What is life
if there are no struggle and gain?
What is love
if there are no joy and pain?
Living like dead
lying on the bed
of soil
will spoil
the goal of life, o Man.
Who can
be a Mojnu* if he
doesn't fall in the sea
of pain?
Without suffering, there is no gain.
What is it that burns in me
That swells
The agony and ekstecy my heart.
In all my senses
Hums the tune of your love
Burns intensely that
Saturates with ash
Inside and out of my heart.
Maybe the colloquialism of your love,
Will incinerate me in a slow pace.
What is it about your eyes, love? Tell us, tell us truly!
It makes our hearts go flutter when you look at us and it makes our hearts go wild!
What is it about your eyes, love? Tell us, tell us truly!
The magic of your eyes makes my mind quiver with joy!
Usually, my love, a proud gorgeous girl happens to bewitch man's mind,
But it is you who has enthralled the minds of proud alluring girls!
What is it about your eyes, love? Tell us, tell us truly!
Your eyes have ravished our hearts, love!
Last night on the sports channel
I watched the rodeo.
Those cowboys have it right;
the best and the beauty of it.
You cannot win, so you ride
for as long as you can and enjoy it.
When you dismount,
whether it be on your own or not,
it won't look pretty. You'll limp off.
But you'll feel good; your heart
will be pounding like it never has,
and walking away, one crazy step
after another, your ears will ring
with the loud approval
of those who never felt so good.
Anonymous submission.
Westron wynde when wyll thou blow,
The smalle rayne down can rayne -
Cryst, yf my love wer in my armys
And I yn my bed agayne!
Westron wind, when wilt thou blow
That small rain down can rain?
Christ, that my love were in my arms,
And I in my bed again!
Well he slumbers, greatly slain,
Who in splendid battle dies;
Deep his sleep in midmost main
Pillowed upon pearl who lies.
Ease, of all good gifts the best,
War and wave at last decree:
Love alone denies us rest,
Crueller than sword or sea.
Frolic mountain winds
Innocent and shy,
Kiss my darling's cheek
As they scurry by.
Little fragrant leaves
With the dawn astir,
Make a million songs
Full of love for her.
Will she wake or sleep
These two nights she'll spend
Up the mountain-side,
My dear truant friend?
St. John tells how, at Cana's wedding feast,
The water-pots poured wine in such amount
That by his sober count
There were a hundred gallons at the least.
It made no earthly sense, unless to show
How whatsoever love elects to bless
Brims to a sweet excess
That can without depletion overflow.
Which is to say that what love sees is true;
That this world's fullness is not made but found.
Life hungers to abound
And pour its plenty out for such as you.
Now, if your loves will lend an ear to mine,
The enchanted hour,
The magic bower,
Where, crowned with roses,
Love love discloses.
'Kiss me, my lover;
Doubting is over,
Over is waiting;
Love lights our mating!'
'But roses wither,
Chill winds blow hither,
One thing all say, dear,
Love lives a day, dear!'
'Heed those old stories?
New glowing glories
Blot out those lies, love!
Look in my eyes, love!
'Ah, but the world knows -
Naught of the true rose;
Back the world slips, love!
Give me your lips, love!
'Even were their lies true,