O Me! O Life!

By Walt Witman

 

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,

Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,

Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,

Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

 

Answer.

 

That you are here—that life exists and identity,

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

 

 

 

Goldfinger (Subject of King Midas) - Shirley Bassey

 

Goldfinger

He’s the man, the man with the Midas touch

A spider’s touch

Such a cold finger

Beckons you to enter his web of sin

But don’t go in

 

Golden words he will pour in your ear

But his lies can’t disguise what you fear

For a golden girl knows when he’s kissed her

It’s the kiss of death …

 

From Mister Goldfinger

Pretty girl, beware of his heart of gold

This heart is cold

 

Golden words he will pour in your ear

But his lies can’t disguise what you fear

For a golden girl knows when he’s kissed her

It’s the kiss of death …

 

From Mister Goldfinger

Pretty girl, beware of his heart of gold

This heart is cold

He loves only gold

Only goldHe loves gold

He loves only gold

Only gold

He loves gold

 

 

 

Ozymandias - Percy Bysshe Shelley

 

“I met a traveller from an antique land

Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown

And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.

And on the pedestal these words appear:

‘My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:

Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,

The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

 

 

Hamatreya 

By Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

Bulkeley, Hunt, Willard, Hosmer, Meriam, Flint,

Possessed the land which rendered to their toil

Hay, corn, roots, hemp, flax, apples, wool, and wood.

Each of these landlords walked amidst his farm,

Saying, “’Tis mine, my children’s and my name’s.

How sweet the west wind sounds in my own trees!

How graceful climb those shadows on my hill!

I fancy these pure waters and the flags

Know me, as does my dog: we sympathize;

And, I affirm, my actions smack of the soil.”

 

Where are these men? Asleep beneath their grounds:

And strangers, fond as they, their furrows plough.

Earth laughs in flowers, to see her boastful boys

Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs;

Who steer the plough, but cannot steer their feet

Clear of the grave.

They added ridge to valley, brook to pond,

And sighed for all that bounded their domain;

“This suits me for a pasture; that’s my park;

We must have clay, lime, gravel, granite-ledge,

And misty lowland, where to go for peat.

The land is well,—lies fairly to the south.

’Tis good, when you have crossed the sea and back,

To find the sitfast acres where you left them.”

 

Ah! the hot owner sees not Death, who adds

Him to his land, a lump of mould the more.

Hear what the Earth say:—

EARTH-SONG

 

“Mine and yours;

Mine, not yours.

Earth endures;

Stars abide—

Shine down in the old sea;

Old are the shores;

But where are old men?

I who have seen much,

Such have I never seen.

 

“The lawyer’s deed

Ran sure,

In tail,

To them and to their heirs

Who shall succeed,

Without fail,

Forevermore.

 

“Here is the land,

Shaggy with wood,

With its old valley,

Mound and flood.

But the heritors?—

Fled like the flood’s foam.

The lawyer and the laws,

And the kingdom,

Clean swept herefrom.

 

“They called me theirs,

Who so controlled me;

Yet every one

Wished to stay, and is gone,

How am I theirs,

If they cannot hold me,

But I hold them?”

 

When I heard the Earth-song

I was no longer brave;

My avarice cooled

Like lust in the chill of the grave.