BoilerMaker的个人资料

【尚品倾城6月29日】I am still here.... I am still here. I have both 32's book and EP.

【尚善若水】How Do I Love Thee? Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806?861)Bio from Biography.com How Do I Love Thee?by Elizabeth Barrett BrowningHow do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love with a passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. Griefby Elizabeth Barrett BrowningI tell you, hopeless grief is passionless;That only men incredulous of despair,Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight airBeat upward to God's throne in loud accessOf shrieking and reproach. Full desertness,In souls as countries, lieth silent-bareUnder the blanching, vertical eye-glareOf the absolute Heavens. Deep-hearted man, expressGrief for thy Dead in silence like to death--Most like a monumental statue setIn everlasting watch and moveless woeTill itself crumble to the dust beneath.Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet:If it could weep, it could arise and go.

【爱尚雯婕】好久没来了 hahahah

【与梦平行】I am broke.... lost 10% in my stocks...:(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((

【与梦平行】Common! Look at the chart below.

【尚善若水】Why did Baidu delete posts again? about 3000 posts were deleted.

【尚善若水】Ainsi font Ainsi fontComptineAinsi font, font, fontLes petites marionnettesAinsi font font fontTrois petits toursEt puis s’en vontElle reviendrontLes petites marionnettesElles reviendrontQuand les autres partiront.

【尚善若水】Ah! Vous dirai-je Maman Ah! Vous dirai-je MamanChanson enfantineAh! Vous dirai-je MamanCe qui cause mon tourment ?Papa veut que je raisonneComme une grande personneMoi je dis que les bonbonsValent mieux que la raison.

【尚善若水】À la salade À la saladeJe suis maladeAu céleriJe suis guériÀ la pomme de terreJe suis par terreAu haricotJe suis dans l’eau.-Savez vous nager, Mademoiselle/Monsieur?

【尚善若水】À la claire fontaine À la claire fontaine,M’en allant promenerJ’ai trouvé l’eau si belleQue je m’y suis baignéRefrain :Il y a longtemps que je t’aimeJamais je ne t’oublieraiSous les feuilles d’un chêne,Je me suis fait sécherSur la plus haute branche,Un rossignol chantaitRefrainChante rossignol, chante,Toi qui as le cœur gaiTu as le cœur à rire,Moi je l’ai à pleurerRefrainJ’ai perdu mon amie,Sans l’avoir méritéPour un bouquet de roses,Que je lui refusaisRefrainJe voudrais que la rose,Fût encore au rosierEt que ma douce amieFût encore à m’aimer(autre version:Et que le rosier mêmeÀ la mer fût jeté.)Refrain

【尚善若水】St. Knut’s Day Nu är glada julen slut, slut, slut.Julegranen bäres ut, ut, ut.Men till nästa jul igen,kommer han vår gamle vän,för det har han lovat.

【尚善若水】Le Printemps Le Printemps par Théophile GautierRegardez les branchesComme elles sont blanches,Il neige des fleurs.Riant de la pluieLe soleil essuieles saules en pleurs.Et le ciel reflèteDans la violetteSes pures couleurs…La mouche ouvre l’aileEt la demoiselleAux prunelles d’or,Au corset de guêpeDépliant son crêpe,A repris l’essor.L’eau gaiement babille,Le goujon frétilleUn printemps encore !

【尚善若水】杜甫佳人绝代有佳人幽居在空谷自云良家子零落依草木关中昔丧乱兄弟遭杀戮官高何足论不得收骨肉世情恶衰歇万事随转烛夫婿轻薄儿新人美如玉合昏尚知时鸳鸯不独宿但见新人笑那闻旧人哭在山泉水清出山泉水浊侍婢卖珠回牵萝补茅屋摘花不插发采柏动盈掬天寒翠袖薄日暮倚修竹

【尚善若水】Amusing Myself Amusing MyselfLi Bai Face wine not aware get darkFall flower fill my clothesDrunk stand step stream moonBird far person also few Facing my wine, I did not see the dusk,Falling blossoms have filled the folds of my clothes.Drunk, I rise and approach the moon in the stream,Birds are far off, people too are few.

【尚善若水】Thought's End I'd watched the hills drink the last colour of light,All shapes grow bright and wane on the pale air,Till down the traitorous east there came the nightAnd swept the circle of my seeing bare;Its intimate beauty like a wanton's veilTore from the void as from an empty face.I felt at being's rim all being fail,And my one body pitted against space.O heart more frightened than a wild bird's wingsBeating at green, now is no fiery markLeft on the quiet nothingness of things.Be self no more against the flooding dark;There thousandwise, sown in that cloudy blot,Stars that are worlds look out and see you not.

【尚善若水】Many Mansions The last majority attained,And shut from its small house of dust,Into the heritage of airThe spirit goes because it must:And halts before the multiple planeTo look more ways than left and right,And weeping walks its father's houseLike something homeless in the night:For now less largely let abroad,Though but the world they say is mine,I shiver as I take the road.

【尚善若水】Kennst du das Land No, I have borne in mind this hill,For once before I came its wayIn hours when summer held her breathAbove her innocents at play;Knew the leaves deepening the green groundWith their green shadows, there as stillAnd perfect as leaves stand in air;The bird who takes delight in soundGiving his young and watery call,That is each time as if a fallFlashed silver and were no more there.And knew at last, when day was through,That sky in which the boughs were dippedMore thick with stars than fields with dew;And in December brought to mindThe laughing child to whom they gaveAmong these slopes, upon this grass,The summer-hearted name of love.Still can you follow with your eyes,Where on the green and gilded groundThe dancers will not break the round,The beechtrunks carved of moonlight rise;Still at their roots the violets burnLamps whose flame is soft as breath.But turn not so, again, again,They clap me in their wintry chain;I know the land whereto you turn,And know it for a land of death.Note: The title is from Goethe's "Kennst du das Land, wo die Zitronen blühn?" (Know you the land where the lemon-trees bloom?").

【尚善若水】Lullaby Hush, lullay.Your treasures allEncrust with rust,Your trinket pleasures fall To dust.Beneath the sapphire arch,Upon the grassy floor,Is nothing more To hold,And play is over-old.Your eyes In sleepy fever gleam,Their lids droop To their dream.You wander late alone,The flesh frets on the bone,Your love fails in your breast,Here is the pillow.Rest.

【尚善若水】更正！尚吧第一高楼使这个 http://post.baidu.com/f?kz=153404351【爱尚雯婕】自己当一回建筑工，盖一生,直到死去![精品]

【尚善若水】四川的芝麻好彪悍，尚吧第一高楼 http://post.baidu.com/f?kz=145961966【爱尚雯婕】四川芝麻为三儿盖高楼冲上云霄

【尚善若水】补楼的亲，快出来！！【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】+

【尚善若水】今天冲700W,大家有没有信心【尚善若水】【尚善若水】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】【爱尚雯婕】

【尚善若水】Auld Lang Syne Auld Lang Syne by Robert Burns Should auld acquaintance be forgot,And never brought to mind?Should auld acquaintance be forgot,And auld lang syne?For auld lang syne, my dear,For auld lang syne,We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,For auld lang syne.And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,And surely I'll be mine!And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,For auld lang syne.For auld lang syne, my dear,For auld lang syne,We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,For auld lang syne.We twa hae run about the braes,And pu'd the gowans fine;But we've wandered mony a weary fitSin' auld lang syne.For auld lang syne, my dear,For auld lang syne,We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,For auld lang syne.We twa hae paidled i' the burn,Frae morning sun till dine;But seas between us braid hae roaredSin' auld lang syne.For auld lang syne, my dear,For auld lang syne,We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,For auld lang syne.And there's a hand, my trusty fiere,And gie's a hand o' thine!And we'll tak a right guid-willie waughtFor auld lang syne.For auld lang syne, my dear,For auld lang syne,We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,For auld lang syne.

【尚善若水】Candle In The Wind Tribute To Princess Diana Candle In The Wind Tribute To Princess Diana by Elton JohnGoodbye England's RoseMay you ever grow in our hearts.You were the grace that placed itselfWhere lives were torn apart.You called out to our country,And you whispered to those in pain.Now you belong to heaven,And the stars spell out your name.And it seems to me you lived your lifeLike a candle in the wind,Never fading with the sunsetWhen the rain set in.And your footsteps will always fall here,Along England's greenest hills; Your candles burned out long beforeYour legend ever will.Loveliness we've lost;These empty days without your smile. This torch we'll always carryFor our nation's golden child. And even though we try,The truth brings us to tears;All our words cannot expressThe joy you brought us through the years.And it seems to me you lived your lifeLike a candle in the wind,Never fading with the sunsetWhen the rain set in.And your footsteps will always fall here,Along England's greenest hills, Your candles' burned out long beforeYour legend ever will. Goodbye England's Rose May you ever grow in our hearts.You were the grace that placed itselfWhere lives were torn apart. Goodbye England's Rose, From a country lost without your soul,Who'll miss the wings of your compassionMore than you'll ever know.And it seems to me you lived your lifeLike a candle in the wind,Never fading with the sunsetWhen the rain set in.And your footsteps will always fall here,Along England's greenest hills,Your candles' burned out long beforeYour legend ever will.

【尚善若水】Sir Galahad Sir Galahad by Lord Alfred TennysonMy good blade carves the casques of men,My tough lance thrusteth sure,My strength is as the strength of ten,Because my heart is pure.The shattering trumpet shrilleth high,The hard brands shiver on the steel,The splinter'd spear-shafts crack and fly,The horse and rider reel:They reel, they roll in clanging lists,And when the tide of combat stands,Perfume and flowers fall in showers,That lightly rain from ladies' hands.How sweet are looks that ladies bendOn whom their favours fall!From them I battle till the end,To save from shame and thrall:But all my heart is drawn above,My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine:I never felt the kiss of love,Nor maiden's hand in mine.More bounteous aspects on me beam,Me mightier transports move and thrill;So keep I fair thro' faith and prayerA virgin heart in work and will.When down the stormy crescent goes,A light before me swims,Between dark stems the forest glows,I hear a noise of hymns:Then by some secret shrine I ride;I hear a voice but none are there;The stalls are void, the doors are wide,The tapers burning fair.Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth,The silver vessels sparkle clean,The shrill bell rings, the censer swings,And solemn chaunts resound between.Sometime on lonely mountain-meresI find a magic bark;I leap on board: no helmsman steers:I float till all is dark.A gentle sound, an awful light!Three angels bear the holy Grail:With folded feet, in stoles of white,On sleeping wings they sail.Ah, blessed vision! blood of God!My spirit beats her mortal bars,As down dark tides the glory slides,And star-like mingles with the stars.When on my goodly charger borneThro' dreaming towns I go,The cock crows ere the Christmas morn,The streets are dumb with snow.The tempest crackles on the leads,And, ringing, springs from brand and mail;But o'er the dark a glory spreads,And gilds the driving hail.I leave the plain, I climb the height;No branchy thicket shelter yields;But blessed forms in whistling stormsFly o'er waste fens and windy fields.A maiden knight--to me is givenSuch hope, I know not fear;I yearn to breathe the airs of heavenThat often meet me here.I muse on joy that will not cease,Pure spaces clothed in living beams,Pure lilies of eternal peace,Whose odours haunt my dreams;And, stricken by an angel's hand,This mortal armour that I wear,This weight and size, this heart and eyes,Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air.The clouds are broken in the sky,And thro' the mountain-wallsA rolling organ-harmonySwells up, and shakes and falls.Then move the trees, the copses nod,Wings flutter, voices hover clear:"O just and faithful knight of God!Ride on! the prize is near."So pass I hostel, hall, and grange;By bridge and ford, by park and pale,All-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide,Until I find the holy Grail.

【尚善若水】A Red, Red Rose O my Luve 's like a red, red rose That 's newly sprung in June: O my Luve 's like the melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune! As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I: And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry: Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun; I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only Luve, And fare thee weel a while! And I will come again, my Luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

【尚善若水】尚吧第一高楼找到了【爱尚雯婕】四川芝麻为三儿盖高楼冲上云霄http://post.baidu.com/f?kz=145961966

【尚善若水】急寻尚吧相对比较高的高楼居然没有亲知道尚吧第一高楼，唉。。。

【尚善若水】急寻尚吧第一高楼有急用

【尚善若水】补楼的亲，快出来！！【爱尚雯婕【爱尚雯婕【爱尚雯婕

【尚善若水】亲们，再坚持一天 1

【尚善若水】from The Rape of the Lock, from Canto 1 Alexander Pope (1688–1744)from The Rape of the Lock, from Canto 1 What dire offense from amorous causes springs,What mighty contests rise from trivial things,I sing—This verse to Caryll, Muse! is due:This, even Belinda may vouchsafe to view:Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,If she inspire, and he approve my lays. Say what strange motive, Goddess! could compelA well-bred lord to assault a gentle belle?Oh, say what stranger cause, yet unexplored,Could make a gentle belle reject a lord?In tasks so bold can little men engage,And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty rage? Sol through white curtains shot a timorous ray,And oped those eyes that must eclipse the day.Now lapdogs give themselves the rousing shake,And sleepless lovers just at twelve awake:Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knocked the ground,And the pressed watch returned a silver sound.Belinda still her downy pillow pressed,Her guardian Sylph prolonged the balmy rest:'Twas he had summoned to her silent bedThe morning dream that hovered o'er her head.A youth more glittering than a birthnight beau(That even in slumber caused her cheek to glow)Seemed to her ear his winning lips to lay,And thus in whispers said, or seemed to say: "Fairest of mortals, thou distinguished careOf thousand bright inhabitants of air!If e'er one vision touched thy infant thought,Of all the nurse and all the priest have taught,Of airy elves by moonlight shadows seen,The silver token, and the circled green,Or virgins visited by angel powers,With golden crowns and wreaths of heavenly flowers,Hear and believe! thy own importance knowNor bound thy narrow views to things below.Some secret truths, from learned pride concealed,To maids alone and children are revealed:What though no credit doubting wits may give?The fair and innocent shall still believe.Know, then, unnumbered spirits round thee fly,The light militia of the lower sky:These, though unseen, are ever on the wing,Hang o'er the box, and hover round the Ring.Think what an equipage thou hast in air,And view with scorn two pages and a chair.As now your own, our beings were of old,And once enclosed in woman's beauteous mold;Thence, by a soft transition, we repairFrom earthly vehicles to these of air.Think not, when woman's transient breath is fled,That all her vanities at once are dead:Succeeding vanities she still regards,And though she plays no more, o'erlooks the cards.Her joy in gilded chariots, when alive,And love of ombre, after death survive.For when the Fair in all her pride expire,To their first elements their souls retire:The sprites of fiery termagants in flameMount up, and take a Salamander's name.Soft yielding minds to water glide away,And sip, with Nymphs, their elemental tea.The graver prude sinks downward to a Gnome,In search of mischief still on earth to roam.The light coquettes in Sylphs aloft repair,And sport and flutter in the fields of air. "Know further yet; whoever fair and chaste

【尚善若水】from The House of Night Philip Freneau (1752–1832)from The House of Night1Trembling I write my dream, and recollectA fearful vision at the midnight hour;So late, Death o'er me spread his sable wings,Painted with fancies of malignant power!...3Let others draw from smiling skies their theme,And tell of climes that boast unfading light,I draw a darker scene, replete with gloom,I sing the horrors of the House of Night.4Stranger, believe the truth experience tells,Poetic dreams are of a finer castThan those which o'er the sober brain diffused,Are but a repetition of some action past.5Fancy, I own thy power—when sunk in sleepThou play'st thy wild delusive part so wellYou lift me into immortality,Depict new heavens, or draw the scenes of hell.6By some sad means, when Reason holds no sway,Lonely I roved at midnight o'er a plainWhere murmuring streams and mingling rivers flow,Far to their springs, or seek the sea again.7Sweet vernal May! though then thy woods in bloomFlourished, yet nought of this could Fancy see,No wild pinks blessed the meads, no green the fields,And naked seemed to stand each lifeless tree. . . .

【尚善若水】from Song of Myself Walt Whitman (1819–1892)from Song of Myself1I celebrate myself, and sing myself,And what I assume you shall assume,For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.I loaf and invite my soul,I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same,I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,Hoping to cease not till death.Creeds and school in abeyance,Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,Nature without check with original energy.2Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes,I breathe the fragrance myself, and know it and like it,The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless,It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,I am mad for it to be in contact with me.The smoke of my own breath,Echoes, ripples, and buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine,My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs,The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,The sound of the belch'd words of my voice, words loos'd to the eddies of the wind,A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides,The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? Have you reckon'd the earth much?Have you practiced so long to learn to read?Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,)You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,You shall listen to all sides and filter them from yourself.

【尚善若水】from Passage to India Walt Whitman (1819–1892)from Passage to India1Singing my days,Singing the great achievements of the present,Singing the strong light works of engineers,Our modern wonders, (the antique ponderous Seven outvied,)In the Old World the east the Suez canal,The New by its mighty railroad spann'd,The seas inlaid with eloquent gentle wires;Yet first to sound, and ever sound, the cry with thee O soul,The Past! the Past! the Past!The Past—the dark unfathom'd retrospect!The teeming gulf—the sleepers and the shadows!The past—the infinite greatness of the past!For what is the present after all but a growth out of the past?(As a projectile form'd, impell'd, passing a certain line, still keeps on,So the present, utterly form'd, impell'd by the past.)2Passage O soul to India!Eclaircise the myths Asiatic, the primitive fables.Not you alone proud truths of the world,Nor you alone ye facts of modern science,But myths and fables of eld, Asia's, Africa's fables,The far-darting beams of the spirit, the unloos'd dreams,The deep diving bibles and legends,The daring plots of the poets, the elder religions;O you temples fairer than lilies pour'd over by the rising sun!O you fables spurning the known, eluding the hold of the known, mounting to heaven!You lofty and dazzling towers, pinnacled, red as roses, burnish'd with gold!Towers of fabled immortal fashion'd from mortal dreams!You too I welcome and fully the same as the rest!You too with joy I sing.Passage to India!Lo, soul, seest thou not God's purpose from the first?The earth to be spann'd, connected by network,The races, neighbors, to marry and be given in marriage,The oceans to be cross'd, the distant brought near,The lands to be welded together.A worship new I sing,You captains, voyagers, explorers, yours,Your engineers, you architects, machinists, yours,You, not for trade or transportation only,But in God's name, and for thy sake O soul.

【尚善若水】from Sonnets from the Portuguese Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–1861)from Sonnets from the PortugueseVIGo from me. Yet I feel that I shall standHenceforward in thy shadow. NevermoreAlone upon the threshold of my doorOf individual life, I shall commandThe uses of my soul, nor lift my handSerenely in the sunshine as before, Without the sense of that which I forbore—Thy touch upon the palm. The widest landDoom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mineWith pulses that beat double. What I doAnd what I dream include thee, as the wineMust taste of its own grapes. And when I sueGod for myself, He hears that name of thine, And sees within my eyes the tears of two.

【尚善若水】from Piers Plowman William Langland (ca.1330–1387)from Piers PlowmanIn a somer seson, whan softe was the sonne,I shoop me into shroudes as I a sheep were,In habite as an heremite unholy of werkes,Wente wide in this world wondres to here.Ac on a May morwenynge on Malverne HillesMe bifel a ferly, of Fairye me thoghte.I was wery [of] wandred and wente me to resteUnder a brood bank by a bournes syde;And as I lay and lenede and loked on the watres,I slombred into a slepyng, it sweyed so murye. Thanne gan [me] to meten a merveillous swevene—That I was in a wildernesse, wiste I nevere where.As I biheeld into the eest an heigh to the sonne,I seigh a tour on a toft trieliche ymaked,A deep dale bynethe, a dongeon therinne,With depe diches and derke and dredfulle of sighte.A fair feeld ful of folk fond I ther bitwene—Of alle manere of men, the meene and the riche,Werchynge and wandrynge as the world asketh.

【尚善若水】from Paradise Lost, Book I John Milton (1608–1674)from Paradise Lost, Book I Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruitOf that forbidden tree whose mortal tasteBrought death into the world, and all our woe,With loss of Eden, till one greater ManRestore us, and regain the blissful seat,Sing, Heav'nly Muse, that, on the secret topOf Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspireThat shepherd who first taught the chosen seedIn the beginning how the Heav'ns and EarthRose out of Chaos; or, if Sion hillDelight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flow'dFast by the oracle of God, I thenceInvoke thy aid to my advent'rous song,That with no middle flight intends to soarAbove th' Aonian mount, while it pursuesThings unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost preferBefore all temples th' upright heart and pure,Instruct me, for thou know'st; thou from the firstWast present, and, with mighty wings outspread,Dovelike sat'st brooding on the vast abyss,And mad'st it pregnant: what in me is darkIllumine; what is low, raise and support;That, to the height of this great argument,I may assert Eternal Providence,And justify the ways of God to men.

【尚善若水】from On the Equality of the Sexes, Part I Judith Sargent Murray (1751–1820)from On the Equality of the Sexes, Part IThat minds are not alike, full well I know,This truth each day's experience will show.To heights surprising some great spirits soar,With inborn strength mysterious depths explore;Their eager gaze surveys the path of light,Confessed it stood to Newton's piercing sight, Deep science, like a bashful maid retires,And but the ardent breast her worth inspires;By perseverance the coy fair is won,And Genius, led by Study, wears the crown. But some there are who wish not to improve,Who never can the path of knowledge love,Whose souls almost with the dull body one,With anxious care each mental pleasure shun.Weak is the leveled, enervated mind,And but while here to vegetate designed.The torpid spirit mingling with its clodCan scarcely boast its origin from God.Stupidly dull—they move progressing on—They eat, and drink, and all their work is done,While others, emulous of sweet applause,Industrious seek for each event a cause,Tracing the hidden springs whence knowledge flows,Which nature all in beauteous order shows. Yet cannot I their sentiments imbibeWho this distinction to the sex ascribe,As if a woman's form must needs enrollA weak, a servile, an inferior soul;And that the guise of man must still proclaimGreatness of mind, and him, to be the same.Yet as the hours revolve fair proofs ariseWhich the bright wreath of growing fame supplies,And in past times some men have sunk so low,That female records nothing less can show.But imbecility is still confined,And by the lordly sex to us consigned.They rob us of the power t'improve,And then declare we only trifles love.Yet haste the era when the world shall knowThat such distinctions only dwell below.The soul unfettered to no sex confined,Was for the abodes of cloudless day designed. Meantime we emulate their manly fires,Though erudition all their thoughts inspires,Yet nature with equality imparts,And noble passions, swell e'en female hearts.

【尚善若水】from Astrophil and Stella Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586)from Astrophil and Stella1Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,That she dear she might take some pleasure of my pain,Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe:Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain,Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flowSome fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburned brain.But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay;Invention, Nature's child, fled stepdame Study's blows;And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my way.Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite:"Fool," said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart, and write."

【尚善若水】from Amoretti: Sonnet 67 Edmund Spenser (ca. 1552–1599)from Amoretti: Sonnet 67Like as a huntsman after weary chase,Seeing the game from him escap'd away,Sits down to rest him in some shady place,With panting hounds beguiled of their prey:So after long pursuit and vain assay,When I all weary had the chase forsook,The gentle deer return'd the self-same way,Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brook.There she beholding me with milder look,Sought not to fly, but fearless still did bide:Till I in hand her yet half trembling took,And with her own goodwill her firmly tied.Strange thing, me seem'd, to see a beast so wild,So goodly won, with her own will beguil'd.

【尚善若水】Dover Beach Matthew Arnold (1822–1888)Dover BeachThe sea is calm tonight.The tide is full, the moon lies fairUpon the straits; on the French coast the lightGleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!Only, from the long line of sprayWhere the sea meets the moon-blanched land,Listen! you hear the grating roarOf pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,At their return, up the high strand,Begin, and cease, and then again begin,With tremulous cadence slow, and bringThe eternal note of sadness in.Sophocles long agoHeard it on the Ægean, and it broughtInto his mind the turbid ebb and flowOf human misery; weFind also in the sound a thought,Hearing it by this distant northern sea.The Sea of FaithWas once, too, at the full, and round earth's shoreLay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.But now I only hearIts melancholy, long withdrawing roar,Retreating, to the breathOf the night-wind, down the vast edges drearAnd naked shingles of the world.Ah, love, let us be trueTo one another! for the world, which seemsTo lie before us like a land of dreams,So various, so beautiful, so new,Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;And we are here as on a darkling plainSwept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,Where ignorant armies clash by night.

【尚善若水】Doc Hill Edgar Lee Masters (1868–1950)Doc HillI went up and down the streetsHere and there by day and night,Through all hours of the night caring for the poor who were sick.Do you know why?My wife hated me, my son went to the dogs.And I turned to the people and poured out my love to them.Sweet it was to see the crowds about the lawns on the day of my funeral,And hear them murmur their love and sorrow.But oh, dear God, my soul trembled, scarcely ableTo hold to the railing of the new lifeWhen I saw Em Stanton behind the oak treeAt the grave,Hiding herself, and her grief!

【尚善若水】Climbing the Three Hills in Search of the Best Chr Len Roberts (1947– )Climbing the Three Hills in Search of the Best Christmas TreeJust seven nights from the darkestnight of the year, my son and I climbthe three hills behind the whitehouse, his flashlight leapingfrom hemlock to fir, to whitepine and blue spruce and backagain. Up, up higher he runs,shadow among larger shadows in the below-zero, constellatedhalf-mooned sky, his voiceso distant at times I think it is the wind, a rustle of tall grass, the squeak of my bootson new snow, his silence makingme shout, Where are you?, his floatingback, Why are you so slow?, a goodquestion I ask myself to the beatof my forty-eight-year-old heart, so many answers rushing up thatI have to stop and command them back,snow devils whirling before me, behind me, on all sides, names that gleam and blackout like ancient specks of moon-light, that old track I steponto like an escalator risingto the ridge where the besttrees grow and I knowI will find my son.© Len Roberts

【尚善若水】Burning Drift-Wood John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892)Burning Drift-WoodBefore my drift-wood fire I sit, And see, with every waif I burn, Old dreams and fancies coloring it, And folly's unlaid ghosts return. O ships of mine, whose swift keels cleft The enchanted sea on which they sailed, Are these poor fragments only left Of vain desires and hopes that failed? Did I not watch from them the light Of sunset on my towers in Spain, And see, far off, uploom in sight The Fortunate Isles I might not gain? Did sudden lift of fog reveal Arcadia's vales of song and spring, And did I pass, with grazing keel, The rocks whereon the sirens sing? Have I not drifted hard upon The unmapped regions lost to man, The cloud-pitched tents of Prester John, The palace domes of Kubla Khan? Did land winds blow from jasmine flowers, Where Youth the ageless Fountain fills? Did Love make sign from rose blown bowers, And gold from Eldorado's hills? Alas! the gallant ships, that sailed On blind Adventure's errand sent, Howe'er they laid their courses, failed To reach the haven of Content. And of my ventures, those alone Which Love had freighted, safely sped, Seeking a good beyond my own, By clear-eyed Duty piloted. O mariners, hoping still to meet The luck Arabian voyagers met, And find in Bagdad's moonlit street, Haroun al Raschid walking yet, Take with you, on your Sea of Dreams, The fair, fond fancies dear to youth. I turn from all that only seems, And seek the sober grounds of truth. What matter that it is not May, That birds have flown, and trees are bare, That darker grows the shortening day, And colder blows the wintry air! The wrecks of passion and desire, The castles I no more rebuild, May fitly feed my drift-wood fire, And warm the hands that age has chilled. Whatever perished with my ships, I only know the best remains; A song of praise is on my lips For losses which are now my gains. Heap high my hearth! No worth is lost; No wisdom with the folly dies. Burn on, poor shreds, your holocaust Shall be my evening sacrifice! Far more than all I dared to dream, Unsought before my door I see; On wings of fire and steeds of steam The world's great wonders come to me, And holier signs, unmarked before, Of Love to seek and Power to save,—The righting of the wronged and poor, The man evolving from the slave; And life, no longer chance or fate, Safe in the gracious Fatherhood. I fold o'er-wearied hands and wait, In full assurance of the good. And well the waiting time must be, Though brief or long its granted days, If Faith and Hope and Charity Sit by my evening hearth-fire's blaze. And with them, friends whom Heaven has spared, Whose love my heart has comforted, And, sharing all my joys, has shared My tender memories of the dead,—Dear souls who left us lonely here, Bound on their last, long voyage, to whom We, day by day, are drawing near, Where every bark has sailing room. I know the solemn monotone Of waters calling unto me; I know from whence the airs have blown That whisper of the Eternal Sea. As low my fires of drift-wood burn, I hear that sea's deep sounds increase, And, fair in sunset light, discern Its mirage-lifted Isles of Peace.

【尚善若水】Birthday Song Leon Markowicz (1940– )Birthday SongThe canary yellow envelope at mail callaroused the other seminarians,“What’s the occasion?”“Ya got me,” I lied and peeked in attwo Mallards landingon a Blessed Virgin bluepond with a largemouth bassleaping to greet themunder the swirling scriptin the sky—Happy BirthdayTo A Wonderful Son—the only reminder thattomorrow, just anotherday in the sem,was my birthday,the seventh since any celebrationwith Mom and Sarah, my sister,the seventh away from Winthrop Streetin Detroit, half a continent west,my third birthdaywith my new familythe Congregation of the Holy Ghostwhom I adopted with vows ofpoverty, chastity, obediencea family butno gifts, not even a handkerchief,no three-layer cakelathered with angel-white icing,lipstick-red roses,first slice for the birthday boy,no candles, family, friends to singHappy Birthday to You© Leon Markowicz

【尚善若水】Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms Thomas Moore (1779–1852)Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young CharmsBelieve me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fondly today,Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms, Like fairy-gifts fading away,Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will,And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still.It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tearThat the fervor and faith of a soul can be known, To which time will but make thee more dear;No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close,As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets, The same look which she turned when he rose.

【尚善若水】Athletes Grace Cavalieri (1937– )AthletesThe first time I saw my American poems translatedI just stopped and studiedthe hieroglyphics on the page,tiny scribbles of black inksaying twicewhat was said before.Then I knewI would not leave this worldwithout loving some of it . . .nothing reduced to a single truth . . .all of one blood,our words, music and lives coming together.It was not that the stars had fallen down—It was more that we didn’t needthe lamp which had gone out.How separate we are in the darkafter the poem is gone.© 2002, Grace Cavalieri, Cuffed Frays grateful acknowledgement to Argonne House Press

【尚善若水】Adam Posed Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea (1661–1720)Adam PosedCould our first father, at his toilsome plow,Thorns in his path, and labor on his brow,Clothed only in a rude, unpolished skin,Could he a vain fantastic nymph have seen,In all her airs, in all her antic graces,Her various fashions, and more various faces;How had it posed that skill, which late assignedJust appellations to each several kind!A right idea of the sight to frame;T'have guessed from what new element she came;T'have hit the wav'ring form, or giv'n this thing a name.

【尚善若水】A Vision upon the Fairy Queen Sir Walter Raleigh (ca. 1552–1618)A Vision upon the Fairy QueenMethought I saw the grave where Laura lay, Within that temple where the vestal flame Was wont to burn; and, passing by that way, To see that buried dust of living fame,Whose tomb fair Love, and fairer Virtue kept: All suddenly I saw the Fairy Queen; At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept, And, from thenceforth, those Graces were not seen:For they this queen attended; in whose stead Oblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse: Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed,And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce: Where Homer's spright did tremble all for grief, And cursed the access of that celestial thief!

【尚善若水】A Nocturnal Reverie Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea (1661–1720)A Nocturnal ReverieIn such a night, when every louder windIs to its distant cavern safe confined;And only gentle Zephyr fans his wings,And lonely Philomel, still waking, sings;Or from some tree, famed for the owl's delight,She, hollowing clear, directs the wand'rer right:In such a night, when passing clouds give place,Or thinly veil the heav'ns' mysterious face;When in some river, overhung with green,The waving moon and trembling leaves are seen;When freshened grass now bears itself upright,And makes cool banks to pleasing rest invite,Whence springs the woodbind, and the bramble-rose,And where the sleepy cowslip sheltered grows;Whilst now a paler hue the foxglove takes,Yet checkers still with red the dusky brakesWhen scattered glow-worms, but in twilight fine,Shew trivial beauties watch their hour to shine;Whilst Salisb'ry stands the test of every light,In perfect charms, and perfect virtue bright:When odors, which declined repelling day,Through temp'rate air uninterrupted stray;When darkened groves their softest shadows wear,And falling waters we distinctly hear;When through the gloom more venerable showsSome ancient fabric, awful in repose,While sunburnt hills their swarthy looks conceal,And swelling haycocks thicken up the vale:When the loosed horse now, as his pasture leads,Comes slowly grazing through th' adjoining meads,Whose stealing pace, and lengthened shade we fear,Till torn-up forage in his teeth we hear:When nibbling sheep at large pursue their food,And unmolested kine rechew the cud;When curlews cry beneath the village walls,And to her straggling brood the partridge calls;Their shortlived jubilee the creatures keep,Which but endures, whilst tyrant man does sleep;When a sedate content the spirit feels,And no fierce light disturbs, whilst it reveals;But silent musings urge the mind to seekSomething, too high for syllables to speak;Till the free soul to a composedness charmed,Finding the elements of rage disarmed,O'er all below a solemn quiet grown,Joys in th' inferior world, and thinks it like her own:In such a night let me abroad remain,Till morning breaks, and all's confused again;Our cares, our toils, our clamors are renewed,Or pleasures, seldom reached, again pursued.

【尚善若水】A Daughter of Eve Christina Rossetti (1830–1894)A Daughter of EveA fool I was to sleep at noon, And wake when night is chillyBeneath the comfortless cold moon;A fool to pluck my rose too soon, A fool to snap my lily.My garden-plot I have not kept; Faded and all-forsaken,I weep as I have never wept:Oh it was summer when I slept, It's winter now I waken.Talk what you please of future spring And sun-warm'd sweet to-morrow:—Stripp'd bare of hope and everything,No more to laugh, no more to sing, I sit alone with sorrow.

【尚善若水】712 Emily Dickinson (1830–1886)712Because I could not stop for Death—He kindly stopped for me—The Carriage held but just Ourselves—And Immortality. We slowly drove—He knew no hasteAnd I had put awayMy labor and my leisure too,For His Civility—We passed the School, where Children stroveAt Recess—in the Ring—We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain—We passed the Setting Sun—Or rather—he passed us—The Dews drew quivering & chill—For only Gossamer, my Gown—My Tippet—only Tulle—We paused before a House that seemedA Swelling of the Ground—The Roof was scarcely visible—The Cornice—in the Ground—Since then—'tis Centuries—and yetFeels shorter than the DayI first surmised the Horses' HeadsWere toward Eternity—

【尚善若水】348 Emily Dickinson (1830–1886)348I dreaded that first Robin, so,But He is mastered, now,I'm some accustomed to Him grown,He hurts a little, though—I thought if I could only liveTill that first Shout got by—Not all Pianos in the WoodsHad power to mangle me—I dared not meet the Daffodils—For fear their Yellow GownWould pierce me with a fashionSo foreign to my own—I wished the Grass would hurry—So—when 'twas time to see—He'd be too tall, the tallest oneCould stretch—to look at me—I could not bear the Bees should come,I wished they'd stay awayIn those dim countries where they go,What word had they, for me?They're here, though; not a creature failed—No Blossom stayed awayIn gentle deference to me—The Queen of Calvary—Each one salutes me, as he goes,And I, my childish Plumes,Lift, in bereaved acknowledgementOf their unthinking Drums—

【尚善若水】Music Music touches you the most, It refreshes you with its serenity. Be it Do, Re, Me or Sa, Re, Ga, Ma, Music is the soul of life. Nothing is as divine as music. It comes from within And expresses joys and sorrows Which reside in the heart. World is full of music, Each unique and sweet. Whether chirping of birds, rustling of wind, Roar of waves or the music of dolphins. If music is not a part of life, It would become a walk on knife. So listen to music always, And live some cheerful days. Somewhere Here

【尚善若水】The End With No Beginning The End With No Beginning you tell me the beginning of your music has no end you tell me your music is eternal eternity I tell you the end of my music has no beginning I must tell you my music ended when yours began my music ends when yours begins my music will end end definitely and decidedly and very tragically when your music will begin we are in love we want to make love we want to couple and fuse into one ball of flesh sizzling with passion your heart is already singing a sweet love song with no end eternal bliss while my song ends before it begins Suchoon Mo_

【尚善若水】What is music to you? Music is freedom that relentlessly exists Freedom of speech Freedom of thought Freedom of creativity Freedom of imagination Music is ever soothingly healing A bombardment of on-going expression of feelings Music is a tool of unity Always bringing people together as family Hence be described as a mentor of spirituality Music is magic Performing its tricks With sweet instrumental tones and lyrics Music is emotionally captivating Music is positively distracting Music is a form of beautiful art Passed on as a message on a public stage Music is as powerful as water Flowing in and out of generations Trapped ever so often only by its own enormous power Music is an angel Singing out from the skies as she flies Music is love Music is the food of all moods Music is perfect and it is good for you Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi Sylvia Chidi

【尚善若水】The sound of music....... The sound of music....... The sound of music gives us so much emotions and that plays a melody deep in our heart greatly All the sound on the earth are like music and the music brings love and enjoyment to our life Music expresses universal language of the world and brings people together where ever they live The music is the best gift of God to all of us where its fills our soul with peace and mind with creativity Every music has its own rhythm and it's creates a great sound of music Music in the mountain brings peace in our heart and music in the ocean fills our soul with love When I hear the sound of music then I begin to write a song as a soul of music If you don't love the sound of music then your soul will be unsung Because music can put life in to a dead man Ravi Sathasivam / Sri Lanka Copyright @2006 Ravi Sathasivam Ravi Sathasivam

【尚善若水】THE BLESSINGS OF MUSIC Music is a gift that feels our heart each day The blessings of music heal our souls each day Music relieves the stress in our daily lives Music is soothing to our ears The blessings of music heal the sick and comfort the sick also The blessings of music Is powerful It is wonderful to hear When somebody is playing something for every one to listen His giving you his gift of music to you and others And to you also God The blessings of music Music is powerful And has a great impact in everybody’s lives The blessings of music Music is universal The blessings of music You can hear the music being played from far away Every song is special Every song has a different meaning and different words aldo kraas