For Kitty:
require 'rexml/document'
require 'open-uri'
include REXML
doc = Document.new open('http://perlmonks.org/?node=new+chatterbox+xml
++ticker')
doc.elements.each_element('//message') do |m|
elem = m.elements
puts elem['author'].text + ' said: ' + elem['text'].text
puts "\n" + '-' * 27
end
reload
- Petruchio
#!/usr/bin/perl
use strict;
use warnings;
use Tk;
use Tk::Splashscreen;
my $mw = MainWindow->new;
$mw->Button( -text => 'Exit', -command => sub {exit} )->pack;
my $sp = $mw->Splashscreen;
$sp->Label(-text => 'Tk... Ick!', -font => [-size => 250])->pack;
$sp->Splash;
$sp->Destroy(4000);
MainLoop;'
We Are Seven
--------A SIMPLE Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?
I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.
She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
--Her beauty made me glad.
"Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said
And wondering looked at me.
"And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea.
"Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."
"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet ye are seven!--I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be."
Then did the little Maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree."
"You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church-yard laid,
Then ye are only five."
"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
The little Maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
And they are side by side.
"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them.
"And often after sunset, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.
"The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.
"So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.
"And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side."
"How many are you, then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven?"
Quick was the little Maid's reply,
"O Master! we are seven."
"But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!"
'Twas throwing words away; for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, "Nay, we are seven!"
- William Wordsworth, 1888
I ran past the first watchman. Then I was horrified,
ran back again and said to the watchman: 'I ran through
here while you were looking the other way.' The watchman
gazed ahead of him and said nothing. 'I suppose I really
oughtn't to have done it,' I said. The watchman still
said nothing. 'Does your silence indicate permission to
pass?'
- Franz Kafka
She sweeps with many-colored brooms,
And leaves the shreds behind;
Oh, housewife in the evening west,
Come back, and dust the pond!
You dropped a purple ravelling in,
You dropped an amber thread;
And now you've littered all the East
With duds of emerald!
And still she plies her spotted brooms,
And still the aprons fly,
Till brooms fade softly into stars
And then I come away.
- Emily Dickinson
Several very exciting skirmishes were in progress,
when a loud shout attracted the attention even of the
belligerents, and then there poured on to the platform,
from a door at the side, a long line of gentlemen with
their hats off, all looking behind them, and uttering vociferous cheers; the cause whereof was sufficiently explained when Sir Matthew Pupker and the two other real
members of Parliament came to the front, amidst deafening
shouts, and testified to each other in dumb motions that
they had never seen such a glorious sight as that, in the
whole course of their public career.
At length, and at last, the assembly left off shouting,
but Sir Matthew Pupker being voted into the chair, they
underwent a relapse which lasted five minutes. This over,
Sir Matthew Pupker went on to say what must be his
feelings on that great occasion, and what must be that
occasion in the eyes of the world, and what must be the
intelligence of his fellow-countrymen before him, and what
must be the wealth and respectability of his honourable
friends behind him, and lastly, what must be the
importance to the wealth, the happiness, the comfort, the
liberty, the very existence of a free and great people, of
such an Institution as the United Metropolitan Improved
Hot Muffin and Crumpet Baking and Punctual Delivery
Company!
- Charles Dickens, Nicholas Nickleby
The Old Gumbie Cat
I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots.
All day she sits upon the stair or on the steps or on the mat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits - and that's what makes a Gumbie C
+at
But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
And when all the family's in bed and asleep,
She slips down the stairs to the basement to creep.
She is deeply concerned with the ways of the mice -
Their behavior's not good and their manners not nice;
So when she has got them lined up on the matting,
She teaches them music, crocheting and tatting.
I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her equal would be hard to find, she likes the warm and sunny spots.
All day she sits beside the hearth or in the sun or on my hat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits - and that's what makes a Gumbie C
+at!
But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
As she finds that the mice will not ever keep quiet,
She is sure it is due to irregular diet.
And believing that nothing is done without trying,
She sets straight to work with her baking and frying.
She makes them a mouse-cake of bread and dried peas,
And a <em> beautiful</em> fry of lean bacon and cheese.
I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
The curtain-cord she likes to wind, and tie it into sailor-knots
She sits upon the window-sill, or anything that's smooth and flat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits - and that's what makes a Gumbie C
+at!
But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
She thinks that the cockroaches just need employment
To prevent them from idle and wanton destroyment.
So she's formed, from that lot of disorderly louts,
A troop of well-disciplined helpful boy-scouts,
With a purpose in life and a good deed to do -
And she's even created a Beetles' Tatoo
So for Old Gumbie Cats let us now give three cheers -
On whom well-ordered households depend, it appears.
- T. S. Eliot
Ikkyu, the Zen master, was very clever even as a boy.
His teacher had a precious teacup, a rare antique.
Ikkyu happened to break this cup and was greatly
perplexed. Hearing the footsteps of his teacher,
he held the pieces of the cup behind him. When the
master appeared, Ikkyu asked: "Why do people have
to die?"
"This is natural," explained the older man.
"Everything has to die and has just as long
to live." Ikkyu, producing the shattered cup,
added: "It was time for your cup to die."
The Skeleton in Armor
"Speak! speak! thou fearful guest!
Who, with thy hollow breast
Still in rude armor drest,
Comest to daunt me!
Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched, as if asking alms,
Why dost thou haunt me?"
Then, from those cavernous eyes
Pale flashes seemed to rise,
As when the Northern skies
Gleam in December;
And, like the water's flow
Under December's snow,
Came a dull voice of woe
From the heart's chamber.
"I was a Viking old!
My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald in song has told,
No Saga taught thee!
Take heed, that in thy verse
Thou dost the tale rehearse,
Else dread a dead man's curse;
For this I sought thee.
"Far in the Northern Land,
By the wild Baltic's strand,
I, with my childish hand,
Tamed the gerfalcon;
And, with my skates fast-bound,
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.
"Oft to his frozen lair
Tracked I the grisly bear,
While from my path the hare
Fled like a shadow;
Oft through the forest dark
Followed the were-wolf's bark,
Until the soaring lark
Sang from the meadow.
"But when I older grew,
Joining a corsair's crew,
O'er the dark sea I flew
With the marauders.
Wild was the life we led;
Many the souls that sped,
Many the hearts that bled,
By our stern orders.
"Many a wassail-bout
Wore the long Winter out;
Often our midnight shout
Set the cocks crowing,
As we the Berserk's tale
Measured in cups of ale,
Draining the oaken pail,
Filled to o'erflowing.
"Once as I told in glee
Tales of the stormy sea,
Soft eyes did gaze on me,
Burning yet tender;
And as the white stars shine
On the dark Norway pine,
On that dark heart of mine
Fell their soft splendor.
"I wooed the blue-eyed maid,
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest's shade
Our vows were plighted.
Under its loosened vest
Fluttered her little breast,
Like birds within their nest
By the hawk frighted.
"Bright in her father's hall
Shields gleamed upon the wall,
Loud sang the minstrels all,
Chanting his glory;
When of old Hildebrand
I asked his daughter's hand,
Mute did the minstrels stand
To hear my story.
"While the brown ale he quaffed,
Loud then the champion laughed,
And as the wind-gusts waft
The sea-foam brightly,
So the loud laugh of scorn,
Out of those lips unshorn,
From the deep drinking-horn
Blew the foam lightly.
"She was a Prince's child,
I but a Viking wild,
And though she blushed and smiled,
I was discarded!
Should not the dove so white
Follow the sea-mew's flight,
Why did they leave that night
Her nest unguarded?
"Scarce had I put to sea,
Bearing the maid with me,
Fairest of all was she
Among the Norsemen!
When on the white sea-strand,
Waving his armed hand,
Saw we old Hildebrand,
With twenty horsemen.
"Then launched they to the blast,
Bent like a reed each mast,
Yet we were gaining fast,
When the wind failed us;
And with a sudden flaw
Came round the gusty Skaw,
So that our foe we saw
Laugh as he hailed us.
"And as to catch the gale
Round veered the flapping sail,
'Death!' was the helmsman's hail,
'Death without quarter!'
Mid-ships with iron keel
Struck we her ribs of steel;
Down her black hulk did reel
Through the black water!
"As with his wings aslant,
Sails the fierce cormorant,
Seeking some rocky haunt,
With his prey laden, --
So toward the open main,
Beating to sea again,
Through the wild hurricane,
Bore I the maiden.
"Three weeks we westward bore,
And when the storm was o'er,
Cloud-like we saw the shore
Stretching to leeward;
There for my lady's bower
Built I the lofty tower,
Which, to this very hour,
Stands looking seaward.
"There lived we many years;
Time dried the maiden's tears;
She had forgot her fears,
She was a mother;
Death closed her mild blue eyes,
Under that tower she lies;
Ne'er shall the sun arise
On such another!
"Still grew my bosom then,
Still as a stagnant fen!
Hateful to me were men,
The sunlight hateful!
In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Fell I upon my spear,
Oh, death was grateful!
"Thus, seamed with many scars,
Bursting these prison bars,
Up to its native stars
My soul ascended!
There from the flowing bowl
Deep drinks the warrior's soul,
Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!"
Thus the tale ended.
- Henry Wasworth Longfellow, 1841
"You see, Alyosha," Grushenka turned to him with a
nervous laugh. "I was boasting when I told Rakitin I
had given away an onion, but it's not to boast I tell
you about it. It's only a story, but it's a nice
story. I used to hear it when I was a child from
Matryona, my cook, who is still with me. It's like
this. Once upon a time there was a peasant woman
and a very wicked woman she was. And she died and
did not leave a single good deed behind. The devils
caught her and plunged her into the lake of fire.
So her guardian angel stood and wondered what good
deed of hers he could remember to tell to God; 'She
once pulled up an onion in her garden,' said he,
'and gave it to a beggar woman.' And God answered:
'You take that onion then, hold it out to her in the
lake, and let her take hold and be pulled out. And
if you can pull her out of the lake, let her come
to Paradise, but if the onion breaks, then the woman
must stay where she is.' The angel ran to the woman
and held out the onion to her. 'Come,' said he,
'catch hold and I'll pull you out.' he began
cautiously pulling her out. He had just pulled her
right out, when the other sinners in the lake,
seeing how she was being drawn out, began catching
hold of her so as to be pulled out with her. But
she was a very wicked woman and she began kicking
them. 'I'm to be pulled out, not you. It's my onion,
not yours.' As soon as she said that, the onion broke.
And the woman fell into the lake and she is burning
there to this day. So the angel wept and went away.
So that's the story, Alyosha; I know it by heart,
for I am that wicked woman myself. I boasted to
Rakitin that I had given away an onion, but to you
I'll say: 'I've done nothing but give away one onion
all my life, that's the only good deed I've done.'
don't praise me, Alyosha, don't think me good, I
am bad, I am a wicked woman and you make me ashamed
if you praise me.
- Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
Marriage
Should I get married? Should I be Good?
Astound the girl next door with my velvet suit and faustaus hood?
Don't take her to movies but to cemeteries
tell all about werewolf bathtubs and forked clarinets
then desire her and kiss her and all the preliminaries
and she going just so far and I understanding why
not getting angry saying You must feel! It's beautiful to feel!
Instead take her in my arms lean against an old crooked tombstone
and woo her the entire night the constellations in the sky--
When she introduces me to her parents
back straightened, hair finally combed, strangled by a tie,
should I sit knees together on their 3rd degree sofa
and not ask Where's the bathroom?
How else to feel other than I am,
often thinking Flash Gordon soap--
O how terrible it must be for a young man
seated before a family and the family thinking
We never saw him before! He wants our Mary Lou!
After tea and homemade cookies they ask What do you do for a living?
Should I tell them? Would they like me then?
Say All right get married, we're losing a daughter
but we're gaining a son--
And should I then ask Where's the bathroom?
O God, and the wedding! All her family and her friends
and only a handful of mine all scroungy and bearded
just waiting to get at the drinks and food--
And the priest! He looking at me if I masturbated
asking me Do you take this woman for your lawful wedded wife?
And I trembling what to say say Pie Glue!
I kiss the bride all those corny men slapping me on the back
She's all yours, boy! Ha-ha-ha!
And in their eyes you could see some obscene honeymoon going on--
then all that absurd rice and clanky cans and shoes
Niagara Falls! Hordes of us! Husbands! Wives! Flowers! Chocolates!
All streaming into cozy hotels
All going to do the same thing tonight
The indifferent clerk he knowing what was going to happen
The lobby zombies they knowing what
The whistling elevator man he knowing
The winking bellboy knowing
Everybody knowing! I'd be almost inclined not to do anything!
Stay up all night! Stare that hotel clerk in the eye!
Screaming: I deny honeymoon! I deny honeymoon!
running rampant into those almost climatic suites
yelling Radio belly! Cat shovel!
O I'd live in Niagara forever! in a dark cave beneath the Falls
I'd sit there the Mad Honeymooner devising ways to break marriages, a
+scourge of bigamy a saint of divorce--
But I should get married I should be good
How nice it'd be to come home to her
and sit by the fireplace and she in the kitchen
aproned young and lovely wanting by baby
and so happy about me she burns the roast beef
and comes crying to me and I get up from my big papa chair
saying Christmas teeth! Radiant brains! Apple deaf!
God what a husband I'd make! Yes, I should get married!
So much to do! like sneaking into Mr Jones' house late at night
and cover his golf clubs with 1920 Norwegian books
Like hanging a picture of Rimbaud on the lawnmower
like pasting Tannu Tuva postage stamps all over the picket fence
like when Mrs Kindhead comes to collect for the Community Chest
grab her and tell her There are unfavorable omens in the sky!
And when the mayor comes to get my vote tell him
When are you going to stop people killing whales!
And when the milkman comes leave him a note in the bottle
Penguin dust, bring me penguin dust, I want penguin dust--
Yet if I should get married and it's Connecticut and snow
and she gives birth to a child and I am sleepless, worn,
up for nights, head bowed against a quiet window, the past behind me,
finding myself in the most common of situations a trembling man
knowledged with responsibility not twig-smear not Roman coin soup--
O what would that be like!
Surely I'd give it for a nipple a rubber Tacitus
For a rattle bag of broken Bach records
Tack Della Francesca all over its crib
Sew the Greek alphabet on its bib
And build for its playpen a roofless Parthenon
No, I doubt I'd be that kind of father
not rural not snow no quiet window
but hot smelly New York City
seven flights up, roaches and rats in the walls
a fat Reichian wife screeching over potatoes Get a job!
And five nose running brats in love with Batman
And the neighbors all toothless and dry haired
like those hag masses of the 18th century
all wanting to come in and watch TV
The landlord wants his rent
Grocery store Blue Cross Gas & Electric Knights of Columbus
Impossible to lie back and dream Telephone snow, ghost parking--
No! I should not get married and I should never get married!
But--imagine if I were to marry a beautiful sophisticated woman
tall and pale wearing an elegant black dress and long black gloves
holding a cigarette holder in one hand and highball in the other
and we lived high up a penthouse with a huge window
from which we could see all of New York and even farther on clearer da
+ys
No I can't imagine myself married to that pleasant prison dream--
O but what about love? I forget love
not that I am incapable of love
it's just that I see love as odd as wearing shoes--
I never wanted to marry a girl who was like my mother
And Ingrid Bergman was always impossible
And there maybe a girl now but she's already married
And I don't like men and--
but there's got to be somebody!
Because what if I'm 60 years old and not married,
all alone in furnished room with pee stains on my underwear
and everybody else is married! All in the universe married but me!
Ah, yet well I know that were a woman possible as I am possible
then marriage would be possible--
Like SHE in her lonely alien gaud waiting her Egyptian lover
so I wait--bereft of 2,000 years and the bath of life.
- Gregory Corso
THEN Odysseus tore off his rags, and sprang on to
the broad pavement with his bow and his quiver full
of arrows. He shed the arrows on to the ground at
his feet and said, "The mighty contest is at an end.
I will now see whether Apollo will vouchsafe it to
me to hit another mark which no man has yet hit."
On this he aimed a deadly arrow at Antinous, who
was about to take up a two-handled gold cup to
drink his wine and already had it in his hands.
He had no thought of death- who amongst all the
revellers would think that one man, however brave,
would stand alone among so many and kill him? The
arrow struck Antinous in the throat, and the
point went clean through his neck, so that he fell
over and the cup dropped from his hand, while a
thick stream of blood gushed from his nostrils. He
kicked the table from him and upset the things on it,
so that the bread and roasted meats were all soiled
as they fell over on to the ground. The suitors were
in an uproar when they saw that a man had been hit;
they sprang in dismay one and all of them from their
seats and looked everywhere towards the walls, but
there was neither shield nor spear, and they rebuked
Odysseus very angrily. "Stranger," said they, "you
shall pay for shooting people in this way: you shall
see no other contest; you are a doomed man; he whom
you have slain was the foremost youth in Ithaca, and
the vultures shall devour you for having killed him."
Thus they spoke, for they thought that he had killed
Antinous by mistake, and did not perceive that death
was hanging over the head of every one of them. But
Odysseus glared at them and said:
"Dogs, did you think that I should not come back
from Troy? You have wasted my substance, have
forced my women servants to lie with you, and have
wooed my wife while I was still living. You have
feared neither god nor man, and now you shall die."
- Homer, The Odyssey
Gunga Din
You may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
He was "Din! Din! Din!
You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippery hitherao!
Water, get it! Panee lao!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din."
The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a piece o' twisty rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted "Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
You put some juldee in it
Or I'll marrow you this minute
If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"
'E would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is mussick on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire",
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-files shout,
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"
I shan't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' he plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green:
It was crawlin' and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;
'E's chawin' up the ground,
An' 'e's kickin' all around:
For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!"
'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died,
"I 'ope you liked your drink", sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
At the place where 'e is gone --
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to poor damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I've belted you and flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!
- Rudyard Kipling
The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the
inability of the human mind to correlate all its
contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the
midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant
that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining
in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but
some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge
will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of
our frightful position therein, that we shall either go
mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the
peace and safety of a new dark age.
Theosophists have guessed at the awesome grandeur of the
cosmic cycle wherein our world and human race form
transient incidents. They have hinted at strange
survivals in terms which would freeze the blood if not
masked by a bland optimism. But it is not from them that
there came the single glimpse of forbidden eons which
chills me when I think of it and maddens me when I dream
of it. That glimpse, like all dread glimpses of truth,
flashed out from an accidental piecing together of
separated things - in this case an old newspaper item and
the notes of a dead professor. I hope that no one else
will accomplish this piecing out; certainly, if I live, I
shall never knowingly supply a link in so hideous a
chain. I think that the professor, too intented to keep
silent regarding the part he knew, and that he would have
destroyed his notes had not sudden death seized him.
- H. P. Lovecraft, Call of the Cthulhu
Annabel Lee
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
- Edgar Allen Poe
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- Petruchio
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