber Amber is ancient tree resin that flowed out of a combination of coniferous trees in what today is geographically called the Baltic regions. What we know today as amber formed 40-60 million years ago as the multi-colored substance (it was white, clear, yellow, orange, and has over 250 known hues in various forms) seeped from pine bearing trees that might have been even larger than the Redwoods found in northern California. As the, then liquid substance, trickled slowly down the bark it was deposited in the soil at the base of the trees. Over the years it was covered, while still in its gummy form, until there was enough pressure exuded on it that it could now harden. Unlike fossilized wood it does not hold properties of minerals, but nature's version of million year fiberglass. Because it was compressed by sediment, experienced severe climactic changes (like the great ice age), and was in some instances submerged by salt water it oxidized over millions and millions of years. However, this oxidization was so slow that the chemical properties that made it sticky left the material, shrunk it, but without causing cracking. As it oxidized it hardened due to the polymerization (the rearranging of molecules) of the resin under the conditions that it was found
haqiqat--the reality
Title: The Deer Park Artist: Carl Frederic Aagaard
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
must khwab
must khwab
Title: Aspens and Mountain
stone flower
Title: Autumn Glade Artist: Robert Wood
Pavel Bazhov's collection of tales includes, "The Tale of the Stone Flower." In it a man, Danilo, embarks on an artistic quest to find the secrets in carving the perfect stone flower. Katya, his wife who he leaves behind, also embarks on a quest to find her husband. Many think he is dead, but in her heart she knows that her feelings will guide her to him.Danilo's quest took him through lands many traveled days and night away from home to the Copper Mountain. In it lives an entity in the form of a woman called the Mistress of Copper Mountain. Danilo meets this mysterious and beautiful being who shows him her collection of stone flowers. As he marvels at them she tells him that she can teach him this art and as he agrees his mind is swept away. From this point forward his home is this mountain cave and all earthly influences are of no consequence anymore. He completely forgets about his wife, which is not his fault because he was under the magical influence of the mountain's mistress.Then it was up to Katya to bring her husband back. Although it was one of the best things that could have happened to the young craftsman, it was also time for him to go. His skill had exceeded all the skill of all the other master sculptors in the world combined. When Katya found him she had to convince the mistress to let him go, and when she expressed that it was true love that got her to the mountain the mistress let Danilo out of his trance
Title: Aspens and Mountain
stone flower
Title: Autumn Glade Artist: Robert Wood
Pavel Bazhov's collection of tales includes, "The Tale of the Stone Flower." In it a man, Danilo, embarks on an artistic quest to find the secrets in carving the perfect stone flower. Katya, his wife who he leaves behind, also embarks on a quest to find her husband. Many think he is dead, but in her heart she knows that her feelings will guide her to him.Danilo's quest took him through lands many traveled days and night away from home to the Copper Mountain. In it lives an entity in the form of a woman called the Mistress of Copper Mountain. Danilo meets this mysterious and beautiful being who shows him her collection of stone flowers. As he marvels at them she tells him that she can teach him this art and as he agrees his mind is swept away. From this point forward his home is this mountain cave and all earthly influences are of no consequence anymore. He completely forgets about his wife, which is not his fault because he was under the magical influence of the mountain's mistress.Then it was up to Katya to bring her husband back. Although it was one of the best things that could have happened to the young craftsman, it was also time for him to go. His skill had exceeded all the skill of all the other master sculptors in the world combined. When Katya found him she had to convince the mistress to let him go, and when she expressed that it was true love that got her to the mountain the mistress let Danilo out of his trance
Saturday, March 29, 2008
subah--the morning
subah--the morning
Title: Snow Covered Morning Artist: Egidio Antonaccio
2008-03-30 03:34:10 GMTComments: 0 Permanent Link
Excerpt from The Cossacks--Eroskha the Old Cossack
Excerpt from The Cossacks--Eroskha the Old Cossack
Title: Springtime at Tillingbourne, Surrey Artist: Harold S. Palmer Eroshka, The Old CossackIt was quite true that Olenin had been walking about the yard when Maryanka entered the gate, and had heard her say, "That devil, our lodger, is walking about." He had spent that evening with Daddy Eroshka in the porch of his new lodging. He had had a table, a samovar, wine, and a candle brought out, and over a cup of tea and a cigar he listened to the tales the old man told seated on the threshold at his feet. Though the air was still, the candle dripped and flickered: now lighting up the post of the porch, now the table and crockery, now the dropped white head of the old man. Moths circled round the flame and, shedding the dust of their wings, fluttered on the table and in the glasses, flew into the candle flame, and disappeared in the black space beyond. Olenin and Eroshka had emptied five bottles of chikhir. Eroshka filled the glasses every time, offering one to Olenin, drinking his health, and talking untiringly. He told of Cossack life in the old days of his father, "The Broad," who alone had carried oh his back a boar's carcass weighing three hundred weight, and drank two pails of chikhir at one sitting. He told of his own days and his chum Girchik, with whom during the plague he used to smuggle felt croaks across the Terek. He told how one morning he had killed two deer, and about his "little soul" who used to run to him at the cordon at night. He told all this so eloquently and picturesquely that Olenin did not notice how time passed.
Title: Snow Covered Morning Artist: Egidio Antonaccio
2008-03-30 03:34:10 GMTComments: 0 Permanent Link
Excerpt from The Cossacks--Eroskha the Old Cossack
Excerpt from The Cossacks--Eroskha the Old Cossack
Title: Springtime at Tillingbourne, Surrey Artist: Harold S. Palmer Eroshka, The Old CossackIt was quite true that Olenin had been walking about the yard when Maryanka entered the gate, and had heard her say, "That devil, our lodger, is walking about." He had spent that evening with Daddy Eroshka in the porch of his new lodging. He had had a table, a samovar, wine, and a candle brought out, and over a cup of tea and a cigar he listened to the tales the old man told seated on the threshold at his feet. Though the air was still, the candle dripped and flickered: now lighting up the post of the porch, now the table and crockery, now the dropped white head of the old man. Moths circled round the flame and, shedding the dust of their wings, fluttered on the table and in the glasses, flew into the candle flame, and disappeared in the black space beyond. Olenin and Eroshka had emptied five bottles of chikhir. Eroshka filled the glasses every time, offering one to Olenin, drinking his health, and talking untiringly. He told of Cossack life in the old days of his father, "The Broad," who alone had carried oh his back a boar's carcass weighing three hundred weight, and drank two pails of chikhir at one sitting. He told of his own days and his chum Girchik, with whom during the plague he used to smuggle felt croaks across the Terek. He told how one morning he had killed two deer, and about his "little soul" who used to run to him at the cordon at night. He told all this so eloquently and picturesquely that Olenin did not notice how time passed.
Friday, March 28, 2008
intezar--the wait
intezar--the wait
Title: Autumn Trail Artist: Tan Chun
Ermak Timofeevich and the Conquest of Siberia
Artist: Hulsey The joining of Siberia is the most important, happiest and greatest event in the history of Russia, after the overthrow of the Tatar yoke and the reforms of Peter the Great." (V.G. Rasputin) Since olden times, the Russian people discovered new lands and rendered them habitable. It's useful to remember that ten centuries ago the modern center of Russia was a sparsely populated remote area of the ancient Russian state and only in the sixteenth century the Russian people started settling in the territory of the modern Volga Region. More than four centuries ago the development of Siberian lands began and opened one of the most interesting and thrilling pages in the history of Russian colonization. Ermak Timofeevich and the Conquest of Siberia
Title: Autumn Trail Artist: Tan Chun
Ermak Timofeevich and the Conquest of Siberia
Artist: Hulsey The joining of Siberia is the most important, happiest and greatest event in the history of Russia, after the overthrow of the Tatar yoke and the reforms of Peter the Great." (V.G. Rasputin) Since olden times, the Russian people discovered new lands and rendered them habitable. It's useful to remember that ten centuries ago the modern center of Russia was a sparsely populated remote area of the ancient Russian state and only in the sixteenth century the Russian people started settling in the territory of the modern Volga Region. More than four centuries ago the development of Siberian lands began and opened one of the most interesting and thrilling pages in the history of Russian colonization. Ermak Timofeevich and the Conquest of Siberia
Thursday, March 27, 2008
sonnet
My love is as a fever, longing stillFor that which longer nurseth the disease,Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,The uncertain sickly appetite to please.My reason, the physician to my love,Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,Hath left me, and I desperate now approveDesire is death, which physic did except.Past cure I am, now reason is past care,And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,At random from the truth vainly express'd;For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
sonnet
Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not,When I against myself with thee partake?Do I not think on thee, when I forgotAm of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake?Who hateth thee that I do call my friend?On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon?Nay, if thou lour'st on me, do I not spendRevenge upon myself with present moan?What merit do I in myself respect,That is so proud thy service to despise,When all my best doth worship thy defect,Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind;Those that can see thou lovest, and I am blind.
atish gham
atish gham
Title: Tuscan Farm House Artist: Andino
2008-03-28 02:32:29 GMTComments: 0 Permanent Link
ivan shishkin
Title: The Forest Artist: Gustav Klimt Ivan Shishkin (Russian Landscape Artist) Ivan Shishkin is to art as Robert Frost is to poetry. Both were great lovers of nature and it's processes. They captured nature in their respective mediums like no others before them or after. In 1832 Ivan Shishkin was born into a very affluent merchant family. He grew up in the town of Elaburg where he was able to soak in the dense forests of the Ural mountain range and the tremendous waterways like the Volga. This had a lasting effect on him that he conveyed through drawing and painting in his younger years. When he turned 21 in 1853 he started painting seriously and was accepted into Moscow's School of Painting and Sculpture. Then in 1856 he transferred to St. Petersburg's Academy of Arts. In these two schools he studied under the tutelage of Rabus, Mokritsky, and Vorobyov.
Title: Tuscan Farm House Artist: Andino
2008-03-28 02:32:29 GMTComments: 0 Permanent Link
ivan shishkin
Title: The Forest Artist: Gustav Klimt Ivan Shishkin (Russian Landscape Artist) Ivan Shishkin is to art as Robert Frost is to poetry. Both were great lovers of nature and it's processes. They captured nature in their respective mediums like no others before them or after. In 1832 Ivan Shishkin was born into a very affluent merchant family. He grew up in the town of Elaburg where he was able to soak in the dense forests of the Ural mountain range and the tremendous waterways like the Volga. This had a lasting effect on him that he conveyed through drawing and painting in his younger years. When he turned 21 in 1853 he started painting seriously and was accepted into Moscow's School of Painting and Sculpture. Then in 1856 he transferred to St. Petersburg's Academy of Arts. In these two schools he studied under the tutelage of Rabus, Mokritsky, and Vorobyov.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
chehre ka rang
One never notices what has been done; one can only see what remains to be done. - Marie Curie
dil khun -chehre pe rang
Title: Red Poppy Hill Artist: Roberto Lombardi chehre pe rang
2008-03-27 02:29:07 GMTComments: 0 Permanent Link
tales of the malachite casket
This is a story from the mysterious Ural Mountains. It comes from a time when the spirits of forests and mountains still moved among humans, watching them, searching for those who could be taught their secrets before such ancient wisdom was lost forever. One such spirit was especially revered for her magic and great beauty. Some people knew her as an ancient mountain goddess; others called her the Mistress of the Copper Mountain, or the Malachite Lady, a name taken from the lovely green stone so often found in areas rich in copper...Tales of the Malachite Casket--Hostess of the Copper Mountain Title: Twilit Wooded River in the Snow Artist: Anders Andersen-Lundby
dil khun -chehre pe rang
Title: Red Poppy Hill Artist: Roberto Lombardi chehre pe rang
2008-03-27 02:29:07 GMTComments: 0 Permanent Link
tales of the malachite casket
This is a story from the mysterious Ural Mountains. It comes from a time when the spirits of forests and mountains still moved among humans, watching them, searching for those who could be taught their secrets before such ancient wisdom was lost forever. One such spirit was especially revered for her magic and great beauty. Some people knew her as an ancient mountain goddess; others called her the Mistress of the Copper Mountain, or the Malachite Lady, a name taken from the lovely green stone so often found in areas rich in copper...Tales of the Malachite Casket--Hostess of the Copper Mountain Title: Twilit Wooded River in the Snow Artist: Anders Andersen-Lundby
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
nakamiyon se kaam
nakamiyon se kaam
2008-03-26 02:27:54 GMTComments: 0 Permanent Link
past dreams
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 denoteLove'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 vex'd 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.Title: Past DreamsArtist: David Winston
2008-03-26 02:24:31 GMTComments: 0 Permanent Link
suzdal
The name of the settlement Suzdal first appears in Russian history in the year 1024. Suzdal was a farming community along a major trade route. In its history Suzdal has survived destruction by the Tatars and Poles, and lived through the devastation of fires and plagues. Today Suzdal stands as a representation of centuries of architecture and Russian history.
2008-03-26 02:27:54 GMTComments: 0 Permanent Link
past dreams
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 denoteLove'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 vex'd 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.Title: Past DreamsArtist: David Winston
2008-03-26 02:24:31 GMTComments: 0 Permanent Link
suzdal
The name of the settlement Suzdal first appears in Russian history in the year 1024. Suzdal was a farming community along a major trade route. In its history Suzdal has survived destruction by the Tatars and Poles, and lived through the devastation of fires and plagues. Today Suzdal stands as a representation of centuries of architecture and Russian history.
Monday, March 24, 2008
rukhsar pari ka
Title:
Spring in Bloom IArtist: Hans Ressdorf
http://loveurdu.com/urdu-poetry/poetry.asp?PID=197&HID=1714
Spring in Bloom IArtist: Hans Ressdorf
http://loveurdu.com/urdu-poetry/poetry.asp?PID=197&HID=1714
magic afternoon
As legend has it, Prince Yaroslav the wise of Rostov planned and executed an attack on the Finn-Urig tribe that occupied a bend of the Volga River. This area was a very prosperous trade route and the Finn-Urigs would consistently attack passing merchant ships from the towering banks. Merchants, tired of the Finn-Urig attacks on their ships, begged Prince Yaroslav to secure an agreement for safe passage through this area of the river.
The Legend of Yaroslavl
http://www.sunbirds.com/lacquer/readings/1049
Title:
Magic AfternoonArtist: Tadashi Asoma
The Legend of Yaroslavl
http://www.sunbirds.com/lacquer/readings/1049
Title:
Magic AfternoonArtist: Tadashi Asoma
past dreams
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 denoteLove'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 vex'd 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.Title: Past DreamsArtist: David Winston
natalia
Natalia Nikolaevna was the youngest of the three Goncharova sisters. She was charming, beautiful, and at the tender age of 16 was introduced to Moscow's aristocratic society. Young Natalia immediately received the attention and recognition of being one of the most beautiful women in Moscow.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
kolobok--conman
Kolobok
Once upon a time an old man and woman lived in a village. One day the old man said to the old woman: "Grandmother, go scrape in the flour-tin and sweep in the corn bin, perhaps you will get enough flour to make a kolobok." The old woman went off and scraped round the flour-tin and swept the bottom of the corn-bin and she got, a couple of handfulls of flour. She mixed the floor with sour cream and shaped it into a kolobok - a kind of little round bun or cake. Then she fried it in butter and left it on the window-sill to cool. The kolobok lay there for a good while then suddenly it got up and rolled. It rolled from the sill to the bench, from the bench to the floor, across the floor to the door. It hopped over the threshold and into the hall. From the hall it rolled onto the porch, from the porch into the garden and from the garden out through the gate.
Title:
Springtime, 1984Artist: Arnold Alaniz
Tags: Edit Tags
Sunday March 23, 2008 - 07:28pm (NFT) Edit Delete Permanent Link 0 Comments
description
The method for a financial scam is extremely precise. Although script variations are infinite, the basic plot never changes. The best description is found in The Big Con: The Story of the Confidence Man by David W. Maurer (page 4):
In the big con games the steps are these:
Locating and investigating a well-to do mark
Gaining your confidence
Steering you to meet the insideman
Permitting the insideman to show you how you can make a large amount of money
Allowing you to make a substantial profit
Determining exactly how much you will invest
Sending you home for this amount of money
Playing you against a big store* and fleecing you
Getting you out of the way as quietly as possible
Forestalling action by the law
Title:
Autumn LandscapeArtist: Jervis Mcentee
Once upon a time an old man and woman lived in a village. One day the old man said to the old woman: "Grandmother, go scrape in the flour-tin and sweep in the corn bin, perhaps you will get enough flour to make a kolobok." The old woman went off and scraped round the flour-tin and swept the bottom of the corn-bin and she got, a couple of handfulls of flour. She mixed the floor with sour cream and shaped it into a kolobok - a kind of little round bun or cake. Then she fried it in butter and left it on the window-sill to cool. The kolobok lay there for a good while then suddenly it got up and rolled. It rolled from the sill to the bench, from the bench to the floor, across the floor to the door. It hopped over the threshold and into the hall. From the hall it rolled onto the porch, from the porch into the garden and from the garden out through the gate.
Title:
Springtime, 1984Artist: Arnold Alaniz
Tags: Edit Tags
Sunday March 23, 2008 - 07:28pm (NFT) Edit Delete Permanent Link 0 Comments
description
The method for a financial scam is extremely precise. Although script variations are infinite, the basic plot never changes. The best description is found in The Big Con: The Story of the Confidence Man by David W. Maurer (page 4):
In the big con games the steps are these:
Locating and investigating a well-to do mark
Gaining your confidence
Steering you to meet the insideman
Permitting the insideman to show you how you can make a large amount of money
Allowing you to make a substantial profit
Determining exactly how much you will invest
Sending you home for this amount of money
Playing you against a big store* and fleecing you
Getting you out of the way as quietly as possible
Forestalling action by the law
Title:
Autumn LandscapeArtist: Jervis Mcentee
Friday, March 21, 2008
the oak
humsaye
Title:
Moss-Covered Plantation Trees, Charleston, South Carolina, USAArtist: Adam Jones
2008-03-22 02:36:39 GMTComments: 0 Permanent Link
an oak tree
An oak tree greening by the ocean;A golden chain about it wound:Whereon a learned cat, in motionBoth day and night, will walk around;On walking left, he tells a lay.A magic place: there wends his wayThe woodsprite, there's a mermaid sittingIn branches, there on trails past knowingAre tracks of beast you never met;On chicken feet a hut is setWith neither door nor window showing.There wood and dale with wonders teem;At dawn of day the breakers streamUpon the bare and barren lea,And thirty handsome armored heroesFile from the waters' shining mirrors,With them their Usher from the Sea.There glimpse a prince, and in his slave;Alot, before the people massing,Across the wood, across the wave,A warlock bears a warrior brave;See Baba-Yaga's mortar glideAll of itself, with her astride.There droops Kashey, on treasure bent;There's Russia's spirit... Russian scent!And there I stayed, and drank of mead;That oak tree greening by the shoreI sat beneath, and of his loreThe learned cat would chant and read.One tale of these I kept in mind,And tell it now to all my kind...
An Oak Tree Greening by Alexander Pushkin
Title:
Oak Trees, Boone Hall Plantation, SCArtist: Mike Mcgovern
Title:
Moss-Covered Plantation Trees, Charleston, South Carolina, USAArtist: Adam Jones
2008-03-22 02:36:39 GMTComments: 0 Permanent Link
an oak tree
An oak tree greening by the ocean;A golden chain about it wound:Whereon a learned cat, in motionBoth day and night, will walk around;On walking left, he tells a lay.A magic place: there wends his wayThe woodsprite, there's a mermaid sittingIn branches, there on trails past knowingAre tracks of beast you never met;On chicken feet a hut is setWith neither door nor window showing.There wood and dale with wonders teem;At dawn of day the breakers streamUpon the bare and barren lea,And thirty handsome armored heroesFile from the waters' shining mirrors,With them their Usher from the Sea.There glimpse a prince, and in his slave;Alot, before the people massing,Across the wood, across the wave,A warlock bears a warrior brave;See Baba-Yaga's mortar glideAll of itself, with her astride.There droops Kashey, on treasure bent;There's Russia's spirit... Russian scent!And there I stayed, and drank of mead;That oak tree greening by the shoreI sat beneath, and of his loreThe learned cat would chant and read.One tale of these I kept in mind,And tell it now to all my kind...
An Oak Tree Greening by Alexander Pushkin
Title:
Oak Trees, Boone Hall Plantation, SCArtist: Mike Mcgovern
Thursday, March 20, 2008
sonnet
Those lips that Love's own hand did makeBreathed forth the sound that said 'I hate'To me that languish'd for her sake;But when she saw my woeful state,Straight in her heart did mercy come,Chiding that tongue that ever sweetWas used in giving gentle doom,And taught it thus anew to greet:'I hate' she alter'd with an end,That follow'd it as gentle dayDoth follow night, who like a fiendFrom heaven to hell is flown away;'I hate' from hate away she threw,And saved my life, saying 'not you.'
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,[ ] these rebel powers that thee array;Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?Why so large cost, having so short a lease,Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end?Then soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,And let that pine to aggravate thy store;Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;Within be fed, without be rich no more:So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.
ghair ki taraf
Title:
LoggiaArtist: David Parks
2008-03-21 02:56:04 GMTComments: 0 Permanent Link
beauty
"Strange Fits of Passion Have I Known"
Strange fits of passion have I known:And I will dare to tell,But in the lover's ear alone,What once to me befell.When she I loved looked every dayFresh as a rose in June,I to her cottage bent my way,Beneath an evening-moon.Upon the moon I fixed my eye,All over the wide lea;With quickening pace my horse drew nighThose paths so dear to me.Poems by William Wordsworth
Title:
Beauty of Granite Pass
Artist: Linda Lee
2008-03-21 02:46:52 GMTComments: 0 Permanent Link
The Green Bogatyr
The road is long, and you will encounter many difficulties. And you do not have a good steed. Your steed will not take you far.
The Green Bogatyr http://www.sunbirds.com/lacquer/readings/1142
Title:
Autumn StreamArtist: Robert Striffolino
http://www.allposters.com/-sp/Autumn-Stream-Posters_i364878_.htm
Title:
LoggiaArtist: David Parks
2008-03-21 02:56:04 GMTComments: 0 Permanent Link
beauty
"Strange Fits of Passion Have I Known"
Strange fits of passion have I known:And I will dare to tell,But in the lover's ear alone,What once to me befell.When she I loved looked every dayFresh as a rose in June,I to her cottage bent my way,Beneath an evening-moon.Upon the moon I fixed my eye,All over the wide lea;With quickening pace my horse drew nighThose paths so dear to me.Poems by William Wordsworth
Title:
Beauty of Granite Pass
Artist: Linda Lee
2008-03-21 02:46:52 GMTComments: 0 Permanent Link
The Green Bogatyr
The road is long, and you will encounter many difficulties. And you do not have a good steed. Your steed will not take you far.
The Green Bogatyr http://www.sunbirds.com/lacquer/readings/1142
Title:
Autumn StreamArtist: Robert Striffolino
http://www.allposters.com/-sp/Autumn-Stream-Posters_i364878_.htm
land to land
There was a youth, who, as with toil and travel,Had grown quite weak and gray before his time;Nor any could the restless griefs unravel
Which burned within him, withering up his primeAnd goading him, like fiends, from land to land.
Percy Bysshe Shelley » Prince Athanase
Title:
WinterArtist: Max Weber
Which burned within him, withering up his primeAnd goading him, like fiends, from land to land.
Percy Bysshe Shelley » Prince Athanase
Title:
WinterArtist: Max Weber
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
oleg the wise
oleg the wise
Duke Oleg is one of the most famous legends and heroes of heathen Russia. He was the Duke of a small town under the Novgorod principality. He was a noble and wise ruler, so much so that the Boyars in 882 invited him to share the rulership of Kiev, the capital of the biggest and the strongest principality of Russia. By defeating the huge Byzantium army in 907 and the tribes of hasars he was able to insure Russia peace and good fortune for the Russian land.
Oleg the Wise
Title:
Maroon Bells Reflected on Maroon Lake at Sunrise, White River National Forest, Colorado, USAArtist: Adam Jones
Duke Oleg is one of the most famous legends and heroes of heathen Russia. He was the Duke of a small town under the Novgorod principality. He was a noble and wise ruler, so much so that the Boyars in 882 invited him to share the rulership of Kiev, the capital of the biggest and the strongest principality of Russia. By defeating the huge Byzantium army in 907 and the tribes of hasars he was able to insure Russia peace and good fortune for the Russian land.
Oleg the Wise
Title:
Maroon Bells Reflected on Maroon Lake at Sunrise, White River National Forest, Colorado, USAArtist: Adam Jones
red rose
"No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched."
Title:
Parisian Flowers IIArtist: Danhui Nai http://www.oscarwildecollection.com/
Title:
Parisian Flowers IIArtist: Danhui Nai http://www.oscarwildecollection.com/
bend in the road
http://loveurdu.com/urdu-poetry/poetry.asp?PID=197&HID=1709
Title:
Bend in the RoadArtist: Dan Campanelli
Title:
Bend in the RoadArtist: Dan Campanelli
Isle Of Buyan
The Isle of Buyan as manipulated by the Russian ballad-writers, becomes something like the mysterious Isle of Youth mystic island of happiness set in the middle of the ocean is a universal conception,and at first was adjectival and meant " the windy island."Title: Country QuietArtist: James Lee
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
breeze
Birches
by Robert Frost
When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy's been swinging them. But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust-- Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed So low for long, they never right themselves: You may see their trunks arching in the woods Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair Before them over their heads to dry in the sun. But I was going to say when Truth broke in With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm I should prefer to have some boy bend them As he went out and in to fetch the cows-- Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, Whose only play was what he found himself, Summer or winter, and could play alone. One by one he subdued his father's trees By riding them down over and over again Until he took the stiffness out of them, And not one but hung limp, not one was left For him to conquer. He learned all there was To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches. And so I dream of going back to be. It's when I'm weary of considerations, And life is too much like a pathless wood Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs Broken across it, and one eye is weeping From a twig's having lashed across it open. I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches
Title:
Fattoria d'UmbriaArtist: Ruth Baderian
by Robert Frost
When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to think some boy's been swinging them. But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning After a rain. They click upon themselves As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust-- Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed So low for long, they never right themselves: You may see their trunks arching in the woods Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair Before them over their heads to dry in the sun. But I was going to say when Truth broke in With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm I should prefer to have some boy bend them As he went out and in to fetch the cows-- Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, Whose only play was what he found himself, Summer or winter, and could play alone. One by one he subdued his father's trees By riding them down over and over again Until he took the stiffness out of them, And not one but hung limp, not one was left For him to conquer. He learned all there was To learn about not launching out too soon And so not carrying the tree away Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise To the top branches, climbing carefully With the same pains you use to fill a cup Up to the brim, and even above the brim. Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. So was I once myself a swinger of birches. And so I dream of going back to be. It's when I'm weary of considerations, And life is too much like a pathless wood Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs Broken across it, and one eye is weeping From a twig's having lashed across it open. I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me And half grant what I wish and snatch me away Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: I don't know where it's likely to go better. I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches
Title:
Fattoria d'UmbriaArtist: Ruth Baderian
Monday, March 17, 2008
spirit of night
Swiftly walk over the western wave,Spirit of Night!Out of the misty eastern caveWhere, all the long and lone daylight,Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,Which make thee terrible and dear, - Swift be thy flight!
Percy Bysshe Shelley » To Night
Title:
Summer MoonriseArtist: Dennis Sheehan
Percy Bysshe Shelley » To Night
Title:
Summer MoonriseArtist: Dennis Sheehan
Sunday, March 16, 2008
our faults
When my love swears that she is made of truthI do believe her, though I know she lies,That she might think me some untutor'd youth,Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,Although she knows my days are past the best,Simply I credit her false speaking tongue:On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.But wherefore says she not she is unjust?And wherefore say not I that I am old?O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,And age in love loves not to have years told:Therefore I lie with her and she with me,And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.
golden deer
secret place
The King declared a hunt for the golden antlered deer. His servants rushed into the house of the peasant who had acquired the golden antlers in exchange for hay, seized the antlers and compelled the peasant to show the secret place in the forest where the haystack was hidden. Soon the deer was caught. The King locked the deer in the cage and began to mint gold coins made from the golden antlers. He caressed the deer and fed it to its heart's content, but the deer was unhappy in captivity.
Title:
Deer Near CabinArtist: M. Caroselli
golden antlers
"You know, I hate my golden antlers--they're the reason of all my misfortunes. I can't get rid of them. It's my destiny to hide; I'm doomed to loneliness. Go your own way!"
Title:
Bookcliffs Elk IArtist: Michael Colemangolden deer
zoom
In a certain kingdom there lived a shepherd named Vasilko. He was an orphan because his father was killed by the King and his mother died from grief. Everyday Vasilko tended a herd of sheep in the green, sunlit meadows and glades. When he played his pipe, forest animals and birds gathered nearby to listen to his enchanting, wonderful tunes. One hot, sunny day, Vasilko left the herd in the meadow and went to the forest brook to quench his thirst. Suddenly he heard a strange rustling and concealed himself in bushes. A wonderful golden antlered deer with his doe came to the brook.
Title:
MooseArtist: Albert Bierstadt
And now I see with eye sereneThe very pulse of the machine;A Being breathing thoughtful breath,A Traveler between life and death;The reason firm, the temperate will,Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;A perfect Woman, nobly planned,To warm, to comfort, and command;And yet a Spirit still, and bright,With something of angelic light. William Wordsworth
The King declared a hunt for the golden antlered deer. His servants rushed into the house of the peasant who had acquired the golden antlers in exchange for hay, seized the antlers and compelled the peasant to show the secret place in the forest where the haystack was hidden. Soon the deer was caught. The King locked the deer in the cage and began to mint gold coins made from the golden antlers. He caressed the deer and fed it to its heart's content, but the deer was unhappy in captivity.
Title:
Deer Near CabinArtist: M. Caroselli
golden antlers
"You know, I hate my golden antlers--they're the reason of all my misfortunes. I can't get rid of them. It's my destiny to hide; I'm doomed to loneliness. Go your own way!"
Title:
Bookcliffs Elk IArtist: Michael Colemangolden deer
zoom
In a certain kingdom there lived a shepherd named Vasilko. He was an orphan because his father was killed by the King and his mother died from grief. Everyday Vasilko tended a herd of sheep in the green, sunlit meadows and glades. When he played his pipe, forest animals and birds gathered nearby to listen to his enchanting, wonderful tunes. One hot, sunny day, Vasilko left the herd in the meadow and went to the forest brook to quench his thirst. Suddenly he heard a strange rustling and concealed himself in bushes. A wonderful golden antlered deer with his doe came to the brook.
Title:
MooseArtist: Albert Bierstadt
And now I see with eye sereneThe very pulse of the machine;A Being breathing thoughtful breath,A Traveler between life and death;The reason firm, the temperate will,Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;A perfect Woman, nobly planned,To warm, to comfort, and command;And yet a Spirit still, and bright,With something of angelic light. William Wordsworth
Saturday, March 15, 2008
housewife
Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catchOne of her feather'd creatures broke away,Sets down her babe and makes an swift dispatchIn pursuit of the thing she would have stay,Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,Cries to catch her whose busy care is bentTo follow that which flies before her face,Not prizing her poor infant's discontent;So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee,Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind;But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind:So will I pray that thou mayst have thy 'Will,'If thou turn back, and my loud crying still.
sonnet
Two loves I have of comfort and despair,Which like two spirits do suggest me still:The better angel is a man right fair,The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill.To win me soon to hell, my female evilTempteth my better angel from my side,And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,Wooing his purity with her foul pride.And whether that my angel be turn'd fiendSuspect I may, but not directly tell;But being both from me, both to each friend,I guess one angel in another's hell:Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
a new world
a new world
The world's great age begins anew,The golden years return,The earth doth like a snake renewHer winter weeds outworn:Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam,Like wrecks of a dissolving dream.
Percy Bysshe Shelley » A New World
Title: WaldbachArtist: Max Weber
Sunday March 16, 2008 - 05:48pm (NFT) Permanent Link 0 Comments
princess frog
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, the Tsar decided that it was time for his three sons to get married. He called them together, telling them each to shoot their arrows, and whatever maiden their arrows should land by would be their bride. The eldest son drew back his bow, and shot his arrow, which hit next to a nobleman's daughter. The middle son then drew his bow, and shot his arrow, which landed by a merchant's daughter. Then came the turn of the youngest son, Ivan Tsarevich. Ivan drew back his bow and shot his arrow. But Ivan's arrow didn't find a maiden, it flew off into a swamp. To Ivan's great surprise, his arrow had landed next to a frog. His two older brothers laughed at him, and Ivan begged the Tsar not to make him marry the frog. But the Tsar understood the fate of young Ivan, and Ivan and the frog were married.Soon after his sons were married, the Tsar called them together once more. He had decided to set their wives to certain tasks to see which one could perform them the best. The first task was for them to bake a loaf of bread. Ivan went home and told his frog about baking the bread. The frog replied for him not to worry, and sent Ivan to bed. After Ivan was sleeping, the frog removed her skin and turned into Vasilisa the Beautiful. She stood in the doorway, clapped her hands, and her servants came running to her aid. When Ivan awoke the next morning the frog handed a loaf of white bread to him. After tasting the bread of all three wives, the Tsar declared that the bread of Ivan's wife was by far the best. The second task was to weave a beautiful carpet. Once again the frog sent Ivan to bed, shed her skin, summoned her servants, and wove a magnificent carpet. The Tsar once again chose the work of Ivan's wife over the others.The third task was to see which wife could dance the best at the royal ball. The frog told Ivan to arrive at the ball alone, and she would follow an hour later. And so Ivan arrived alone, and an hour later his wife, Vasilisa the Beautiful, arrived. She shamed the other wives by using her magic powers to dance and create a lake of swans.Ivan was so enchanted with her, that he destroyed her frog skin. Vasilisa screamed at him to stop, but it was to late. As soon as her skin was destroyed, Vasilisa turned into a swan and flew away
Title:
SchwaneArtist: Max Weber
The world's great age begins anew,The golden years return,The earth doth like a snake renewHer winter weeds outworn:Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam,Like wrecks of a dissolving dream.
Percy Bysshe Shelley » A New World
Title: WaldbachArtist: Max Weber
Sunday March 16, 2008 - 05:48pm (NFT) Permanent Link 0 Comments
princess frog
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, the Tsar decided that it was time for his three sons to get married. He called them together, telling them each to shoot their arrows, and whatever maiden their arrows should land by would be their bride. The eldest son drew back his bow, and shot his arrow, which hit next to a nobleman's daughter. The middle son then drew his bow, and shot his arrow, which landed by a merchant's daughter. Then came the turn of the youngest son, Ivan Tsarevich. Ivan drew back his bow and shot his arrow. But Ivan's arrow didn't find a maiden, it flew off into a swamp. To Ivan's great surprise, his arrow had landed next to a frog. His two older brothers laughed at him, and Ivan begged the Tsar not to make him marry the frog. But the Tsar understood the fate of young Ivan, and Ivan and the frog were married.Soon after his sons were married, the Tsar called them together once more. He had decided to set their wives to certain tasks to see which one could perform them the best. The first task was for them to bake a loaf of bread. Ivan went home and told his frog about baking the bread. The frog replied for him not to worry, and sent Ivan to bed. After Ivan was sleeping, the frog removed her skin and turned into Vasilisa the Beautiful. She stood in the doorway, clapped her hands, and her servants came running to her aid. When Ivan awoke the next morning the frog handed a loaf of white bread to him. After tasting the bread of all three wives, the Tsar declared that the bread of Ivan's wife was by far the best. The second task was to weave a beautiful carpet. Once again the frog sent Ivan to bed, shed her skin, summoned her servants, and wove a magnificent carpet. The Tsar once again chose the work of Ivan's wife over the others.The third task was to see which wife could dance the best at the royal ball. The frog told Ivan to arrive at the ball alone, and she would follow an hour later. And so Ivan arrived alone, and an hour later his wife, Vasilisa the Beautiful, arrived. She shamed the other wives by using her magic powers to dance and create a lake of swans.Ivan was so enchanted with her, that he destroyed her frog skin. Vasilisa screamed at him to stop, but it was to late. As soon as her skin was destroyed, Vasilisa turned into a swan and flew away
Title:
SchwaneArtist: Max Weber
Friday, March 14, 2008
paradise
My soul is an enchanted boat,Which, like a sleeping swan, doth floatUpon the silver waves of thy sweet singing;And thine doth like an angel sitBeside a helm conducting it,Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing.It seems to float ever, for ever,Upon that many-winding river,Between mountains, woods, abysses,A paradise of wildernesses!Till, like one in slumber bound,Borne to the ocean, I float down, around,Into a sea profound, of ever-spreading sound:
Percy Bysshe Shelley » Asia: From Prometheus Unbound
Title:
The Mourne Mts, County Down, Northern IrelandArtist: Kindra Clineff
Percy Bysshe Shelley » Asia: From Prometheus Unbound
Title:
The Mourne Mts, County Down, Northern IrelandArtist: Kindra Clineff
untrodden
"She Dwelt Among Untrodden Ways"
She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: William Wordsworth
Title:
Poppies of Toscano IIArtist: Art Fronckowiak
She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: William Wordsworth
Title:
Poppies of Toscano IIArtist: Art Fronckowiak
poppies
poppies
Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare, And left the flushed print in a poppy there: Like a yawn of fire from the grass it came, And the fanning wind puffed it to flapping flame. With burnt mouth red like a lion's it drank The blood of the sun as he slaughtered sank, And dipped its cup in the purpurate shine When the eastern conduits ran with wine. - Francis Thompson, The Poppy
Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare, And left the flushed print in a poppy there: Like a yawn of fire from the grass it came, And the fanning wind puffed it to flapping flame. With burnt mouth red like a lion's it drank The blood of the sun as he slaughtered sank, And dipped its cup in the purpurate shine When the eastern conduits ran with wine. - Francis Thompson, The Poppy
crystal lake
Crystal Lake
They've been called by too many names to count. Forms of labor that are usual as well as unjust. Many go on in their working ways until their final moments. But, there are others. Servants that go about the daily refusing to give in. Working harder than life should ever demand. The tide does turn. Roles are reversed. All good things must greet someone at the door of opportunity--they might as well be the most deserving.Many years ago there was a wealthy landowner who had many servants. There was little or no conversation, only orders. One of the servants was Ivan. A skilled young man, Ivan probably could have taken over for the landowner all by himself, but class and resilience got in the way. For Ivan was a hunter. A hunter that had one game on his agenda. The game of chance.One day, the landowner demanded that Ivan venture deeper than ever before into the darkest reaches of the forest. The landowner wanted to be impressed with the daily catch. Ivan set out just before sunrise, knowing that he could not ever impress such a greed ridden figure.After a few hours of walking in the pre-dawn haze of the coming morn, Ivan thought he heard what he believed to be water rippling on the other side of a large rock formation. Just as the sun cut through the trees Ivan saw the most gorgeous sight he had ever seen. A lake. A lake so clear and so serene that it appeared to be made out of glass. He called it "Crystal Lake."
They've been called by too many names to count. Forms of labor that are usual as well as unjust. Many go on in their working ways until their final moments. But, there are others. Servants that go about the daily refusing to give in. Working harder than life should ever demand. The tide does turn. Roles are reversed. All good things must greet someone at the door of opportunity--they might as well be the most deserving.Many years ago there was a wealthy landowner who had many servants. There was little or no conversation, only orders. One of the servants was Ivan. A skilled young man, Ivan probably could have taken over for the landowner all by himself, but class and resilience got in the way. For Ivan was a hunter. A hunter that had one game on his agenda. The game of chance.One day, the landowner demanded that Ivan venture deeper than ever before into the darkest reaches of the forest. The landowner wanted to be impressed with the daily catch. Ivan set out just before sunrise, knowing that he could not ever impress such a greed ridden figure.After a few hours of walking in the pre-dawn haze of the coming morn, Ivan thought he heard what he believed to be water rippling on the other side of a large rock formation. Just as the sun cut through the trees Ivan saw the most gorgeous sight he had ever seen. A lake. A lake so clear and so serene that it appeared to be made out of glass. He called it "Crystal Lake."
Thursday, March 13, 2008
fire bird
fire bird
In a far away land, a thief was stealing golden apples, which had the power of bestowing youth and beauty, from Tsar Berendey`s magic Garden. The guards of the Tsar were unable to stop this, for as hard as they tried, the thief always got away. None of the guards had even seen this thief. The Tsar was frustrated, for he needed the golden apples for himself, as he was married to a very beautiful young Queen. The only person who spotted the thief was the Tsar's son, Prince Ivan Tsarevich. As the night came upon the garden, the young Tsarevich hid under a water bucket and listened closely to every sound around him. At dawn, the Prince almost fell asleep, but the silence was broken by a magical being. The Prince pulled the water bucket up slightly so he could just see through the thin opening. And there it was: the Fire Bird.
contentment
"It was an April morning: fresh and clear"
It was an April morning: fresh and clear The Rivulet, delighting in its strength, Ran with a young man's speed; and yet the voice Of waters which the winter had supplied Was softened down into a vernal tone. The spirit of enjoyment and desire, And hopes and wishes, from all living things Went circling, like a multitude of sounds. The budding groves seemed eager to urge on The steps of June; as if their various hues Were only hindrances that stood between Them and their object: but, meanwhile, prevailed Such an entire contentment in the air
William Wordsworth
Title:
When All That Glitters
Artist: Jack Sorenson
allposters.com
Entry for March 14, 2008
I sat and saw the vessels glideOver the ocean bright and wide,Like spirit-winged chariots sentO'er some serenest element
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Lines Written in the Bay of Lerici
Title:
Lure of the RockiesArtist: Jack Sorenson
lights
awwal shab
three things
"A Servant When He Reigneth"
Three things make earth unquietAnd four she cannot brookThe godly Agur counted themAnd put them in a book --Those Four Tremendous CursesWith which mankind is cursed;But a Servant when He ReignethOld Agur entered first.An Handmaid that is MistressWe need not call upon.A Fool when he is full of MeatWill fall asleep anon.An Odious Woman MarriedMay bear a babe and mend;But a Servant when He ReignethIs Confusion to the end.His feet are swift to tumult,His hands are slow to toil,His ears are deaf to reason,His lips are loud in broil.He knows no use for powerExcept to show his might.He gives no heed to judgmentUnless it prove him right.Because he served a masterBefore his Kingship came,And hid in all disasterBehind his master's name,So, when his Folly opensThe unnecessary hells,A Servant when He ReignethThrows the blame on some one else.His vows are lightly spoken,His faith is hard to bind,His trust is easy boken,He fears his fellow-kind.The nearest mob will move himTo break the pledge he gave --Oh, a Servant when he ReignethIs more than ever slave! Rudyard Kipling
In a far away land, a thief was stealing golden apples, which had the power of bestowing youth and beauty, from Tsar Berendey`s magic Garden. The guards of the Tsar were unable to stop this, for as hard as they tried, the thief always got away. None of the guards had even seen this thief. The Tsar was frustrated, for he needed the golden apples for himself, as he was married to a very beautiful young Queen. The only person who spotted the thief was the Tsar's son, Prince Ivan Tsarevich. As the night came upon the garden, the young Tsarevich hid under a water bucket and listened closely to every sound around him. At dawn, the Prince almost fell asleep, but the silence was broken by a magical being. The Prince pulled the water bucket up slightly so he could just see through the thin opening. And there it was: the Fire Bird.
contentment
"It was an April morning: fresh and clear"
It was an April morning: fresh and clear The Rivulet, delighting in its strength, Ran with a young man's speed; and yet the voice Of waters which the winter had supplied Was softened down into a vernal tone. The spirit of enjoyment and desire, And hopes and wishes, from all living things Went circling, like a multitude of sounds. The budding groves seemed eager to urge on The steps of June; as if their various hues Were only hindrances that stood between Them and their object: but, meanwhile, prevailed Such an entire contentment in the air
William Wordsworth
Title:
When All That Glitters
Artist: Jack Sorenson
allposters.com
Entry for March 14, 2008
I sat and saw the vessels glideOver the ocean bright and wide,Like spirit-winged chariots sentO'er some serenest element
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Lines Written in the Bay of Lerici
Title:
Lure of the RockiesArtist: Jack Sorenson
lights
awwal shab
three things
"A Servant When He Reigneth"
Three things make earth unquietAnd four she cannot brookThe godly Agur counted themAnd put them in a book --Those Four Tremendous CursesWith which mankind is cursed;But a Servant when He ReignethOld Agur entered first.An Handmaid that is MistressWe need not call upon.A Fool when he is full of MeatWill fall asleep anon.An Odious Woman MarriedMay bear a babe and mend;But a Servant when He ReignethIs Confusion to the end.His feet are swift to tumult,His hands are slow to toil,His ears are deaf to reason,His lips are loud in broil.He knows no use for powerExcept to show his might.He gives no heed to judgmentUnless it prove him right.Because he served a masterBefore his Kingship came,And hid in all disasterBehind his master's name,So, when his Folly opensThe unnecessary hells,A Servant when He ReignethThrows the blame on some one else.His vows are lightly spoken,His faith is hard to bind,His trust is easy boken,He fears his fellow-kind.The nearest mob will move himTo break the pledge he gave --Oh, a Servant when he ReignethIs more than ever slave! Rudyard Kipling
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
rough stones
"A Narrow Girdle of Rough Stones and Crags,"
A narrow girdle of rough stones and crags, A rude and natural causeway, interposed Between the water and a winding slope Of copse and thicket, leaves the eastern shore Of Grasmere safe in its own privacy: And there myself and two beloved Friends, One calm September morning, ere the mist Had altogether yielded to the sun, Sauntered on this retired and difficult way. ----Ill suits the road with one in haste; but we Played with our time; and, as we strolled along, It was our occupation to observe Such objects as the waves had tossed ashore-- Feather, or leaf, or weed, or withered bough, Each on the other heaped, along the line Of the dry wreck. And, in our vacant mood, Not seldom did we stop to watch some tuft Of dandelion seed or thistle's beard, That skimmed the surface of the dead calm lake, Suddenly halting now--a lifeless stand! And starting off again with freak as sudden; In all its sportive wanderings, all the while, Making report of an invisible breeze That was its wings, its chariot, and its horse, Its playmate, rather say, its moving soul. --And often, trifling with a privilege Alike indulged to all, we paused, one now, And now the other, to point out, perchance To pluck, some flower or water-weed, too fair Either to be divided from the place On which it grew, or to be left alone To its own beauty. Many such there are, Fair ferns and flowers, and chiefly that tall fern, So stately, of the queen Osmunda named; Plant lovelier, in its own retired abode On Grasmere's beach, than Naiad by the side Of Grecian brook, or Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance. --So fared we that bright morning: from the fields Meanwhile, a noise was heard, the busy mirth Of reapers, men and women, boys and girls. Delighted much to listen to those sounds, And feeding thus our fancies, we advanced Along the indented shore; when suddenly, Through a thin veil of glittering haze was seen Before us, on a point of jutting land, The tall and upright figure of a Man Attired in peasant's garb, who stood alone, Angling beside the margin of the lake. "Improvident and reckless," we exclaimed, "The Man must be, who thus can lose a day Of the mid harvest, when the labourer's hire Is ample, and some little might be stored Wherewith to cheer him in the winter time." Thus talking of that Peasant, we approached Close to the spot where with his rod and line He stood alone; whereat he turned his head To greet us--and we saw a Mam worn down By sickness, gaunt and lean, with sunken cheeks And wasted limbs, his legs so long and lean That for my single self I looked at them, Forgetful of the body they sustained.-- Too weak to labour in the harvest field, The Man was using his best skill to gain A pittance from the dead unfeeling lake That knew not of his wants. I will not say What thoughts immediately were ours, nor how The happy idleness of that sweet morn, With all its lovely images, was changed To serious musing and to self-reproach. Nor did we fail to see within ourselves What need there is to be reserved in speech, And temper all our thoughts with charity. --Therefore, unwilling to forget that day, My Friend, Myself, and She who then received The same admonishment, have called the place By a memorial name, uncouth indeed As e'er by mariner was given to bay Or foreland, on a new-discovered coast; And POINT RASH-JUDGMENT is the name it bears. William Wordsworth
Title:
Autumn GladeArtist: Robert Wood
A narrow girdle of rough stones and crags, A rude and natural causeway, interposed Between the water and a winding slope Of copse and thicket, leaves the eastern shore Of Grasmere safe in its own privacy: And there myself and two beloved Friends, One calm September morning, ere the mist Had altogether yielded to the sun, Sauntered on this retired and difficult way. ----Ill suits the road with one in haste; but we Played with our time; and, as we strolled along, It was our occupation to observe Such objects as the waves had tossed ashore-- Feather, or leaf, or weed, or withered bough, Each on the other heaped, along the line Of the dry wreck. And, in our vacant mood, Not seldom did we stop to watch some tuft Of dandelion seed or thistle's beard, That skimmed the surface of the dead calm lake, Suddenly halting now--a lifeless stand! And starting off again with freak as sudden; In all its sportive wanderings, all the while, Making report of an invisible breeze That was its wings, its chariot, and its horse, Its playmate, rather say, its moving soul. --And often, trifling with a privilege Alike indulged to all, we paused, one now, And now the other, to point out, perchance To pluck, some flower or water-weed, too fair Either to be divided from the place On which it grew, or to be left alone To its own beauty. Many such there are, Fair ferns and flowers, and chiefly that tall fern, So stately, of the queen Osmunda named; Plant lovelier, in its own retired abode On Grasmere's beach, than Naiad by the side Of Grecian brook, or Lady of the Mere, Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance. --So fared we that bright morning: from the fields Meanwhile, a noise was heard, the busy mirth Of reapers, men and women, boys and girls. Delighted much to listen to those sounds, And feeding thus our fancies, we advanced Along the indented shore; when suddenly, Through a thin veil of glittering haze was seen Before us, on a point of jutting land, The tall and upright figure of a Man Attired in peasant's garb, who stood alone, Angling beside the margin of the lake. "Improvident and reckless," we exclaimed, "The Man must be, who thus can lose a day Of the mid harvest, when the labourer's hire Is ample, and some little might be stored Wherewith to cheer him in the winter time." Thus talking of that Peasant, we approached Close to the spot where with his rod and line He stood alone; whereat he turned his head To greet us--and we saw a Mam worn down By sickness, gaunt and lean, with sunken cheeks And wasted limbs, his legs so long and lean That for my single self I looked at them, Forgetful of the body they sustained.-- Too weak to labour in the harvest field, The Man was using his best skill to gain A pittance from the dead unfeeling lake That knew not of his wants. I will not say What thoughts immediately were ours, nor how The happy idleness of that sweet morn, With all its lovely images, was changed To serious musing and to self-reproach. Nor did we fail to see within ourselves What need there is to be reserved in speech, And temper all our thoughts with charity. --Therefore, unwilling to forget that day, My Friend, Myself, and She who then received The same admonishment, have called the place By a memorial name, uncouth indeed As e'er by mariner was given to bay Or foreland, on a new-discovered coast; And POINT RASH-JUDGMENT is the name it bears. William Wordsworth
Title:
Autumn GladeArtist: Robert Wood
tree of life
tree of life
The moss covered walls of the medieval castle. The heat scorched earth in front of the pilgrim's tent. The air conditioned casing of museum security. The marble floor of the architect's personal dream. They have all maintained the residence of particular types of artistry. Artistry that represents, The Tree of Life.The Tree of Life represents one of the oldest spiritual symbols in human history, predating Christianity and Islam. The Tree of Life links mankind to various heavenly worlds that have been a part of cultures from Europe to the Orient. In the world of Islam predominantly, the Tree of Life retains a religious significance, symbolizing the path between heaven, earth, and the underworld.
Title:
Spring in Bloom II
Artist: Hans Ressdorf
The moss covered walls of the medieval castle. The heat scorched earth in front of the pilgrim's tent. The air conditioned casing of museum security. The marble floor of the architect's personal dream. They have all maintained the residence of particular types of artistry. Artistry that represents, The Tree of Life.The Tree of Life represents one of the oldest spiritual symbols in human history, predating Christianity and Islam. The Tree of Life links mankind to various heavenly worlds that have been a part of cultures from Europe to the Orient. In the world of Islam predominantly, the Tree of Life retains a religious significance, symbolizing the path between heaven, earth, and the underworld.
Title:
Spring in Bloom II
Artist: Hans Ressdorf
falcon
falcon
A falcon hunt was probably the most favored entertainment for the nobility in medieval Russia. This phenomenon of life in the Russian state is reflected by the fact that from the fourteenth until the seventeenth century, the Chief of the Council of Falcon Hunting (known as the "Sokolnichiy Prikaz") was one of the most important and influential people in the Tsar's court. Retaining such a post was not necessarily the easiest thing to do in those days, as the Monarchs were sometimes fierce. As legend has it, during Ivan the Terrible's rule, the chief of the "Prikaz Sokolnichiy" lost one of the Tsar's favorite falcons. During the hunt the unfortunate falconer released the falcon, which flew into the air, never to be seen again. Ivan the Terrible was so upset, that he told the falconer to go into the fields and find the falcon, or otherwise be beheaded. After walking for several days through the fields of what is now known as the "Sokolniki" district of modern Moscow, the falconer prayed to the Lord for mercy, fearing his certain execution by the tyrant, Ivan the Terrible. Then a miracle happened; the falcon landed on the ground by the falconer as he stood in prayer. Thus the chief or the "Sokolnichiy Prikaz" was saved and the Tsar was pleased to have his favorite falcon back.
Wednesday March 12, 2008 - 01:42pm (IST) Permanent Link 0 Comments
you will read
watch video
You're me in the way. I used to Walk so, without looking up. Stop, passerby! Don't refuse to. I beg and I pray you -- stop!
You'll read, as you lay the glowing Red blossoms on the mound of grass: Marina. And then more slowly: The dates -- of my birth and death.
Yes, there is a grave, but leave it And hount you I won't, no fear. I too, you can well believe it, Once laught in the midst of tears.
The blood through my veins coursed freely, The locks curled around my face. Stop, passerby! Can't you feel it? I too, passerby, once was.
A strawberry. Pluck it, eat it! It's there, near the very ground. No berries are ever sweeter Then those in a graveyard found.
But only no gloom, no tightly Closed lips, do not brood or fret. Think lightly on me, and lightly My name, passerby, forget.
The sun's dust-like beams caress you, Your shoulders and head they lave. Please don't let the voice distress you That cames to you from grave.
1913. By Marina Tsvetaeva. Translated by Irina Zheleznova.
Wednesday March 12, 2008 - 01:31pm (IST) Permanent Link 1 Comment
interesting
watch videoArtificial intelligence will never be a match for natural stupidity. - Anonymous
Wednesday March 12, 2008 - 08:17am (IST) Permanent Link 0 Comments
pech
The Russian Stove is an amazing creation. It is made of very simple materials and its interior design has been perfected over many generations. Eastern European countries, not just Russia have adopted the use of this style of stove. In some cases artisans get a hold of the materials to make beautiful centerpieces in the homes that will be heated during the winter.
The Russian Stove
A falcon hunt was probably the most favored entertainment for the nobility in medieval Russia. This phenomenon of life in the Russian state is reflected by the fact that from the fourteenth until the seventeenth century, the Chief of the Council of Falcon Hunting (known as the "Sokolnichiy Prikaz") was one of the most important and influential people in the Tsar's court. Retaining such a post was not necessarily the easiest thing to do in those days, as the Monarchs were sometimes fierce. As legend has it, during Ivan the Terrible's rule, the chief of the "Prikaz Sokolnichiy" lost one of the Tsar's favorite falcons. During the hunt the unfortunate falconer released the falcon, which flew into the air, never to be seen again. Ivan the Terrible was so upset, that he told the falconer to go into the fields and find the falcon, or otherwise be beheaded. After walking for several days through the fields of what is now known as the "Sokolniki" district of modern Moscow, the falconer prayed to the Lord for mercy, fearing his certain execution by the tyrant, Ivan the Terrible. Then a miracle happened; the falcon landed on the ground by the falconer as he stood in prayer. Thus the chief or the "Sokolnichiy Prikaz" was saved and the Tsar was pleased to have his favorite falcon back.
Wednesday March 12, 2008 - 01:42pm (IST) Permanent Link 0 Comments
you will read
watch video
You're me in the way. I used to Walk so, without looking up. Stop, passerby! Don't refuse to. I beg and I pray you -- stop!
You'll read, as you lay the glowing Red blossoms on the mound of grass: Marina. And then more slowly: The dates -- of my birth and death.
Yes, there is a grave, but leave it And hount you I won't, no fear. I too, you can well believe it, Once laught in the midst of tears.
The blood through my veins coursed freely, The locks curled around my face. Stop, passerby! Can't you feel it? I too, passerby, once was.
A strawberry. Pluck it, eat it! It's there, near the very ground. No berries are ever sweeter Then those in a graveyard found.
But only no gloom, no tightly Closed lips, do not brood or fret. Think lightly on me, and lightly My name, passerby, forget.
The sun's dust-like beams caress you, Your shoulders and head they lave. Please don't let the voice distress you That cames to you from grave.
1913. By Marina Tsvetaeva. Translated by Irina Zheleznova.
Wednesday March 12, 2008 - 01:31pm (IST) Permanent Link 1 Comment
interesting
watch videoArtificial intelligence will never be a match for natural stupidity. - Anonymous
Wednesday March 12, 2008 - 08:17am (IST) Permanent Link 0 Comments
pech
The Russian Stove is an amazing creation. It is made of very simple materials and its interior design has been perfected over many generations. Eastern European countries, not just Russia have adopted the use of this style of stove. In some cases artisans get a hold of the materials to make beautiful centerpieces in the homes that will be heated during the winter.
The Russian Stove
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
sonnet
Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate,Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving:O, but with mine compare thou thine own state,And thou shalt find it merits not reproving;Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine,That have profaned their scarlet ornamentsAnd seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine,Robb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents.Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lovest thoseWhom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:Root pity in thy heart, that when it growsThy pity may deserve to pitied be.If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,By self-example mayst thou be denied!
synchronized
pech
The Russian Stove is an amazing creation. It is made of very simple materials and its interior design has been perfected over many generations. Eastern European countries, not just Russia have adopted the use of this style of stove. In some cases artisans get a hold of the materials to make beautiful centerpieces in the homes that will be heated during the winter.The Russian Stove
synchronized
Evening in Shimla, India Oren E Above Side Sync SwimmingDiving into the Wreck by Adrienne RichFirst having read the book of myths,and loaded the camera, and checked the edge of the knife-blade,I put on the body-armor of black rubberthe absurd flippers the grave and awkward mask.I am having to do this not like Cousteau with hisassiduous team aboard the sun-flooded schoonerbut here alone.There is a ladder.The ladder is always there hanging innocentlyclose to the side of the schooner. We know what it is for,we who have used it.Otherwise it is a piece of maritime flosssome sundry equipment.I go down.Rung after rung and still the oxygen immerses methe blue lightthe clear atoms of our human air.I go down.My flippers cripple me, I crawl like an insect down the ladderand there is no one to tell me when the oceanwill begin.First the air is blue and then it is bluer and then green and then black I am blacking out and yetmy mask is powerful it pumps my blood with powerthe sea is another story the sea is not a question of powerI have to learn alone to turn my body without forcein the deep element.And now: it is easy to forgetwhat I came for among so many who have alwayslived here swaying their crenellated fansbetween the reefs and besidesyou breathe differently down here.I came to explore the wreck.The words are purposes. The words are maps.I came to see the damage that was done and the treasures that prevail.I stroke the beam of my lamp slowly along the flankof something more permanent than fish or weedthe thing I came for: the wreck and not the story of the wreck the thing itself and not the myth the drowned face always staringtoward the sun the evidence of damage worn by salt and away into this threadbare beauty the ribs of the disastercurving their assertion among the tentative haunters.This is the place. And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair streams black, the merman in his armored body. We circle silentlyabout the wreck we dive into the hold.I am she: I am hewhose drowned face sleeps with open eyes whose breasts still bear the stress whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies obscurely inside barrelshalf-wedged and left to rot we are the half-destroyed instruments that once held to a coursethe water-eaten log the fouled compassWe are, I am, you are by cowardice or couragethe one who find our way back to this scenecarrying a knife, a camera a book of mythsin whichour names do not appear.From Diving into the Wreck: Poems 1971-1972 by Adrienne Rich. Copyright © 1973 by W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. Reprinted by permission of the author and W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. Copyright 1973 by Adrienne Rich.
Dr Zhivago
Dr Zhivago
Maurice J...
Dr. Zhivago
Winter's Night
Blizzards were blowing everywhere Throughout the land. A candle burned upon the table, A candle burned. As midgets in the summer fly Towards a flame, The snowflakes from the yard swarmed to The window pane. And, on the glass, bright snowy rings And arrows formed. A candle burned upon the table, A candle burned. And on the white illumined ceiling Shadow were cast, As arms and legs and destinies Fatefully crossed. Two slippers fell on to the floor With a light sound, And waxen tears dripped from the candle On to a gown. No object in the misty whiteness Could be discerned. A candle burned upon the table, A candle burned. A mild draught coming from the corner Blew on the candle, Seduction's heat raised two wings crosswise As might an angel. It snowed and snowed that February All through the land. A candle burned upon the table, A candle burned. 1946. By Boris Pasternak. Translated by Alex Miller.
The Russian Stove is an amazing creation. It is made of very simple materials and its interior design has been perfected over many generations. Eastern European countries, not just Russia have adopted the use of this style of stove. In some cases artisans get a hold of the materials to make beautiful centerpieces in the homes that will be heated during the winter.The Russian Stove
synchronized
Evening in Shimla, India Oren E Above Side Sync SwimmingDiving into the Wreck by Adrienne RichFirst having read the book of myths,and loaded the camera, and checked the edge of the knife-blade,I put on the body-armor of black rubberthe absurd flippers the grave and awkward mask.I am having to do this not like Cousteau with hisassiduous team aboard the sun-flooded schoonerbut here alone.There is a ladder.The ladder is always there hanging innocentlyclose to the side of the schooner. We know what it is for,we who have used it.Otherwise it is a piece of maritime flosssome sundry equipment.I go down.Rung after rung and still the oxygen immerses methe blue lightthe clear atoms of our human air.I go down.My flippers cripple me, I crawl like an insect down the ladderand there is no one to tell me when the oceanwill begin.First the air is blue and then it is bluer and then green and then black I am blacking out and yetmy mask is powerful it pumps my blood with powerthe sea is another story the sea is not a question of powerI have to learn alone to turn my body without forcein the deep element.And now: it is easy to forgetwhat I came for among so many who have alwayslived here swaying their crenellated fansbetween the reefs and besidesyou breathe differently down here.I came to explore the wreck.The words are purposes. The words are maps.I came to see the damage that was done and the treasures that prevail.I stroke the beam of my lamp slowly along the flankof something more permanent than fish or weedthe thing I came for: the wreck and not the story of the wreck the thing itself and not the myth the drowned face always staringtoward the sun the evidence of damage worn by salt and away into this threadbare beauty the ribs of the disastercurving their assertion among the tentative haunters.This is the place. And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair streams black, the merman in his armored body. We circle silentlyabout the wreck we dive into the hold.I am she: I am hewhose drowned face sleeps with open eyes whose breasts still bear the stress whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies obscurely inside barrelshalf-wedged and left to rot we are the half-destroyed instruments that once held to a coursethe water-eaten log the fouled compassWe are, I am, you are by cowardice or couragethe one who find our way back to this scenecarrying a knife, a camera a book of mythsin whichour names do not appear.From Diving into the Wreck: Poems 1971-1972 by Adrienne Rich. Copyright © 1973 by W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. Reprinted by permission of the author and W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. Copyright 1973 by Adrienne Rich.
Dr Zhivago
Dr Zhivago
Maurice J...
Dr. Zhivago
Winter's Night
Blizzards were blowing everywhere Throughout the land. A candle burned upon the table, A candle burned. As midgets in the summer fly Towards a flame, The snowflakes from the yard swarmed to The window pane. And, on the glass, bright snowy rings And arrows formed. A candle burned upon the table, A candle burned. And on the white illumined ceiling Shadow were cast, As arms and legs and destinies Fatefully crossed. Two slippers fell on to the floor With a light sound, And waxen tears dripped from the candle On to a gown. No object in the misty whiteness Could be discerned. A candle burned upon the table, A candle burned. A mild draught coming from the corner Blew on the candle, Seduction's heat raised two wings crosswise As might an angel. It snowed and snowed that February All through the land. A candle burned upon the table, A candle burned. 1946. By Boris Pasternak. Translated by Alex Miller.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
when
lhasa apso
When You are Old
by W. B. Yeats
When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
lhasa apso
When You are Old
by W. B. Yeats
When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
be changed
If thou must love me... (Sonnet 14)
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say,
"I love her for her smile—her look—her way
Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day"—
For these things in themselves, Belovèd, may
Be changed, or change for thee—and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry:
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.
http://loveurdu.com/urdu-poetry/poetry.asp?PID=213&HID=2401
Friday, March 7, 2008
In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,For they in thee a thousand errors note;But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,Who in despite of view is pleased to dote;Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted,Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone,Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invitedTo any sensual feast with thee alone:But my five wits nor my five senses canDissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man,Thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretch to be:Only my plague thus far I count my gain,That she that makes me sin awards me pain.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
wasi shah
http://loveurdu.com/urdu-poetry/poetry.asp?PID=200&HID=2092
kaash mein tere haseen
http://loveurdu.com/urdu-poetry/poetry.asp?PID=200&HID=1878
hum ne khushyon ki
http://loveurdu.com/urdu-poetry/poetry.asp?PID=200&HID=1879
dukh darad mein hamesha nikale
kaash mein tere haseen
http://loveurdu.com/urdu-poetry/poetry.asp?PID=200&HID=1878
hum ne khushyon ki
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dukh darad mein hamesha nikale
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
moments
seinfeld
watch videoHappiness is in taste and not in things; and it is by having what we love that we are happy, not by having what others find agreeable. - Francois Duc de la Rochefoucauld
watch videoHappiness is in taste and not in things; and it is by having what we love that we are happy, not by having what others find agreeable. - Francois Duc de la Rochefoucauld
sonnet
sonnet
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not pressMy tongue-tied patience with too much disdain;Lest sorrow lend me words and words expressThe manner of my pity-wanting pain.If I might teach thee wit, better it were,Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so;As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,No news but health from their physicians know;For if I should despair, I should grow mad,And in my madness might speak ill of thee:Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be,That I may not be so, nor thou belied,Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not pressMy tongue-tied patience with too much disdain;Lest sorrow lend me words and words expressThe manner of my pity-wanting pain.If I might teach thee wit, better it were,Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so;As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,No news but health from their physicians know;For if I should despair, I should grow mad,And in my madness might speak ill of thee:Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be,That I may not be so, nor thou belied,Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
anna akhmatova
anna akhmatova
Dark my veil. Hands clenched painfully, tightly. "Why so white-faced?""To think, just to think! It was I made him to drink; of the biting Wine of sorrow I forced him to drink.
"How forget? Out he staggered with failing Strength, and face oddly twisted and grim. I ran down without touching the handrail, To the gateway I ran aftre him.
"'Please don't go!' I gasped out. 'I was only Jesting... Please!.. Or I'll die...' With a blind, With a terrible smile, almost tonelessly, He brought out 'Do not stand in the wind'"
1911. By Anna Akhmatova. Translated by Irina Zheleznova. ShowMenu();
blessed
Russian OrthodoxProsperity is the blessing of the Old Testament;Adversity is the blessing of the New.- Francis Bacon, Of Adversity
anup jalota
Man is saved by love and duty, and by the hope that springs from duty, or rather from the moral facts of consciousness, as a flower springs from the soil.- Henri-Frederic Amiel
promise of living
The Promise of Living 05:47 Let us live then, and be glad While young life's before us After youthful pastime had, After old age had and sad, Earth will slumber over us. Unattributed Author, (John Addington Symonds' translation)
Dark my veil. Hands clenched painfully, tightly. "Why so white-faced?""To think, just to think! It was I made him to drink; of the biting Wine of sorrow I forced him to drink.
"How forget? Out he staggered with failing Strength, and face oddly twisted and grim. I ran down without touching the handrail, To the gateway I ran aftre him.
"'Please don't go!' I gasped out. 'I was only Jesting... Please!.. Or I'll die...' With a blind, With a terrible smile, almost tonelessly, He brought out 'Do not stand in the wind'"
1911. By Anna Akhmatova. Translated by Irina Zheleznova. ShowMenu();
blessed
Russian OrthodoxProsperity is the blessing of the Old Testament;Adversity is the blessing of the New.- Francis Bacon, Of Adversity
anup jalota
Man is saved by love and duty, and by the hope that springs from duty, or rather from the moral facts of consciousness, as a flower springs from the soil.- Henri-Frederic Amiel
promise of living
The Promise of Living 05:47 Let us live then, and be glad While young life's before us After youthful pastime had, After old age had and sad, Earth will slumber over us. Unattributed Author, (John Addington Symonds' translation)
shahid ashqi
http://loveurdu.com/urdu-poetry/poetry.asp?PID=153&HID=999
koi to sheher mein tum sa hota
http://loveurdu.com/urdu-poetry/poetry.asp?PID=153&HID=1000
chiragh ziyest ke dono
http://loveurdu.com/urdu-poetry/poetry.asp?PID=153&HID=1001
phir isi shokh
koi to sheher mein tum sa hota
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chiragh ziyest ke dono
http://loveurdu.com/urdu-poetry/poetry.asp?PID=153&HID=1001
phir isi shokh
Monday, March 3, 2008
kesariya
kesariya
Begum Akhtar - 018 - Kesarya angya rang
Raja Hasan: Kesariya Balam Padharo Maro
Men of culture are the true apostles of equality.- Matthew Arnold
Begum Akhtar - 018 - Kesarya angya rang
Raja Hasan: Kesariya Balam Padharo Maro
Men of culture are the true apostles of equality.- Matthew Arnold
christ
Orthodox Icons of Mother of God (Icoanele Maicii Domnului)An Arabic Christmas Carol (Byzantine Hymn of the Nativity)On the head of Christ are many crowns. He wears the crown of victory; He wears the crown of sovereignty; He wears the crown of creation; He wears the crown of providence; He wears the crown of grace; He wears the crown of glory--for every one of His glorified people owes his honor, happiness and blessedness to Him.- James H. Aughey
sonnet
O, call not me to justify the wrongThat thy unkindness lays upon my heart;Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue;Use power with power and slay me not by art.Tell me thou lovest elsewhere, but in my sight,Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside:What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy mightIs more than my o'er-press'd defense can bide?Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knowsHer pretty looks have been mine enemies,And therefore from my face she turns my foes,That they elsewhere might dart their injuries:Yet do not so; but since I am near slain,Kill me outright with looks and rid my pain.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
nervous
nervous
Enrique Iglesias - Hero: Alt. Not Dying Version
Enrique Iglesias - Push
The Violin -- A Little Bit Nervous.
The violin got all worked up, imploring then suddenly burst into sobs, so child-like that the drum couldn't stand it: "All right, all right, all right!" But then he got tired, couldn't wait till the violin ended, slipped out on the burning Kuznetsky and took flight. The orchestra looked on, chilly, while the violin wept itself out without reason or rhyme, and only somewhere, a cymbal, silly, kept clashing: "What is it, what's all the racket about?" And when the helicon, brass-faced, sweaty, hollared: "Crazy! Crybaby! Be still!" I staggered, on to my feet getting, and lumbered over the horror-stuck music stands, yelling, "Good God" why, I myself couldn't tell; then dashed, my arms round the wooden neck to fling: "You know what, violin, we're awfully alike; I too always yell, but can't prove a thing!" The musicains commented, contemptuously smiling: "Look at him- come to his wooden-bride- tee-hee!" But I don't care- I'm a good guy- "You know, what, violin, let's live together, eh?"
1914. By Vladimir Mayakovskiy. Translated by Dorian Rottenberg.
Enrique Iglesias - Hero: Alt. Not Dying Version
Enrique Iglesias - Push
The Violin -- A Little Bit Nervous.
The violin got all worked up, imploring then suddenly burst into sobs, so child-like that the drum couldn't stand it: "All right, all right, all right!" But then he got tired, couldn't wait till the violin ended, slipped out on the burning Kuznetsky and took flight. The orchestra looked on, chilly, while the violin wept itself out without reason or rhyme, and only somewhere, a cymbal, silly, kept clashing: "What is it, what's all the racket about?" And when the helicon, brass-faced, sweaty, hollared: "Crazy! Crybaby! Be still!" I staggered, on to my feet getting, and lumbered over the horror-stuck music stands, yelling, "Good God" why, I myself couldn't tell; then dashed, my arms round the wooden neck to fling: "You know what, violin, we're awfully alike; I too always yell, but can't prove a thing!" The musicains commented, contemptuously smiling: "Look at him- come to his wooden-bride- tee-hee!" But I don't care- I'm a good guy- "You know, what, violin, let's live together, eh?"
1914. By Vladimir Mayakovskiy. Translated by Dorian Rottenberg.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
lermontov
folk
russian folk dance Russian Gypsy Folk Dance Russian Dance Balalaika Russian folk song Russian folk dance Barynya Russian Folk Music-1 Russian folk song The Sail.A lone white sail shows for an instant Where gleams the sea, an azure streak. What left it in its homeland distant? In alien parts what does it seek? The billow play, the mast bends creaking, The wind, impatient, moans and sighs... It is not joy that it is seeking, Nor is it happiness it flies. The blue wave dance, they dance and tremble, The sun's bright ray caress the seas. And yet for storm it begs, the rebel, As if in storm lurked calm and peace!..
russian folk dance Russian Gypsy Folk Dance Russian Dance Balalaika Russian folk song Russian folk dance Barynya Russian Folk Music-1 Russian folk song The Sail.A lone white sail shows for an instant Where gleams the sea, an azure streak. What left it in its homeland distant? In alien parts what does it seek? The billow play, the mast bends creaking, The wind, impatient, moans and sighs... It is not joy that it is seeking, Nor is it happiness it flies. The blue wave dance, they dance and tremble, The sun's bright ray caress the seas. And yet for storm it begs, the rebel, As if in storm lurked calm and peace!..
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