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Richepin cuore di mamma torrent

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Chandra Writer: N. V Anand. Gamebox 1. Hookers Inc. Hastey Hastey - Follow Your Heart! David Morin, Geno Andrews. No tiene sentido Aliens vs. Evans Writer: Art D'Alessandro. I am not a cold woman, Henry, But I do not feel for you, What I feel for the elephants and the miasmas And the general view. It was my girlfriend, who just wanted to say that she was fucking Jeff and they thought it best to tell me themselves, that I should have known a year away was no good for a relationship.

The porter, an old man with bad hearing, was rolling a cigarette and leaning in my direction. Okay, man? Ah, will no soule giue eare vnto my mone? Who answers thus so kindly when I crie? What fostred thee that pities my despaire?

Where was my reason, that it would not doubt? Wherewith can she acquit my loyall part? What hath she then with me to disaguise? Then, and then only, in her lifted eyes, Remembrance beamed, and tears would slowly rise. Let us go hence, my songs; she will not hear. Let us go hence together without fear; Keep silence now, for singing-time is over, And over all old things and all things dear.

She loves not you nor me as all we love her. Yea, though we sang as angels in her ear, She would not hear. Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for one so young, And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung. On her pallid cheek and forehead came a colour and a light, As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the northern night. I will not have such as thee to kiss my pretty lips, nay, not in his dreams.

Lord, how you look! Lord, how you talk! Lord, how you antic! Your lips are wet and your hands black, and you smell rank. Trust me, my blood boiled up in a moment, and my face went as red with the anguish of it as the rose with the dewdrops. And so she up and left me, but it rankles in my heart that such a filthy drab should cavil at a well-favoured fellow like me.

Not from this anger, anticlimax after Refusal struck her loin and the lame flower Bent like a beast to lap the singular floods In a land strapped by hunger Shall she receive a bellyful of weeds And bear those tendril hands I touch across The agonized, two seas. Behind my head a square of sky sags over The circular smile tossed from lover to lover And the golden ball spins out of the skies; Not from this anger after Refusal struck like a bell under water Shall her smile breed that mouth, behind the mirror, That burns along my eyes.

A prefect from the south is here, his five horses stand pawing the ground. You have your own wife, Prefect, Luofu has her own husband! Now springes the spray All for love I am so seek That slepen I ne may. Except my heart which you bestowed before, And for a sign of conquest gave away As worthless to be kept in your choice store Yet one more spotless with you doth not stay.

Farewell love and all thy laws forever; Thy baited hooks shall tangle me no more. Senec and Plato call me from thy lore To perfect wealth, my wit for to endeavour. In blind error when I did persever, Thy sharp repulse, that pricketh aye so sore, Hath taught me to set in trifles no store And scape forth, since liberty is lever. Therefore farewell; go trouble younger hearts And in me claim no more authority. With idle youth go use thy property And thereon spend thy many brittle darts, For hitherto though I have lost all my time, Me lusteth no lenger rotten boughs to climb.

Obviously, running out of language. I sit on my power. Finally, in the boxed-up city, night comes on without a sunset; books push out their backs, turn stiff arms away, press closer together. Now, the construction is not the structure of your making love to me. The size of your body on mine does not equal your weight or buoyancy, like fireworks on a television screen, or the way an absent double expresses inaccuracy between what exists and does not exist in the room of particular shape, volume, etc.

You have made a vow to a woman not to sleep with me. For me, it seemed enough that love was a spiritual exercise in physical form and what was seen is what it was, looking down from the twelfth floor, our arms resting on pillows on the windowsill. Dear — it depends. It depends upon taste, which must not be disputed; for which of us does understand why some like their furnishings pallid and muted, their cookery wholesome, but bland? Cummings to May Swenson.

Moll wears silver slippers With red heels, And men come to see her In automobiles. She had A heart—how shall I say? My favour at her breast, The dropping of the daylight in the West, The bough of cherries some officious fool Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule She rode with round the terrace—all and each Would draw from her alike the approving speech, Or blush, at least.

She thanked men,—good! Aurelius, father of hungers, you desire to fuck, not just these, but whoever my friends were, or are, or will be in future years. In vain: now my insidious cock will bugger you first. I sat before my glass one day, And conjured up a vision bare, Unlike the aspects glad and gay, That erst were found reflected there — The vision of a woman, wild With more than womanly despair.

Her hair stood back on either side A face bereft of loveliness. It had no envy now to hide What once no man on earth could guess. It formed the thorny aureole Of hard, unsanctified distress. Picture of the production of Hallelujah, Baby! Trouble is The girl is his, not mine. I praised the daisies on my lawn, And then my lady mowed them down. When I adored the sunlight, she Kept a bright fire indoors for me. She saw I loved the birds, and that Made her one day bring home a cat.

She plucks my flowers to deck each room, And make me follow where they bloom. Over and back, the long waves crawl and track the sand with foam; night darkens, and the sea takes on that desperate tone of dark that wives put on when all their love is done. Over and back, the tangled thread falls slack, over and up and on; over and all is sewn; now while I bind the end, I wish some fiery friend would sweep impetuously these fingers from the loom. She may chew a pale something, a root, find it tasteless, drop it for the dreary others to take away, then ….

If she ever decides to show me kindness she remembers our past and shies away. This love a despair I fight to contain but even the thread of my thoughts has loosened. Then I know what lies behind your silence: Scorn, hatred of me, of marriage. Still, You want me to touch you; you cry out As brides cry, but when I look at you I see There are no children in your body. Then what is there? Your heart. When I parted from my Good and did not tell her how she was dear to me, I suffer for it now. I left it out because of all those hypocrites whose envy ruined my pleasure.

I wish them nothing else but that the One who harried Hell make them hurt and yell. Walking with you and another lady In wooded parkland, the whispering grass Ran its fingers through our guessing silence And the trees opened into a shady Unexpected clearing where we sat down. I think the candour of the light dismayed us. We talked about desire and being jealous, Our conversation a loose single gown Or a white picnic tablecloth spread out Like a book of manners in the wilderness.

O neither these verses Nor my prudence, love, can heal your wounded stare. Who besides you could I see beside me all alone on a tropical Isle And who could I see besides you, beside me When I dream with my lips in a smile …. He has a face that just a mother could love! No, no, Nora, Nobody but you, dear! You know, Nora, Yours truly is true dear! Lady, whom my beloved loves so well! When on his clasping arm thy head reclineth, When on thy lips his ardent kisses dwell, And the bright flood of burning light that shineth In his dark eyes, is poured into thine; When thou shalt lie enfolded to his heart In all the trusting helplessness of love; If in such joy sorrow can find a part, Oh, give one sigh unto a doom like mine!

Which I would have thee pity, but not prove. One cold, calm careless, wintry look that fell Haply by chance one, is all that he Ever gave my love; round that, my wild thoughts dwell In one eternal pang of memory. Through the house what busy joy, Just because the infant boy Has a tiny tooth to show! I have got a double row, All as white, and all as small; Yet no one cares for mine at all. I look out the window at the retreating back. Your jealousy is both touching and comical.

Si se fue con otro morireme yo. In Santiago the green Jealousy seized me Night sits in the day, I dream of vengeance. Poplars of the thicket, where is my love? If she were with another then I would die. Clear Manzanares Oh little river, Empty of water, Run full of fire. Beauty of songs your absence I should not show How artfully I love you, can you love me?

Now you are knocking, you need a tylenol; From all that comedy what will you tell? Siempre dulce el viento y el camino en paz. He passed by with another; I saw him pass by. The wind was forever sweet and the road, peaceful. And these wretched eyes beheld him passing by! He continues loving another into flowery lands.

The hawthorn has bloomed; a song slips away. And he continues loving another into flowery lands. The splat of bare feet on wet tile breaks the incredible luck of my being alone in here. I snatch a stingy towel and sidle into the shower. I recognize the arm as one that flashed for many rapid laps while I dogpaddled at the shallow end.

Bells gathered like bells What are captive and able thin clapper clapping cast in a bell in a jealous bell. I am a gatherer in the jealous bell the ugly tangent cast in a race divergently I am so unfair. You do not always know what I am feeling. Vir tuus est epulas nobis aditurus easdem— ultima coena tuo sit, precor, illa viro! Thy husband to a banquet goes with me, Pray God it may his latest supper be, Shall I sit gazing as a bashfull guest, While others touch the damsell I love best?

Wilt lying under him his bosome clippe? About thy neck shall he at pleasure skippe? Marveile not though the faire Bride did incite The drunken Centaures to a sodaine fight. I am no halfe horse, nor in woods I dwell, Yet scarse my hands from thee containe I well. From our dream grown, on our blood fed, and haunting the purple of our nights, they are the fruits of long concern, they are the fruits of long desire, they were our most secret accomplices and, often verging upon avowal, drew us to their ends out of the abyss of our nights….

Praise to the first dawn, now they are ripe and beneath the purple, these fruits of an imperious fate. It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulcher In this kingdom by the sea.

To be vext at a trifle or two that I writ, Your judgment at once, and my passion, you wrong: 10 You take that for fact, which will scarce be found wit; Ods life! What I speak, my fair Chloe, and what I write, shows The difference there is betwixt nature and art: I court others in verse—but I love thee in prose; 15 And they have my whimsies—but thou hast my heart.

A thousand torments wait on love — The sigh, the tear, the anguished groan — But he who never learnt to prove A jealous pang has nothing known! He seems to be a god, that man Facing you, who leans to be close, Smiles, and, alert and glad, listens To your mellow voice. And quickens in love at your laughter That stings my breasts, jolts my heart If I dare the shock of a glance.

I cannot speak, …. When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din and the glare, There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-dirty, and loaded for bear. He looked like a man with a foot in the grave and scarcely the strength of a louse, Yet he tilted a poke of dust on the bar, and he called for drinks for the house. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.

Bright pearl, kingfisher plume bed drapes, Gold leaf, sheer green silk door tapestries Lifting now and then with the wind. I imagine I see your charming face At dawn when you put on your tiara, At dark when you slip off your silk dress Well, give yourself to Mr.

Does love have to be selfish? Strange that your image should occur to me as I beat the grass for snakes in this. I have always thought your manner somewhat. Or is it the woman …. How is your life with that other one?

Simpler, is it? A stroke of the oars and a long coastline— and the memory of me. Souls—you will be sisters— sisters, not lovers. How is your life with an ordinary woman? The queen supplanted— …. That country dance is a sore test for him; He thinks her cold; his hopes are faint and dim; But though with seeming mirth she takes her part In all the dances and the laughter there, And though to many a youth, on brief demand, She gives a kind assent and courteous hand, She loves but him, for him is all her care.

Frankie and Johnnie were lovers, O, my Gawd, how they could love, They swore to be true to each other, As true as the stars above; He was her man, but he done her wrong. Frankie was a good woman, As everybody knows, Gave her man a hundred dollars, To get him a suit of clothes; He was her man, but he done her wrong. Oh lute that I would like to see demolished! These women plunder my husband as if he were plums in the bowl of a blind man. But I can see them, clear as a cobra.

Her boyfriend caught them spooning and shot them one dark night. Elvious fell out of the left door. Lorena fell out of the right. They buried her in Comfort, Texas, and Elvious in Privelege, stone lamb over her grave, stone angel over his. Portrait of Lady Mary Wroth holding a theorbo, source. Free from all fogs but shining fair, and clear Wise in all good, and innocent in ill Where holy friendship is esteemed dear With truth in love, and justice in our will,.

In love these titles only have their fill Of happy life maintainer, and the mere Defence of right, the punisher of skill, And fraud; from whence directness doth appear. A lesbian couple lives next door, protected by the free air of our country. Their wanton laughter from morning till night makes my life miserable. When the moth of my soul recalls the shining lamps of your beauty There is no party not warmed by our passion, our verse.

All our hearts are gathered in your dark curls— what if the wind unbinds them? Will there be any of us not disheveled and crazed with thoughts of love? Being in love with someone who is not in love with you, you understand my predicament. Being in love with you, who are not in love with me, you understand my dilemma. Being in love with your being in love with me, which you are not, you understand. Being in love with your being, you can well imagine how hard it is.

Being in love with your being you, no matter you are not your being being in love with me, you can appreciate and pity being in love with you. Being in love …. Why does she mourn? Why droop, like flowret nipped in early spring? Slanting both hands against her forehead, On me she levelled her bright eyes; My whole heart brightened as the sea When midnight clouds part suddenly; Through all my spirit went the lustre Like starlight poured through purple skies.

And then she sang aloud, sweet music, Yet louder as aloft it clomb; Soft when her curving lips it left; Then rising till the heavens were cleft, As though each strain, on high expanding, Were echoes in a silver dome. But ah! Come, fair one, be kind; You never shall find A fellow so fit for a lover; The world shall view My passion for you, But never your passion discover. I still will complain Of your frowns and disdain, Though I revel through all your charms: The world shall declare, That I die with despair, When I only die in you arms.

Gilbert b. You always knew you wrote for him, you said He is the father of my art, the one who watches all night, chainsmoking, never smiling, never satisfied. You liked him because he was carved from glaciers, because you had to give him strong wine to make him human, because he flushed once, like a November sunset, when you pleased him. You thought that was part of the bargain.

Under spring stars, he touched my face and breasts and the innumerable moons of my body. For months, I listened for him everywhere, hearing his laugh now and again down stone corridors or across the hushed drifts that chilled Elsinore. Love abandons me and flows to you.

Love abandons you and flows to time. Bright is the ancient mark of a forgotten wound, bright and painful. Poor child! I know I am but summer to your heart, And not the full four seasons of the year; And you must welcome from another part Such noble moods as are not mine, my dear. No gracious weight of golden fruits to sell Have I, nor any wise and wintry thing; And I have loved you all too long and well To carry still the high sweet breast of Spring.

Wherefore I say: O love, as summer goes, I must be gone, steal forth with silent drums, That you may hail anew the bird and rose When I come back to you, as summer comes. Else will you seek, at some not distant time, Even your summer in another clime. Each ring singing bird In the wild wind wood heard And the cuckoo high up in the plane trees And never will come Death into our home In the shade of the sweet scented green-trees.

II O beautiful head All kiss curled red, Green and grand your eyes are. My heart is high-strung, Like a thread too well spun. From loving too long from afar. His eyes were hard as porphyry With looking on cruel lands; His voice went slipping over me Like terrible silver hands. Together we trod the secret lane And walked the muttering town. I wore my heart like a wet, red stain On the breast of a velvet gown. Like a car stuck in gear, a chicken too stupid to tell its head is gone, or sound ratcheting on long after the film has jumped the reel, or a phone ringing and ringing in the house they have all moved away from, through rooms where dust is a deepening skin, and the locks unneeded, so I go on loving you , my heart blundering on, a muscle spilling out what is no longer wanted, and my words hurtling past, like a train off its track, toward a boarded-up station, closed for years, like some last speaker of a beautiful language no one else can hear.

Victor Segalen during an expedition to Polynesia, source. Let it never come to pass. Let it even be forgotten: let her name never flower within my deepest self,. I A poor lad once and a lad so trim, Fol de rol de raly O! Fol de rol! A poor lad once and a lad so trim Gave his love to her that loved not him. Day and night I can do nothing; As a flood my tears flow. Photo of Meet Me in St. With her high starched collar and her high topped shoes And her hair piled high upon her head She went to find a jolly hour on the trolley And she found my heart instead With my light brown derby and my bright green tie I was quite the lonesomest of men I started to yen so I counted to ten Then I counted to ten again Clang, clang, clang went the trolley Ding, ding, ding went the bell Zing, zing, zing went my heart strings For the moment I saw her I fell ….

Do my foolish alibis bore you? I remember the coconut trees and the tamarinds and the mangos, the white sheets drying in the sun, the smoke of breakfast staining the sky at daybreak, and fish dancing in the net, and a girl in red who would drift down to the shore and float up with a jug and pass behind a grove and appear and disappear. And for a long time I could not sail without that image of the girl in red and the coconut trees an d the tamarinds and the mangos that seemed to live only because she lived; ….

Just toss and pitch! By that little witch! And that was a whirlpool, that was a whirlpool, And I very nearly drowned. On the way back I fell in the field And she fell down beside me. I used to be the kind that acted sober, acted wise Until I felt the magic that happens in your eyes ….

When a girl meets boy, life can be a joy But the note they end on Will depend on little pleasures they will share So let us compare I like New York in June, how about you? I like a Gershwin tune, how about you? I love a fireside when a storm is due, I like potato chips, moonlight And motor trips, how about you?

Oh light of my eye, were my eye not shining from the candle of your beauty My worldy vision would be no use to me at all. The pleasure of wondering when I will be near you Keeps me from calling any place my home. Oh keeper of the garden, it is useless to wander in the rose-garden of many delights When I burn for union with the cypress of the jasmine breast ….

And this silk seems Fire to me. And now no longer Fire, but Blood. And blood is but a sign of that which we Call, in our poor language, Love. No, not fire, nor blood, but only satin Creaks beneath the timid needle. Meet the beat of my heart Meet the time and the weather The tick that holds me together Without him beside me I never could go on …. Never could carry a tune, never knew where to start You came along when everything was wrong and put a song in my heart.

Dear when you smiled at me, I heard a melody It haunted me from the start Something inside of me started a symphony Zing! Went the strings of my heart. Thou swell!

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