I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud (William Wordsworth)

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

By William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

_____________________________________________________

Dear diary,

I woke up early in the morning and had no idea what to do, so I decided to go for a walk because I couldn’t stay at home and do nothing. “Some fresh air would satisfy me.” That’s what I thought and left my house.

I was wandering lonely, without any purpose, through the beautiful nature. As lonely as a cloud that is excluded from the rest of the world. Thinking about the meaning of life. The thoughts in my head were as excluded from the world as a cloud. I continued wandering over hills and valleys. Suddenly I saw a group of flowers. I couldn’t stop gazing at them, because they were gleaming. The gold color of the flowers were controlling my eyes. I think these flowers are more than special. They’re called daffodils. I had never seen such flowers before beside the lake and beneath the trees. The wind let them dance, just like humans do. The upper parts of the flowers were moving slowly from the left to the right. The flowers, the daffodils, were as continuous as the stars. They couldn’t stop gleaming and there were so many of them. They stretched in a never-ending line and I guess there were thousands of them. Not only the flowers were beautiful on their own, but the waves of the lake next the flowers were flowing differently compared to a normal lake. It looked like the lake was dancing with the flowers. But no matter what, nothing could beat the beauty of the flowers.

When I had come home, I decided to lie on the couch. My mind was empty and I didn’t feel good. I had no idea what to do. But then, I remembered the daffodils and an image of them flashed through my mind. Immediately I felt better and the loneliness of my mind was kicked out. The image of the daffodils was as real as the reality and I imagined myself dancing, just like the flowers and the waves of the lake.

by Anonymous

 

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(Extract from) The Ballad of Reading Gaol (Oscar Wilde)

(Extract from) The Ballad of Reading Gaol

by Oscar Wilde

He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.

He walked amongst the Trial Men
In a suit of shabby grey;
A cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.

I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went
With sails of silver by.

I walked, with other souls in pain,
Within another ring,
And was wondering if the man had done
A great or little thing,
When a voice behind me whispered low,
“That fellow’s got to swing.”

Dear Christ! the very prison walls
Suddenly seemed to reel,
And the sky above my head became
Like a casque of scorching steel;
And, though I was a soul in pain,
My pain I could not feel.

I only knew what hunted thought
Quickened his step, and why
He looked upon the garish day
With such a wistful eye;
The man had killed the thing he loved
And so he had to die.

Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

_____________________________________________________

Dear Diary,

I saw him walking in the halls. I saw the colour of wine on his hands. With blood on his hands he was found next to his wife. Murdered in her bed. He cut the throat of his own beloved Laura Ellen. His view at the day was so wistful but I never did I see it. While I was walking with other prisoners on my side, I was wondering. I was wondering what the man had done. If he had done a great or little thing. But then someone scared me. ‘That fellow’s got to swing’, someone whispered in my ear. That ‘fellow’ was my friend Woolridge. Woolridge had killed the thing he loved. Because of that he had to die. This scared me so much I could not feel my pain anymore and it felt like the prison walls were moving around me.

Woolridge will be executed for killing his wife.

But why did he murder his wife? I wouldn’t know. I don’t understand why you would take your loved ones away voluntary.

The pain I feel by being separared from my family is so much of an emotion I never felt before. But the execution makes me feel more angry. Why is this punishment so brutal?

Yet each man kills the thing he loves.

by Anonymous

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud (William Wordsworth)

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

By William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

_____________________________________________________

I was walking lonely, but had no connection with the rest of world. It was as if I was locked out by everybody else. At that moment I saw a field, but it wasn’t just a field, it was a smooth field made of flowers. And not just flowers, but daffodils, and every one of them was shining like a little sun. They were next to the sparkling lake, and under the moving tree. They were all in balance and harmony, swinging in the light spring breeze.

They looked like they were never ending, as the stars in the milky way. It felt like the time stood still, during the perfect sunset under an infinite coastline. There were so much, they were uncountable, there were at least ten thousand of them just on the hill next to the lake. Al of them were wobbling together with the leaves of the tree, as if it was a perfect orchestrated whole.

The field surrounds a lake, which laid there glittering and wrinkled in the sun. The free and fluttering flowers pulled at me, and held me in their grip. The lake on the other hand looked like it was poisoned and has had its time, next to the beautiful daffodils. Although I enjoyed the moment to the fullest, I wasn’t aware how great it was, and that such a moment is all you need in life.

That night, when I lied in my bed, I was wondering and thinking about the day and the freedom of the daffodils. They were forever in my memory captured. This remembrance fills me with such joy, that I never wanted something else. This feeling is all I want in life. This feeling like I am dancing with the daffodils.

by Anonymous

Ozymandias (Percy Bysshe Shelley)

Ozymandias

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear —
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.’

_____________________________________________________

Once upon a time in the West there was a little town. It was a very peaceful town with about fifty citizens. They were the only people there in a large desert. No one else would be so crazy to go to that place. It was rather boring. Each day was just like the previous day. Till an certain day, because this day would totally change someone´s live.

It was Sunday in the afternoon. On Sunday everyone is free, just as God had taken his free day. It was very peaceful like always, also in the desert around the village. Suddenly there was a dust-cloud, which became continually bigger and bigger and it came closer and closer. You could see a silhouette from a man on a horse. It was Lucky Luke. No, I am joking I don’t know who he was, actually nobody knows, and no one will ever know. Then he entered the village and after he had nearly rode old lady Johnson down, who unsuspectingly crossed the street, he stopped in front of the Saloon. He fastened his horse and he entered the Saloon. Everyone was actively talking with each other, but everyone stopped, when they saw him. They all looked at him, but he did not mind them and he set himself down by the bar. He ordered a whole lunch, because he was hungry. When he was finished, he called the barkeeper and he asked him the following: “I am looking for someone, who comes sometimes in this area here. Do you know someone?” He pointed out the area he meant on his map. The barkeeper looked momentarily weird at him and asked then: “Who are you? And why did you ask this to me?” He answered: “It doesn’t matter who I am and I ask this to you, because you are the barkeeper. You know everyone in this village, except for me.” “Yes, that is true, but who would say that we can trust. Maybe you are a dangerous psychopath”, said the barkeeper. “I don’t have time for this nonsense. You must help me”, said he and he looked at him deep in his eyes.

“Okay fine”, said the barkeeper, “do you see that man there? That is Jack. He has a farm and he is sometimes in that area with his cows.” “Thanks”, he stood up and he would go, but then the barkeeper said: “Wait, you haven’t paid for this lunch yet.” After he paid his lunch, he went to Jack and he asked Jack to come with him outwards. A few minutes later went Jack back in the Saloon. His friends asked him: “Who is that man? What does he want from you?” Jack had no idea, the only thing he knew, was that the stranger would visit him this evening.

That evening rang the bell by the Family Waes. Mrs. Mary Waes opened the door and there right before her eyes stood he. She was frightened to death. Who was he? What was this total stranger intending? He asked: “Where is your man, Jack?”

“Uh… who are you?”, stuttered Mary. “That doesn’t matter. Your man knows that I would come, so where is he?”, said he. His piercing eyes did the work for him and she pointed him to cowshed. “There is Jack”. He walked straight on to the cowshed. Jack was surprised. Jack had not thought that the stranger would know where he lives, but there stood. He asked: “I must talk to you, Jack.” “Who is there?”, said an unknown voice. “Who is that”,asked he. “Oh, that is our son, Michael”, said Jack, “It is nobody, Michael” Michael appeared and said: “He looked to me as somebody. Who are you.” “Not now, Michael, he has to talk with me”, said Jack.

“No, I will tell who I am”, said he, “I am a man on a mission.” He grabbed his map. “And to succeed, I need someone, who can help me to find the way in this area.

I know that you sometimes come there, Jack”. “Yes dad, we came there formerly with the cows”, said Michael. “Yeah, but we don’t come there any more. It is to dangerous now. For some reason has there arisen a lot of shrubbery”, said Jack.

“So you know that area very well”, said he. “Yes, but we won’t go there”, said Jack.

“I would like to go”, said Michael. “No, you don’t go there. Are you forgotten what happened there?”, said Jack. “No, of course no.” “So, don’t be so stupid”, said Jack.

“I am now eighteen and I decide by myself, what I do and don’t do. This is the perfectly select chance to be a few days away from the farm,” said Michael. “You are right. You have the right to choose by yourself, but your Mother and I find this not a good plan”. “Dad, you don’t have to worry”, said Michael, “In a few days I would safely back at home”. “Yes we will be a few days away”, said he, “we would be back before you can say the word: Waterpolo”. “Nothing to worry about, dad.” After that he and Michael arranged what the plan was. They agreed that he tomorrow in the morning would come to pick up Michael. Then would the Journey start.

The next morning they went on their journey to…., Uh…, we actually do not know were they are going to, but they went to something. The first part was very easy. Close by the village, where other people often walk, but the further they go the more difficult it was. Michael knows the road and they were already at twelve o’clock by the border of the concerned area. By the border was a sign: ‘Stop, go back, extremely dangerous’. “My father has placed this sigh here”, said Michael. “Why?”, asked he. “I won’t preferably tell you why”, said Michael. “In that case I don’t have to know”. They went on, but It was rather difficult to went through the shrubbery. The nature was free here and that was noticeable. They went further till the point Michael said: “This is the furthest I have ever been in this area, after this I don’t recognize it any more”. “Okay than, we are going to spend the night here”, said he, “Tomorrow we must do it with only the map and our well thinking mind”. They sat around a self-made camp-fire, when Michael asked: “What are you looking for here in this area?” “I would explain it”, said he, “Centuries ago was here a great empire, named Ozym, and his king was Ozymandias. Ozymandias found himself the greatest king ever. For his greatness, he let build a statue of himself. There is being said that this statue is the biggest statue ever made.” “So you are looking for that statue”, interrupted Michael. “Yes, and according to some old scriptures is this statue the only thing left from Ozym and in the same scriptures stand that the statue is located somewhere in this area.” “Wow, it would be awesome if we find that ancient statue”, said Michael, “But how precisely do you know the place of it?” “Enough to know which way we must go”, said he, “Don’t worry, all will be fine at the end.”

The next day they went on with a good feeling. They looked good on the map to indicate their way. Suddenly there was an open place with only sand and no shrubbery. “Are we still on the good way”, asked Michael. “Yes, this place stands also on the map and we are indeed still on the good way”. “Great”, said Michael and Michael walked on, but after a few steps he felt over a stone. “Wow, that is weird there is no other stone in this whole area”, said Michael after he stood up. “Wait, maybe is this a stone of the statue”, said he, “Come, we are going to dig this stone up”. They grabbed their shovel and they dug the stone up. “Look, there is a text

on it”, said Michael, “What does it mean?” “Let me see”, said he, “It’s an ancient language. They spoke this language in Ozym. It’s called Urath and luckily I can read it a little bit. There stands: ‘My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings, Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!’ “Haha, he found himself really great, didn’t he”, said Michael. “With emphasis on the word ‘found’, said he cynical, “he died a long time…

He was being interrupted by the sand, what slowly slid away. “Wow, what is happening!”, shouted Michael. “Go back, Go back”, said he, “we must go back to a secure place”. “Where is that secure place”, shouted Michael. “There by the shrubs, there is a secure place”, said he. They both managed them self safely to that place. They looked around and they saw the all the sand disappearing. When the most of  the sand was disappeared, there lays the big statue of Ozymandias. “Wow, the text on that stone looks to be a aphorism”, said Michael. “Yes, you’re right”, said he,“And  there is Ozymandias. We stood already above him.” “You didn’t lie, it is really big”, said Michael, “And surprisingly it is in such a good condition.” He looked to the statue and he gets twinkling eyes. “It lays here under the sand for centuries”, said he, “Now we have found it, it is unbelievable. I’ve worked so hard to find Ozymandias and now finally the work is done.” “What are your plans now with it?”, asked Michael. “Hmm, It’s to big to transport and to set this in a museum”, said he, “So it will stay here and I think that there are more people, who want to see Ozymandias.”

“And we will be known as the finders of Ozymandias”, said Michael, “That should be great”. They were looking to each other and they both felt very satisfied. The next five minutes they just were staring to the statue. “Soon there will go millions of people to this place to see Ozymandias”, said he, “Ozym may be gone, but the remembrance of it always existed and still exist and that is what we will show the world: a remembrance of Ozym and Ozymandias. Material things will disappear first, but the thoughts, which belongs to those things will be remembered. But there comes a day that even those thoughts will disappear and then it is all gone, for ever.”

“Now we have found Ozymandias, would become the remembrance of Ozym much bigger”, said Michael. “Yes, you are right, but that is momentarily as well. Time absorbs everything.” After he had said this, they went back to home. And when they have told the world about Ozymandias, they will be known as the finders of the statue of Ozymandias. “Yes we will be famous, but also we will be forgotten at some time”, said the man, whose name we still do not know.

by Wouter Kroon

No Coward Soul is Mine (Emily Brontë)

No Coward Soul Is Mine

By Emily Brontë

No coward soul is mine
No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere
I see Heaven’s glories shine
And Faith shines equal arming me from Fear

O God within my breast
Almighty ever-present Deity
Life, that in me hast rest,
As I Undying Life, have power in Thee

Vain are the thousand creeds
That move men’s hearts, unutterably vain,
Worthless as withered weeds
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main

To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by thy infinity,
So surely anchored on
The steadfast rock of Immortality.

With wide-embracing love
Thy spirit animates eternal years
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates and rears

Though earth and moon were gone
And suns and universes ceased to be
And Thou wert left alone
Every Existence would exist in thee

There is not room for Death
Nor atom that his might could render void
Since thou art Being and Breath
And what thou art may never be destroyed.

_____________________________________________________

Oh god, my dear god, be merciful to me.
I pray to You all day long, and I will never stop praying. Night and day I pray to You, for days, months, weeks on end. Never will I stop, for I would never want You to think I waver in devotion to You.

Oh god, I’m so thankful for you. I knew I could trust you, and You have shown me that You are my steadfast rock in immortality. Before I was so afraid, afraid of what would come and what death would bring, afraid that I wasn’t strong enough to face my illness.

Oh god, my soul is yours, and so your fearless soul is mine.

Although others are cowardly, I can’t be so because you, ever-present Deity, are by my side. You brought back my faith when I had none. Instead of faith there was fear in my heart, and you have taken it all away, and all that remains is love for you. No longer do I fear death. I know you created the undying life for me and everyone who has faith in you. I will bathe in the eternal glory of your kingdom, as will all of the ones who have been faithful to You. I know we will be rewarded for our adoration towards You. You have made us al infinite. You had created the most beautiful world, which we then proceed to contaminate with our sins. But I won’t be a part of that for much longer. I cannot wait to be with you for eternity, and with that to be forever faithful.

For you have always been there for me, in that same manner I will be there for you, so when my illness has taken me, I will come to you. My prayers and devotedness will even then not stop.
Amen

by Anonymous

London (William Blake)

London

By William Blake

I wander thro’ each charter’d street,
Near where the charter’d Thames does flow.
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every Man,
In every Infants cry of fear,
In every voice: in every ban,
The mind-forg’d manacles I hear

How the Chimney-sweepers cry
Every blackning Church appalls,
And the hapless Soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls

But most thro’ midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlots curse
Blasts the new-born Infants tear
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse

_____________________________________________________

12/4/2017 16:2

Confused man wanders through the streets of London

This Monday around noon a man was wandering through the chartered streets of London. He was very pale and it seemed like he was going to faint. He was very confused and people tried to speak to him, but he didn’t answer them correctly. Instead of answering he kept screaming that he saw weakness and woe in people’s faces and that he heart mind-forged chains. It seemed like he was in a kind of trance, so people called the police. Fortunately he was not aggressive to anyone. After the police came and took him with them, he got admitted to a mental institution. After his psychiatrist had a lot of interviews with him and after he got medicines he is now stable and accountable again. He had been in a psychosis. He said that the reason of his psychosis was that he walked that morning through the streets and he realised that everybody sets limits for himself and he saw how sad it made the people. He also saw prostitutes and he could only think about the new generation getting infected by the youthful Harlot’s curse. He found out that the church and the government are guilty. Guilty of the Chimney-sweeper’s cry and the hapless Soldier’s sigh. All of this drove him crazy and it got so bad that he got into the psychosis. The psychosis made him unable to control himself. Fortunately he is now in good hands and he gets lots of help to never let something like this happen again to him.

by Anonymous

(Extract from) The Ballad of Reading Gaol (Oscar Wilde)

(Extract from) The Ballad of Reading Gaol

by Oscar Wilde

He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.

He walked amongst the Trial Men
In a suit of shabby grey;
A cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.

I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went
With sails of silver by.

I walked, with other souls in pain,
Within another ring,
And was wondering if the man had done
A great or little thing,
When a voice behind me whispered low,
“That fellow’s got to swing.”

Dear Christ! the very prison walls
Suddenly seemed to reel,
And the sky above my head became
Like a casque of scorching steel;
And, though I was a soul in pain,
My pain I could not feel.

I only knew what hunted thought
Quickened his step, and why
He looked upon the garish day
With such a wistful eye;
The man had killed the thing he loved
And so he had to die.

Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!

_____________________________________________________

(Extract from) The Ballad of the Reading Gaol

Dear stranger,

Were you looking for this story? I guess you didn’t. Probably you were just bored, wandering upon the tiniest yellow stones and you came across this little object. I would have loved to brighten your day, by writing some words on paper. I’m afraid that is not going to happen. If you want to be cheered up, turn around, walk away and try to find some joyful happening. My story is only there for the people, that want to get a message, eventhough you haven’t got a clue what this message contains. Still interested? Maybe I should tell you I am a criminal. God, I just loved other boys. I don’t know if that even is a crime. Is it, where you come from? Anyways, that’s how I ended up between the walls of Reading Gaol.

One day, I am slumbering through my cell and all of a sudden, I hear yelling. I run outside to see what is happening. I hear that a man has been convicted. With blood on his body and wine on his hands, this man was captured alive, carrying his beloved lady. She had just been killed. They tell me the man had been drunk. He is sober right now, wearing his downtrodden suit of grey, but he can’t escape the trial, that is waiting for him. However, the man is walking as if it is the first day of spring and nothing bad can break his day. But I am looking carefully and I remark the melancholic look in his eyes.  The eyes, that are fixed at the deepblue sky and some grey clouds.
Just as I am asking the man before me what the man had misdone, I hear a rasping voice behind me say: ‘That man needs to swing!’. The reality of life in jail suddenly becomes so real to me. The place is far from pleasant…
At this point, I realise why the man has such a melancholic look and why his eyes are fixed on the sky: the man had killed one of his most beloved persons in his life. But as murder is a crime, the man has to face the consequences. Before they take his life, he suddenly feels the urge to say some valuable words: ‘Everyone of you has killed some things he loved. The only reason why you are free from guilt and I am about to be slain, is that a coward does it with the sweetest kiss and I did it with my sword!’

The last words of a criminal hunted me for the rest of my life. I couldn’t bear living with other people around me, as these words screamed out the main problem of our society. You can see this as my suicide note. I don’t want to be remembered for who I was. I want this message to be seen by as many people as possible, all over the world.
So please, pick up the bottle, roll up this letter, put it back in the bottle and put back the cork.
Throw it as far as you can,
Back into the ocean.

by Roderick Peul

Ozymandias (Percy Bysshe Shelley)

Ozymandias

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear —
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.’

_____________________________________________________

Dear diary,

Today something really strange happened. I was just walking to my work when someone suddenly began to talk to me. It was probably a traveler, I think he said he was from Egypt. But the strange thing was what he said, I do not remember it very clearly, it all happened so fast. But I will try to write it down.

“Two large legs without a body on top of them, build from stone, were standing in the desert. Close to those two legs lay a damaged face, nearly buried by the sand. You could tell by the angry look, the creased lips and grin on its face that the sculptor knew what he was doing when he tried to give the statue its personality. The man defied his underlings in many ways and was very cruel to them, but he did take care of them in a way. On the support of the statue was the following written: ‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’ It was a great king a long time ago, but nothing of what he built is still standing, everything is gone, except for the few parts of his colossal statue. And a lot of sand.”

It was really weird when he suddenly said this, but I think I know what he was trying to say. That you shouldn’t focus too much achieving something that is temporary, because in time it will be gone and no one will remember. And bragging about something that is in your possession now is maybe cool at the moment, but in time it will only make people laugh, like they will laugh at this statue. It was once the statue of a great man, but everything he had is now gone and doesn’t impress anyone. Instead try to achieve something timeless, like an invention.

by Anonymous

No Coward Soul Is Mine (Emily Brontë)

No Coward Soul Is Mine

By Emily Brontë

No coward soul is mine
No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere
I see Heaven’s glories shine
And Faith shines equal arming me from Fear

O God within my breast
Almighty ever-present Deity
Life, that in me hast rest,
As I Undying Life, have power in Thee

Vain are the thousand creeds
That move men’s hearts, unutterably vain,
Worthless as withered weeds
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main

To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by thy infinity,
So surely anchored on
The steadfast rock of Immortality.

With wide-embracing love
Thy spirit animates eternal years
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates and rears

Though earth and moon were gone
And suns and universes ceased to be
And Thou wert left alone
Every Existence would exist in thee

There is not room for Death
Nor atom that his might could render void
Since thou art Being and Breath
And what thou art may never be destroyed.

_____________________________________________________

Dear Diary,

Today I started thinking.

I thought about faith, which is just a belief in something that cannot be seen. But faith is that one thing in which I have complete trust.
Combined with after-life, faith is that one thing that makes me think I can overcome any fear.
But faith is also there to encourage.

Today I started thinking.
In my soul, there is this part which pervades everything.
It’s the part where God is present, always.
And by believing in the everlasting life, anyone should posses this part, in which I feel the deity’s power.

Today I started thinking.
In man’s souls, there are those creeds I cannot speak about. Vain.
And it is sad because those creeds, this vain, distracts them from the most important thing.

But to change that, instead of holding on to the infinity, they should have trust and faith in something more solid.
But my belief, my creed cannot be changed by vain.

Today I started thinking
Again and again I thought about how strong I feel by believing in god.
Because of this power, I know there is a live after death. Because of this power I am not afraid for death anymore

Today I started thinking
I thought that if there was nothing left, no earth, no moon, and even the universe stopped existing, life still exists in deity.
God has always been present, he is present, and he will always be present.
Today I started thinking
Again, again and again I thought about the undying life.
Death cannot and wil never overcome my belief, my creed in that One who gave me the power.

The power to live forever.

 

by Anonymous

When I have fears that I may cease to be (John Keats)

When I have fears that I may cease to be

by John Keats

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

_____________________________________________________

Dear George,

How are you, my brother? I’m writing you because something crossed my mind. Things haven’t been going great for me. This afternoon, I was casually sitting on my couch in front of the fireplace. A glass of fine wine on the side: a lovely, cosy evening. Well… It seemed a lovely evening. I started thinking… Thinking about death. What if I die tomorrow? Mother died, father died… Even Thomas has died. I have fears… Fears that my end is near. I have still so much to write, and so little time left. My head is full of unwritten stories, poems, letters… There are so many books to be written; holding my words like a grain silo holds grain. I want the fame. I want the recognition. I deserve it. What if I die tomorrow? I went out to get some fresh air, and look up the sky. Just to clear my head. The clouds I saw, depressed me even more. I saw clouds that floated so peacefully. It made me thinking even more. I would never get the chance to try the sweet taste of love. Not any kind of love, no, not any kind. The real kind of love, the best feeling love can give. If I die tomorrow… I can’t even get close to sparkles of that feeling when I die tomorrow. There’s too little time to find love. Never will I experience the magical feeling of blinding adoration for someone. But then I went back inside. I sat down, and my eye fell on the globe next to my sofa. And all my fear rushed out my body. Because I realised, what does it even matter? In the end, we’re all the same, little creatures subservient to the great, cruel, wide world. What’s love and fame in a world as big as ours?

It doesn’t matter, it does not.

Life was never what it seemed, not what I’ve thought.

Yours sincerely,

John

 

by Anonymous

The Lady of Shalott (Alfred, Lord Tennyson)

The Lady of Shalott (1832)

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Part I
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro’ the field the road runs by
       To many-tower’d Camelot;
The yellow-leaved waterlily
The green-sheathed daffodilly
Tremble in the water chilly
       Round about Shalott.

 

Willows whiten, aspens shiver.
The sunbeam showers break and quiver
In the stream that runneth ever
By the island in the river
       Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
       The Lady of Shalott.

 

Underneath the bearded barley,
The reaper, reaping late and early,
Hears her ever chanting cheerly,
Like an angel, singing clearly,
       O’er the stream of Camelot.
Piling the sheaves in furrows airy,
Beneath the moon, the reaper weary
Listening whispers, ‘ ‘Tis the fairy,
       Lady of Shalott.’

 

The little isle is all inrail’d
With a rose-fence, and overtrail’d
With roses: by the marge unhail’d
The shallop flitteth silken sail’d,
       Skimming down to Camelot.
A pearl garland winds her head:
She leaneth on a velvet bed,
Full royally apparelled,
       The Lady of Shalott.

 

Part II
No time hath she to sport and play:
A charmed web she weaves alway.
A curse is on her, if she stay
Her weaving, either night or day,
       To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be;
Therefore she weaveth steadily,
Therefore no other care hath she,
       The Lady of Shalott.

 

She lives with little joy or fear.
Over the water, running near,
The sheepbell tinkles in her ear.
Before her hangs a mirror clear,
       Reflecting tower’d Camelot.
And as the mazy web she whirls,
She sees the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
       Pass onward from Shalott.

 

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair’d page in crimson clad,
       Goes by to tower’d Camelot:
And sometimes thro’ the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
       The Lady of Shalott.

 

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror’s magic sights,
For often thro’ the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
       And music, came from Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead
Came two young lovers lately wed;
‘I am half sick of shadows,’ said
       The Lady of Shalott.

 

Part III
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro’ the leaves,
And flam’d upon the brazen greaves
       Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel’d
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
       Beside remote Shalott.

 

The gemmy bridle glitter’d free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
       As he rode down from Camelot:
And from his blazon’d baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
       Beside remote Shalott.

 

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn’d like one burning flame together,
       As he rode down from Camelot.
As often thro’ the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
       Moves over green Shalott.

 

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d;
On burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow’d
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
       As he rode down from Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash’d into the crystal mirror,
‘Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:’
       Sang Sir Lancelot.

 

She left the web, she left the loom
She made three paces thro’ the room
She saw the water-flower bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
       She look’d down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack’d from side to side;
‘The curse is come upon me,’ cried
       The Lady of Shalott.

 

Part IV
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
       Over tower’d Camelot;
Outside the isle a shallow boat
Beneath a willow lay afloat,
Below the carven stern she wrote,
The Lady of Shalott.

 

A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight,
All raimented in snowy white
That loosely flew (her zone in sight
Clasp’d with one blinding diamond bright)
       Her wide eyes fix’d on Camelot,
Though the squally east-wind keenly
Blew, with folded arms serenely
By the water stood the queenly
       Lady of Shalott.

 

With a steady stony glance—
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Beholding all his own mischance,
Mute, with a glassy countenance—
       She look’d down to Camelot.
It was the closing of the day:
She loos’d the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
       The Lady of Shalott.

 

As when to sailors while they roam,
By creeks and outfalls far from home,
Rising and dropping with the foam,
From dying swans wild warblings come,
       Blown shoreward; so to Camelot
Still as the boathead wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her chanting her deathsong,
       The Lady of Shalott.

 

A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy,
She chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her eyes were darken’d wholly,
And her smooth face sharpen’d slowly,
       Turn’d to tower’d Camelot:
For ere she reach’d upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
       The Lady of Shalott.

 

Under tower and balcony,
By garden wall and gallery,
A pale, pale corpse she floated by,
Deadcold, between the houses high,
       Dead into tower’d Camelot.
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
To the planked wharfage came:
Below the stern they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

 

They cross’d themselves, their stars they blest,
Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.
There lay a parchment on her breast,
That puzzled more than all the rest,
       The wellfed wits at Camelot.
‘The web was woven curiously,
The charm is broken utterly,
Draw near and fear not,—this is I,
       The Lady of Shalott.’
_____________________________________________________

Dear Sasha,

I was riding to the many-towered Camelot, through the fields, alongside the river, a river full of yellow-leaved waterlily’s and green-sheathed Daffodilly’s. Riding through the white willows and aspens. Then I saw, on the island in the river, a tower. Four grey walls and four grey towers. And there, within the tower, I saw a lady, the lady of Shalott. She was singing so beautifully, like an angel. The lady of Shalott. When I arrived in Camelot I asked about the tower and his beauty, the lady of Shalott. I asked at least five people, who did not know who I was talking about, and told me I was crazy. I almost gave up when there was an old lady, she came up to me and said; ‘The lady of Shalott? I can tell you her story.’ So happy as I was, to hear that I wasn’t the only person who has seen this beauty. We went to a pub and sat down, the old lady started telling; ‘The lady of Shalott, she shelters within the four grey walls of the tower in the river. She is dressed like a royal. She has no time to sport and play, she only weaves. She weaves a charming web. A true gift, as beautifully as that she weaves. But she never leaves the tower to share this gift. Why? She is cursed. She does not know what the curse is. The only thing she knows is that she is cursed and cannot leave her tower. That is why she keeps on weaving. She has no joy, no fear in her live. She does has a mirror. A mirror to look at the shadows. The shadows of Camelot. One day she looks into her mirror and saw something. She saw a rider coming, a knight, Sir Lancelot. Sir Lancelot rides to Camelot, singing. His black curls flowing underneath his helmet. She never saw someone like this, the lady of Shalott. She left her web and went to the window. She looked out of the window and saw Sir Lancelot riding to Camelot. The mirror shattered. The lady of Shalott knows that now the curse is upon her. She left her tower and laid down in a boat. A boat with beautiful snowy white robes. The boat sailed the river, while the lady of Shalott lays in the boat. Leaves falling on her beautiful face. The boat sailed on the river, through the willowy hills and silent fields. The lady of Shalott started to sing. She started to sing her last song. While she sang the boat sailed to Camelot. Here last song. A carol, mournful and holy. She sang until her eyes closed and her body froze. She sang until she died.’ The old lady went on and said; Then we saw her in Camelot, we saw her body, frozen, in the boat. Nobody knew who she was, nobody knew her name. The lady of Shalott. Everyone was fearful, except for Sir Lancelot. Who saw the lady of Shalott and said; ‘Such a lovely face. Let God in his mercy lend her grace.’ The lady of Shalott.’ The old lady ended her story. I was confused, after all I had seen her in her tower, singing. The old lady looked at me and said. That even though the lady of Shalott died they still hear her singing. Then the old lady left. I was flabbergasted. The next day I rode away from Camelot. And while I rode I heard her sing. The lady of Shalott.

Greetings Loes

by Loes Versteeg

The City in the Sea (Edgar Allan Poe)

The City in the Sea

by Edgar Allan Poe

Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West,
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines and palaces and towers
(Time-eaten towers that tremble not!)
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
No rays from the holy heaven come down
On the long night-time of that town;
But light from out the lurid sea
Streams up the turrets silently-
Gleams up the pinnacles far and free-
Up domes- up spires- up kingly halls-
Up fanes- up Babylon-like walls-
Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers
Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers-
Up many and many a marvellous shrine
Whose wreathed friezes intertwine
The viol, the violet, and the vine.
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadows there
That all seem pendulous in air,
While from a proud tower in the town
Death looks gigantically down.

There open fanes and gaping graves
Yawn level with the luminous waves;
But not the riches there that lie
In each idol’s diamond eye-
Not the gaily-jewelled dead
Tempt the waters from their bed;
For no ripples curl, alas!
Along that wilderness of glass-
No swellings tell that winds may be
Upon some far-off happier sea-
No heavings hint that winds have been
On seas less hideously serene.

But lo, a stir is in the air!
The wave- there is a movement there!
As if the towers had thrust aside,
In slightly sinking, the dull tide-
As if their tops had feebly given
A void within the filmy Heaven.
The waves have now a redder glow-
The hours are breathing faint and low-
And when, amid no earthly moans,
Down, down that town shall settle hence,
Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,
Shall do it reverence.

 

_____________________________________________________

My travel journal to <destination unknown>,

 

October 10th 1839

Today I still made my way through the forest following the setting sun down the west. I still have plenty of food and water, and my backpack is still well packed with equipment. I feel like at some point I have to be coming up on something special worth telling and writing about. I’ll keep continuing until I stumble upon something, let’s hope for the best.

 

October 11th 1839

Today I still made my way through the forest, it became more open and the terrain started to change. I was still chasing the sun, when suddenly I saw, smelled and heard the sea. The water was too salty to drink, so my reserves couldn’t be refilled. I was admiring the greatness of the refreshing sea and was happy that the scenery changed after so many days in the forest. The water was calm and only a few waves were crashing on the shore. Suddenly I see a single little light shining out from the water. I tried to see what it was and could make out a tall structure. I got my binoculars from my bag an started to look again, hoping they would help me to better focus my sight on the structure.  What I saw was incredible, it looked like a part of a city flooded by the sea. The sun was setting so I decided to set up camp and go to sleep. Tomorrow I’m going to investigate the sight further, let’s hope for the best.

 

October 12th 1839

Today I woke up and my mission of the day was to investigate the structures in the water further. I didn’t see the light in the water anymore, but I noticed that the water level was significantly lower. The water level decreased and the structures were exposed to the sunlight, something it probably hadn’t seen for a very long time. The structures were part of a very big city. The place looked like there hadn’t been anyone in a few hundred years. The feeling around here was very strange. I decided to walk down to the city, this could be the special thing that I was looking for on this journey. Once I got down to the city level I started to explore. The strange feeling was still present and had become stronger. I saw a lot of buildings, the city must have been a bustling city once. I wandered for a couple of hours and saw a lot of the city. A palace, towers and shrines to name a few things. Nothing looked familiar to the present day, I had never seen structures like this in my life. The feeling was still very strange and I could tell that something had been going on here at some point in history. It was really quiet and the light from the sun disappeared, even though it shouldn’t have been time for it to hide behind the horizon yet. But the sunlight was replaced by a soft light coming from the city. A light which lit up the city, I saw domes, spires and huge walls, all seem to have been decorated with sculpted ivy and flowers. There were also a lot of decorated shrines. I explored a part of the city today, the rest will have to wait until tomorrow. I set up camp again, ate, drank and went to sleep, let’s hope for the best.

 

October 13th 1839

Today I woke up feeling very nauseous and dizzy. I was going to explore the rest of the city, but I didn’t know how far I would come. I started by walking farther in the city. I saw graves and tombstones everywhere. The nausea became worse and I had a bad feeling about the whole city. It felt like something or someone was crawling into my head and speaking to me. ‘In this City Death has the throne, in this City the bad, the worst and the best have gone to their eternal rest’. It was a very strange feeling and confirmed my assumption that there was something very odd about this place. ‘Welcome to His realm’, the voice continued to say, ‘here in the far West below sea level’. I looked around and saw things, that I could not really make out, in the gaping graves in the ground. Then a breeze started to kick up. The ground started to shake and the bad feeling I had about the whole situation and place only got worse. I started to run towards the place where I descended into the City. While I was running the ground started to shake even harder and I felt the City descending further down into the earth. I stumbled over many what seem to be stone body’s, because the light coming from the City decreased. After a lot of running and many stone body encounters, I reached the shore again and climbed back up. When I tried to look back over to the city, it had disappeared. The sea was back again but it was the only thing surrounding me. The city wasn’t the only thing that had disappeared, the sun was also nowhere to be seen. It was pitch black and the only thing that I saw was the moon standing high in the sky.

So here I stand in the middle of the sea, I’m still hoping for the best…

by Anonymous