[5855] in Central_America
New quotes for Mon Apr 17
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Central America)
Mon Apr 17 04:56:21 1995
Date: Mon, 17 Apr 1995 04:55:43 -0400
From: Central America <root@charon.MIT.EDU>
To: ca-mtg@charon.MIT.EDU
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jrmorgan (James R Morgan):
{from system: This user's .plan file is not world-readable}
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jtkohl (John T Kohl):
Singing in the chorus for _Carmina Burana_ at Tanglewood, Friday July
7th. Seiji Ozawa conducts the BSO & the TFC in a lovely bucolic setting
in western Massachusetts.
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mitali (Mitali Das):
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therese (Therese):
We were friends who rode the waves
The time we spent in our younger days
Was all in fun,.. oh the good times that we had.
We were young and it was fine
To feel your spirit as it climbed
There're no regrets
Only good times
We were friends in younger days
Although we went our separate ways
You were my friend, you never turned away
Who can say what life will do
Life is kind to just a few
There're no regrets
Only good times
In time we will grow, we will change
As free as the wind and the waves
Live your life the way you choose
Find the ones who'll laugh with you
Like the sea
will find its way to shore
As the sun sinks from the sky,
Live your life and you will find
There're no regrets
Only good times ....
- Keola and Kapono Beamer
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yandros (Chad Phillip Brown):
Elegy
Dylan Thomas
Too proud to die; broken and blind he died
The darkest way, and did not turn away,
A cold kind man brave in his narrow pride
On that darkest day. Oh, forever may
He lie lightly, at last, on the last, crossed
Hill, under the grass, in love, and there grow
Young among the long flocks, and never lie lost
Or still all the numberless days of his death, though
Above all he longed for his mother's breast
Which was rest and dust, and in the kind ground
The darkest justice of death, blind and unblessed.
Let him find no rest but be fathered and found,
I prayed by the crouching room, by his blind bed,
In the muted house, one minute before
Noon, and night, and light. The rivers of the dead
Veined his poor hand I held, and I saw
Through his unseeing eyes to the roots of the sea.
(An old tormented man three-quarters blind,
I am not too proud to cry that He and he
Will never go out of my mind.
All his bones crying, and poor in all but pain,
Being innocent, he dreaded that he died
Hating his God, but what he was was plain:
An old kind man brave in his burning pride.
The sticks of the house were his; his books he owned.
Even as a baby he had never cried;
Nor did he now, save to his secret wound.
Out of his eyes I saw the last light glide.
Here among the light of the lording sky
An old blind man is with me where I go
Walking in the meadows of his son's eye
On whom a world of ills came down like snow.
He cried as he died, fearing at last the spheres'
Last sound, the world going out without a breath:
Too proud to cry, too frail to check the tears,
And caught between two nights, blindness and death.
O deepest wound of all that he should die
On that darkest day. Oh, he could hide
The tears out of his eyes, too proud to cry.
Until I die he will not leave my side.
--- End of Central America ---
