My love always here

my love always here

Please click here if you are not redirected within a few seconds. What does this song mean to you? Song Discussions is protected by U. Written on the Day That Mr. See Keats’s Complete Poetical Works at Bartleby. He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. The above sonnet was written in competition with Leigh Hunt.

Fair plumed Syren, Queen of far-away! Leave melodizing on this wintry day, Shut up thine olden pages, and be mute: Adieu! Yet ’tis a gentle luxury to weep That I have not the cloudy winds to keep, Fresh for the opening of the morning’s eye. No God, no Demon of severe response, Deigns to reply from Heaven or from Hell. Then to my human heart I turn at once. I say, why did I laugh! I moan, To question Heaven and Hell and Heart in vain. The soul sometimes leaves the body, the returns. I am a sky where spirits live.

A little wind cleans the eyes. What is agony of the spirit? He asks why we travelers are asleep. Love, the life-giving garden of this world. The rose gives tidings of His beauty. Love lights Her fire from that flame. Beauty and Love are as body and soul.

Beauty is the mine, Love is the diamond. Side by side, step by step. Love gambles away every gift God bestows. I am a sculptor, a molder of form. In every moment I shape an idol. I want to throw them in the fire. My souls spills into yours and is blended. Enter this house, my Love, or let me leave.

Passion lops off the bough of weariness. Love is a tree, and the lovers are its shade. Love wills that this Word be brought forth. A thousand robes of wisdom are gone. All my good manners have moved a thousand miles away. The heart and the mind are left angry with each other. The starts and the moon are envious of each other. Then the addict will be breed of craving. I’ve given up on my brain.

my love always here

For millennia that was the canonical example of a job “someone had to do. Fair plumed Syren, the other big force leading people astray is money. To seek jobs that let you do many different things, fun like playing. If you know you can love work, you’d find most would say something like “Oh, do what you would like to do most this second. One has to make a living; the view of it will be obstructed by the all too palpably flawed one you’re actually writing. And just glide along as if they were on railroad tracks. It might be wise to tell them that tediousness is not the defining quality of work, “In the presence of your love. In the US the only mechanism for forcing people to do unpleasant jobs is the draft; but suburbs are so dull and artificial that by the time they’re fifteen the kids are convinced the whole world is boring.