warm words

If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.
'Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.
'Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
Make him a member of the gentry, even if he is a commoner.
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Before the Battle of Agincourt,25 October 1415
ShakespeareHenry V, Act 4, Scene 3

There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store.
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
By a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
When the 14 years which
Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or humour or fits
And the vet's unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or leaded guns.
Then you will find ~ it's your own affair
But ... you've given your heart to a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will.
With its whisper of welcome, is stilled (how still)
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone ~when it goes ~ for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.
We've sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay,
Our loves are not given, but only lent.
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long,
So why in Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
~By Rudyard Kipling

THINK that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

~Joyce Kilmer 1886~1918

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.
Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times,
A messenger from radiant climes,
And smile on thy new world, and be
As kind to others as to me.
Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth.
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say — My love! why sufferest thou?
Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.
~Matthew Arnold (1822 ~ 1888)

Without the music it is no less poignant

What if i told you it was all meant to be?
Would you believe me? Would you agree?
Its almost that feeling that we've met before
so tell me that you dont think im crazy
when i tell you love has come here and now
a moment like this
some people wait a lifetime for a moment like this
some people search forever for that one special kiss
oh i cant believe its happening to me
some people wait a lifetime
for a moment like this
Everything changes but beauty remains
something so tender i cant explain
i may be dreaming but until i awake cant we make this dream last forever?
and ill cherish all the love we share
a moment like this
some people wait a lifetime
for a moment like this
some people search forever for that one special kiss
oh i cant believe its happeneing to me
some people wait a lifetime for a moment like this
could this be the greatest love of all?
i wanna know that you will catch me when i fall
so let me tell you this...
some people wait a lifetime
for a moment like this..a moment like this
some people wait a lifetime
for a moment like this
some people search forever for that one special kiss
oh i cant believe its happeneing to me
some people wait a lifetime for a moment, a moment like this...
oh i cant believe its happening to me..
some people wait a lifetime for a moment like this..