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英文人行道 et cetera, et cetera: hopper

All about the word 'Commute'

Photo by Flickr/raindog

Today I listened to a cute little podcast called 'podictionary', which explains the root of a word in each episode.  The particular episode I listened to discusses the word 'commute', and is a delightful little snippet of information for language geeks at around 3 minutes long

Link to Podcast:

Podictionary: Commute

Related Links:

Podictionary

Wikipedia on Commuting

Hatred towards Wikipedia

Whenever people mention Wikipedia, I always tend to hear someone mocking it in some way ---- why?

The only place I find Wikipedia to not be such a great resource is when it comes to medical-related topics. It's often that I notice huge inaccuracies and a lack of sufficient data when it comes to (seemingly) most medical-related topics; one good example is the Wikipedia article on Asperger's - it simply doesn't delve deep enough into what Asperger's really is. The Wikipedia article on Asperger's is definitely not the first web-page I want people to check out when I want to give people insight into what Asperger's really is like. I won't elaborate on what the article lacks, but one thing is that it doesn't even mention 'stimming' anywhere on the page, which is a huge flaw in my opinion.

"I'm American English"

Question, have you ever met an American Englishman? 

The school didn't hear her, but her parents did

 

My name is not important. I'm a girl, I'm four.

I'm a four year old girl.

I have long blond hair, fair skin and blue eyes. I'm a princess, I'm queen, I'm a star. I'm really tall for my age, and most people think I'm older, like, 5. That's old.

My best friend, PrincessZoulou, is the same age I am. We're the same age, we're the same height, we both have blue eyes. PrincessZoulou and I are like twin sisters, except that she has short dark hair. We share everything, our toys, our dreams, our songs, and our lipstick.

We started school last year, we were in the same class.

Last year, I was a three year old girl, I was a three year old princess with dreams and friends.

Last year, I met R. He was a boy, the same age as I although even much taller. I don't really talk to boys, so I didn't l talk to him. One day, R pushed me from the slides. I fell hard and had dark bruises on my side. It hurt.

I thought it was a joke, I thought it would stop.

It didn't.

He also pushed and bruised PrincessZoulou, so that made two of us. There was us, and there was the rest of the playground. They watched, in sympathy, but they did nothing. Relentlessly, PrincessZoulou told our teacher, our headmistress, her parents. They punished, they panicked, they growled courteously but firmly. A shield was finally built around us, I was safe.

This year, it's different. PrincessZoulous is not in my class. And PrincessZoulou is not a victim. Not anymore.

The first week of school, R tried to strangle her. We were at recess, we were all playing. We were all princesses and kings and superheroes, and R tried to strangle my best friend. He put his hand around her neck and he squeezed. She choked, she struggled. She broke free, she broke away and she ran. And the playground watched and did nothing. And the adults there saw nothing. But she told, she accused, she showed the marks. Late that night, her mother cried and swore and used forbidden words. 

The school didn't hear her, but her parents did. They came to the school, they were angry but they spoke low, they were calm but they were strong.

This year, PrincessZoulou's mother told her she was allowed to fight back. She had to fight back, she had to hit back. It was a necessity, it was an order. And so she did, again and again (she had a lot of practice with her brothers), and she won.

But no one told me.

This year, PrincessZoulou hit R in the eye and held her ground. This year, there was only one victim left. There was only me left. As the words failed me, as the boy held me in pain, I developed exema, asthma. I stopped being hungry for food or adventures or life, this year my eyes are sad and I get myself sick enough to avoid school.

Today, things are different. Today, PrincessZoulou looked at me in the eyes. "you have to tell your parents", she said, "you must". 

And I did. 

Finally, the words came free, and the tears, and the admission that I wasn't as clumsy as I'd said, that I lied. I never fell down the chair on myself, I never tripped on my shoelaces, these bruises aren't mine. And today, my parents told me I wasn't guilty, and I was allright being myself. And I went to sleep, at last, in peace, and as I slept, my mother cried and swore and used forbidden words. 

The school didn't hear me, but my parents did.

Tonight, my parents called PrincessZoulou's parents. My best friend kept my secrets, she never told her parents. Well, she never outright told them anything, but they knew enough. They knew enough, and they know enough what to do and who to call. Tonight there were long talks, long phone calls, and hard decisions made by adults. I am unaware of them. I am safe, I am in peace, I am asleep.

Tomorrow, I don't know if R will be back at school. For the past 14 months, the headmistress has asked his parents to have him consult a special doctor, but they never listened. "Nothing is wrong with our son" they said, "these girls are sissies".

"Nothing is wrong with our son", they said, "and nothing is wrong at home. Mind your own business."

Well, I don't know what "sissies" means, and I don't know if R's older sister and mother are or aren't this word. I know that R must be hurting somewhere. He must be, or he wouldn't turn his pain on others. He must, or he wouldn't know how to exactly hurt me. 

He's only four years old, as I.

Tomorrow, I will go back to school, and I will learn. Not about pain, not about being a victim. Tomorrow, I will go to school with PrincessZoulou and we will learn school stuff, we will play, we will talk, we will share our lipstick regardless of H1N1.

 

We will be strong.

(PS : MrsZoulou is very proud of her girl and loves her very much)

John Keats: Lamia

 

Upon a time, before the faery broods 

Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods, 

Before King Oberon's bright diadem, 

Sceptre, and mantle, clasp'd with dewy gem, 

Frighted away the Dryads and the Fauns 

From rushes green, and brakes, and cowslip'd lawns, 

The ever-smitten Hermes empty left 

His golden throne, bent warm on amorous theft: 

From high Olympus had he stolen light, 

On this side of Jove's clouds, to escape the sight 

Of his great summoner, and made retreat 

Into a forest on the shores of Crete. 

For somewhere in that sacred island dwelt 

A nymph, to whom all hoofed Satyrs knelt; 

At whose white feet the languid Tritons poured 

Pearls, while on land they wither'd and adored. 

Fast by the springs where she to bathe was wont, 

And in those meads where sometime she might haunt, 

Were strewn rich gifts, unknown to any Muse, 

Though Fancy's casket were unlock'd to choose. 

Ah, what a world of love was at her feet! 

So Hermes thought, and a celestial heat 

Burnt from his winged heels to either ear, 

That from a whiteness, as the lily clear, 

Blush'd into roses 'mid his golden hair, 

Fallen in jealous curls about his shoulders bare. 

From vale to vale, from wood to wood, he flew, 

Breathing upon the flowers his passion new, 

And wound with many a river to its head, 

To find where this sweet nymph prepar'd her secret bed: 

In vain; the sweet nymph might nowhere be found, 

And so he rested, on the lonely ground, 

Pensive, and full of painful jealousies 

Of the Wood-Gods, and even the very trees. 

There as he stood, he heard a mournful voice,

Such as once heard, in gentle heart, destroys 

All pain but pity: thus the lone voice spake: 

"When from this wreathed tomb shall I awake! 

When move in a sweet body fit for life, 

And love, and pleasure, and the ruddy strife 

Of hearts and lips! Ah, miserable me!" 

The God, dove-footed, glided silently 

Round bush and tree, soft-brushing, in his speed, 

The taller grasses and full-flowering weed, 

Until he found a palpitating snake, 

Bright, and cirque-couchant in a dusky brake. 

She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue, 

Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue; 

Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard, 

Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr'd; 

And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed, 

Dissolv'd, or brighter shone, or interwreathed 

Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries - 

So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries, 

She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf, 

Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self. 

Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire 

Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne's tiar: 

Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet! 

She had a woman's mouth with all its pearls complete: 

And for her eyes: what could such eyes do there 

But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair? 

As Proserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air. 

Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake 

Came, as through bubbling honey, for Love's sake, 

And thus; while Hermes on his pinions lay, 

Like a stoop'd falcon ere he takes his prey. 

"Fair Hermes, crown'd with feathers, fluttering light, 

I had a splendid dream of thee last night: 

I saw thee sitting, on a throne of gold, 

Among the Gods, upon Olympus old, 

The only sad one; for thou didst not hear 

The soft, lute-finger'd Muses chaunting clear,

Nor even Apollo when he sang alone, 

Deaf to his throbbing throat's long, long melodious moan. 

I dreamt I saw thee, robed in purple flakes, 

Break amorous through the clouds, as morning breaks, 

And, swiftly as a bright Phoebean dart, 

Strike for the Cretan isle; and here thou art! 

Too gentle Hermes, hast thou found the maid?" 

Whereat the star of Lethe not delay'd 

His rosy eloquence, and thus inquired: 

"Thou smooth-lipp'd serpent, surely high inspired! 

Thou beauteous wreath, with melancholy eyes, 

Possess whatever bliss thou canst devise, 

Telling me only where my nymph is fled, - 

Where she doth breathe!" "Bright planet, thou hast said," 

Return'd the snake, "but seal with oaths, fair God!" 

"I swear," said Hermes, "by my serpent rod, 

And by thine eyes, and by thy starry crown!" 

Light flew his earnest words, among the blossoms blown. 

Then thus again the brilliance feminine: 

"Too frail of heart! for this lost nymph of thine, 

Free as the air, invisibly, she strays 

About these thornless wilds; her pleasant days 

She tastes unseen; unseen her nimble feet 

Leave traces in the grass and flowers sweet; 

From weary tendrils, and bow'd branches green, 

She plucks the fruit unseen, she bathes unseen: 

And by my power is her beauty veil'd 

To keep it unaffronted, unassail'd 

By the love-glances of unlovely eyes, 

Of Satyrs, Fauns, and blear'd Silenus' sighs. 

Pale grew her immortality, for woe 

Of all these lovers, and she grieved so 

I took compassion on her, bade her steep 

Her hair in weird syrops, that would keep 

Her loveliness invisible, yet free 

To wander as she loves, in liberty. 

Thou shalt behold her, Hermes, thou alone, 

If thou wilt, as thou swearest, grant my boon!" 

Then, once again, the charmed God began 

An oath, and through the serpent's ears it ran

Warm, tremulous, devout, psalterian. 

Ravish'd, she lifted her Circean head, 

Blush'd a live damask, and swift-lisping said, 

"I was a woman, let me have once more 

A woman's shape, and charming as before. 

I love a youth of Corinth - O the bliss! 

Give me my woman's form, and place me where he is. 

Stoop, Hermes, let me breathe upon thy brow, 

And thou shalt see thy sweet nymph even now." 

The God on half-shut feathers sank serene, 

She breath'd upon his eyes, and swift was seen 

Of both the guarded nymph near-smiling on the green. 

It was no dream; or say a dream it was, 

Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass 

Their pleasures in a long immortal dream. 

One warm, flush'd moment, hovering, it might seem 

Dash'd by the wood-nymph's beauty, so he burn'd; 

Then, lighting on the printless verdure, turn'd 

To the swoon'd serpent, and with languid arm, 

Delicate, put to proof the lythe Caducean charm. 

So done, upon the nymph his eyes he bent, 

Full of adoring tears and blandishment, 

And towards her stept: she, like a moon in wane, 

Faded before him, cower'd, nor could restrain 

Her fearful sobs, self-folding like a flower 

That faints into itself at evening hour: 

But the God fostering her chilled hand, 

She felt the warmth, her eyelids open'd bland, 

And, like new flowers at morning song of bees, 

Bloom'd, and gave up her honey to the lees. 

Into the green-recessed woods they flew; 

Nor grew they pale, as mortal lovers do. 

Left to herself, the serpent now began 

To change; her elfin blood in madness ran, 

Her mouth foam'd, and the grass, therewith besprent, 

Wither'd at dew so sweet and virulent; 

Her eyes in torture fix'd, and anguish drear, 

Hot, glaz'd, and wide, with lid-lashes all sear, 

Flash'd phosphor and sharp sparks, without one cooling tear.

The colours all inflam'd throughout her train, 

She writh'd about, convuls'd with scarlet pain: 

A deep volcanian yellow took the place 

Of all her milder-mooned body's grace; 

And, as the lava ravishes the mead, 

Spoilt all her silver mail, and golden brede; 

Made gloom of all her frecklings, streaks and bars, 

Eclips'd her crescents, and lick'd up her stars: 

So that, in moments few, she was undrest 

Of all her sapphires, greens, and amethyst, 

And rubious-argent: of all these bereft, 

Nothing but pain and ugliness were left. 

Still shone her crown; that vanish'd, also she 

Melted and disappear'd as suddenly; 

And in the air, her new voice luting soft, 

Cried, "Lycius! gentle Lycius!" - Borne aloft 

With the bright mists about the mountains hoar 

These words dissolv'd: Crete's forests heard no more. 

Whither fled Lamia, now a lady bright, 

A full-born beauty new and exquisite? 

She fled into that valley they pass o'er 

Who go to Corinth from Cenchreas' shore; 

And rested at the foot of those wild hills, 

The rugged founts of the Peraean rills, 

And of that other ridge whose barren back 

Stretches, with all its mist and cloudy rack, 

South-westward to Cleone. There she stood 

About a young bird's flutter from a wood, 

Fair, on a sloping green of mossy tread, 

By a clear pool, wherein she passioned 

To see herself escap'd from so sore ills, 

While her robes flaunted with the daffodils. 

Ah, happy Lycius! - for she was a maid 

More beautiful than ever twisted braid, 

Or sigh'd, or blush'd, or on spring-flowered lea 

Spread a green kirtle to the minstrelsy: 

A virgin purest lipp'd, yet in the lore 

Of love deep learned to the red heart's core:

Not one hour old, yet of sciential brain 

To unperplex bliss from its neighbour pain; 

Define their pettish limit s, and estrange 

Their points of contact, and swift counterchange; 

Intrigue with the specious chaos, and dispart 

Its most ambiguous atoms with sure art; 

As though in Cupid's college she had spent 

Sweet days a lovely graduate, still unshent, 

And kept his rosy terms in idle languishment. 

Why this fair creature chose so fairily 

By the wayside to linger, we shall see; 

But first 'tis fit to tell how she could muse 

And dream, when in the serpent prison-house, 

Of all she list, strange or magnificent: 

How, ever, where she will'd, her spirit went; 

Whether to faint Elysium, or where 

Down through tress-lifting waves the Nereids fair 

Wind into Thetis' bower by many a pearly stair; 

Or where God Bacchus drains his cups divine, 

Stretch'd out, at ease, beneath a glutinous pine; 

Or where in Pluto's gardens palatine 

Mulciber's columns gleam in far piazzian line. 

And sometimes into cities she would send 

Her dream, with feast and rioting to blend; 

And once, while among mortals dreaming thus, 

She saw the young Corinthian Lycius 

Charioting foremost in the envious race, 

Like a young Jove with calm uneager face, 

And fell into a swooning love of him. 

Now on the moth-time of that evening dim 

He would return that way, as well she knew, 

To Corinth from the shore; for freshly blew 

The eastern soft wind, and his galley now 

Grated the quaystones with her brazen prow 

In port Cenchreas, from Egina isle 

Fresh anchor'd; whither he had been awhile 

To sacrifice to Jove, whose temple there 

Waits with high marble doors for blood and incense rare. 

Jove heard his vows, and better'd his desire;

For by some freakful chance he made retire 

From his companions, and set forth to walk, 

Perhaps grown wearied of their Corinth talk: 

Over the solitary hills he fared, 

Thoughtless at first, but ere eve's star appeared 

His phantasy was lost, where reason fades, 

In the calm'd twilight of Platonic shades. 

Lamia beheld him coming, near, more near - 

Close to her passing, in indifference drear, 

His silent sandals swept the mossy green; 

So neighbour'd to him, and yet so unseen 

She stood: he pass'd, shut up in mysteries, 

His mind wrapp'd like his mantle, while her eyes 

Follow'd his steps, and her neck regal white 

Turn'd - syllabling thus, "Ah, Lycius bright, 

And will you leave me on the hills alone? 

Lycius, look back! and be some pity shown." 

He did; not with cold wonder fearingly, 

But Orpheus-like at an Eurydice; 

For so delicious were the words she sung, 

It seem'd he had lov'd them a whole summer long: 

And soon his eyes had drunk her beauty up, 

Leaving no drop in the bewildering cup, 

And still the cup was full, - while he afraid 

Lest she should vanish ere his lip had paid 

Due adoration, thus began to adore; 

Her soft look growing coy, she saw his chain so sure: 

"Leave thee alone! Look back! Ah, Goddess, see 

Whether my eyes can ever turn from thee! 

For pity do not this sad heart belie - 

Even as thou vanishest so I shall die. 

Stay! though a Naiad of the rivers, stay! 

To thy far wishes will thy streams obey: 

Stay! though the greenest woods be thy domain, 

Alone they can drink up the morning rain: 

Though a descended Pleiad, will not one 

Of thine harmonious sisters keep in tune 

Thy spheres, and as thy silver proxy shine? 

So sweetly to these ravish'd ears of mine 

Came thy sweet greeting, that if thou shouldst fade

Thy memory will waste me to a shade - 

For pity do not melt!" - "If I should stay," 

Said Lamia, "here, upon this floor of clay, 

And pain my steps upon these flowers too rough, 

What canst thou say or do of charm enough 

To dull the nice remembrance of my home? 

Thou canst not ask me with thee here to roam 

Over these hills and vales, where no joy is, - 

Empty of immortality and bliss! 

Thou art a scholar, Lycius, and must know 

That finer spirits cannot breathe below 

In human climes, and live: Alas! poor youth, 

What taste of purer air hast thou to soothe 

My essence? What serener palaces, 

Where I may all my many senses please, 

And by mysterious sleights a hundred thirsts appease? 

It cannot be - Adieu!" So said, she rose 

Tiptoe with white arms spread. He, sick to lose 

The amorous promise of her lone complain, 

Swoon'd, murmuring of love, and pale with pain. 

The cruel lady, without any show 

Of sorrow for her tender favourite's woe, 

But rather, if her eyes could brighter be, 

With brighter eyes and slow amenity, 

Put her new lips to his, and gave afresh 

The life she had so tangled in her mesh: 

And as he from one trance was wakening 

Into another, she began to sing, 

Happy in beauty, life, and love, and every thing, 

A song of love, too sweet for earthly lyres, 

While, like held breath, the stars drew in their panting fires 

And then she whisper'd in such trembling tone, 

As those who, safe together met alone 

For the first time through many anguish'd days, 

Use other speech than looks; bidding him raise 

His drooping head, and clear his soul of doubt, 

For that she was a woman, and without 

Any more subtle fluid in her veins 

Than throbbing blood, and that the self-same pains 

Inhabited her frail-strung heart as his.

And next she wonder'd how his eyes could miss 

Her face so long in Corinth, where, she said, 

She dwelt but half retir'd, and there had led 

Days happy as the gold coin could invent 

Without the aid of love; yet in content 

Till she saw him, as once she pass'd him by, 

Where 'gainst a column he leant thoughtfully 

At Venus' temple porch, 'mid baskets heap'd 

Of amorous herbs and flowers, newly reap'd 

Late on that eve, as 'twas the night before 

The Adonian feast; whereof she saw no more, 

But wept alone those days, for why should she adore? 

Lycius from death awoke into amaze, 

To see her still, and singing so sweet lays; 

Then from amaze into delight he fell 

To hear her whisper woman's lore so well; 

And every word she spake entic'd him on 

To unperplex'd delight and pleasure known. 

Let the mad poets say whate'er they please 

Of the sweets of Fairies, Peris, Goddesses, 

There is not such a treat among them all, 

Haunters of cavern, lake, and waterfall, 

As a real woman, lineal indeed 

From Pyrrha's pebbles or old Adam's seed. 

Thus gentle Lamia judg'd, and judg'd aright, 

That Lycius could not love in half a fright, 

So threw the goddess off, and won his heart 

More pleasantly by playing woman's part, 

With no more awe than what her beauty gave, 

That, while it smote, still guaranteed to save. 

Lycius to all made eloquent reply, 

Marrying to every word a twinborn sigh; 

And last, pointing to Corinth, ask'd her sweet, 

If 'twas too far that night for her soft feet. 

The way was short, for Lamia's eagerness 

Made, by a spell, the triple league decrease 

To a few paces; not at all surmised 

By blinded Lycius, so in her comprized. 

They pass'd the city gates, he knew not how 

So noiseless, and he never thought to know.

As men talk in a dream, so Corinth all, 

Throughout her palaces imperial, 

And all her populous streets and temples lewd, 

Mutter'd, like tempest in the distance brew'd, 

To the wide-spreaded night above her towers. 

Men, women, rich and poor, in the cool hours, 

Shuffled their sandals o'er the pavement white, 

Companion'd or alone; while many a light 

Flared, here and there, from wealthy festivals, 

And threw their moving shadows on the walls, 

Or found them cluster'd in the corniced shade 

Of some arch'd temple door, or dusky colonnade. 

Muffling his face, of greeting friends in fear, 

Her fingers he press'd hard, as one came near 

With curl'd gray beard, sharp eyes, and smooth bald crown, 

Slow-stepp'd, and robed in philosophic gown: 

Lycius shrank closer, as they met and past, 

Into his mantle, adding wings to haste, 

While hurried Lamia trembled: "Ah," said he, 

"Why do you shudder, love, so ruefully? 

Why does your tender palm dissolve in dew?" - 

"I'm wearied," said fair Lamia: "tell me who 

Is that old man? I cannot bring to mind 

His features - Lycius! wherefore did you blind 

Yourself from his quick eyes?" Lycius replied, 

'Tis Apollonius sage, my trusty guide 

And good instructor; but to-night he seems 

The ghost of folly haunting my sweet dreams. 

While yet he spake they had arrived before 

A pillar'd porch, with lofty portal door, 

Where hung a silver lamp, whose phosphor glow 

Reflected in the slabbed steps below, 

Mild as a star in water; for so new, 

And so unsullied was the marble hue, 

So through the crystal polish, liquid fine, 

Ran the dark veins, that none but feet divine 

Could e'er have touch'd there. Sounds Aeolian

Breath'd from the hinges, as the ample span 

Of the wide doors disclos'd a place unknown 

Some time to any, but those two alone, 

And a few Persian mutes, who that same year 

Were seen about the markets: none knew where 

They could inhabit; the most curious 

Were foil'd, who watch'd to trace them to their house: 

And but the flitter-winged verse must tell, 

For truth's sake, what woe afterwards befel, 

'Twould humour many a heart to leave them thus, 

Shut from the busy world of more incredulous. 

Part 2 

love in a hut, with water and a crust, 

Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust; 

Love in a palace is perhaps at last 

More grievous torment than a hermit's fast - 

That is a doubtful tale from faery land, 

Hard for the non-elect to understand. 

Had Lycius liv'd to hand his story down, 

He might have given the moral a fresh frown, 

Or clench'd it quite: but too short was their bliss 

To breed distrust and hate, that make the soft voice hiss. 

Besides, there, nightly, with terrific glare, 

Love, jealous grown of so complete a pair, 

Hover'd and buzz'd his wings, with fearful roar, 

Above the lintel of their chamber door, 

And down the passage cast a glow upon the floor. 

For all this came a ruin: side by side 

They were enthroned, in the even tide, 

Upon a couch, near to a curtaining 

Whose airy texture, from a golden string, 

Floated into the room, and let appear 

Unveil'd the summer heaven, blue and clear, 

Betwixt two marble shafts: - there they reposed, 

Where use had made it sweet, with eyelids closed, 

Saving a tythe which love still open kept, 

That they might see each other while they almost slept;

When from the slope side of a suburb hill, 

Deafening the swallow's twitter, came a thrill 

Of trumpets - Lycius started - the sounds fled, 

But left a thought, a buzzing in his head. 

For the first time, since first he harbour'd in 

That purple-lined palace of sweet sin, 

His spirit pass'd beyond its golden bourn 

Into the noisy world almost forsworn. 

The lady, ever watchful, penetrant, 

Saw this with pain, so arguing a want 

Of something more, more than her empery 

Of joys; and she began to moan and sigh 

Because he mused beyond her, knowing well 

That but a moment's thought is passion's passing bell. 

"Why do you sigh, fair creature?" whisper'd he: 

"Why do you think?" return'd she tenderly: 

"You have deserted me - where am I now? 

Not in your heart while care weighs on your brow: 

No, no, you have dismiss'd me; and I go 

From your breast houseless: ay, it must be so." 

He answer'd, bending to her open eyes, 

Where he was mirror'd small in paradise, 

My silver planet, both of eve and morn! 

Why will you plead yourself so sad forlorn, 

While I am striving how to fill my heart 

With deeper crimson, and a double smart? 

How to entangle, trammel up and snare 

Your soul in mine, and labyrinth you there 

Like the hid scent in an unbudded rose? 

Ay, a sweet kiss - you see your mighty woes. 

My thoughts! shall I unveil them? Listen then! 

What mortal hath a prize, that other men 

May be confounded and abash'd withal, 

But lets it sometimes pace abroad majestical, 

And triumph, as in thee I should rejoice 

Amid the hoarse alarm of Corinth's voice. 

Let my foes choke, and my friends shout afar, 

While through the thronged streets your bridal car 

Wheels round its dazzling spokes." The lady's cheek 

Trembled; she nothing said, but, pale and meek,

Arose and knelt before him, wept a rain 

Of sorrows at his words; at last with pain 

Beseeching him, the while his hand she wrung, 

To change his purpose. He thereat was stung, 

Perverse, with stronger fancy to reclaim 

Her wild and timid nature to his aim: 

Besides, for all his love, in self despite, 

Against his better self, he took delight 

Luxurious in her sorrows, soft and new. 

His passion, cruel grown, took on a hue 

Fierce and sanguineous as 'twas possible 

In one whose brow had no dark veins to swell. 

Fine was the mitigated fury, like 

Apollo's presence when in act to strike 

The serpent - Ha, the serpent! certes, she 

Was none. She burnt, she lov'd the tyranny, 

And, all subdued, consented to the hour 

When to the bridal he should lead his paramour. 

Whispering in midnight silence, said the youth, 

"Sure some sweet name thou hast, though, by my truth, 

I have not ask'd it, ever thinking thee 

Not mortal, but of heavenly progeny, 

As still I do. Hast any mortal name, 

Fit appellation for this dazzling frame? 

Or friends or kinsfolk on the citied earth, 

To share our marriage feast and nuptial mirth?" 

"I have no friends," said Lamia," no, not one; 

My presence in wide Corinth hardly known: 

My parents' bones are in their dusty urns 

Sepulchred, where no kindled incense burns, 

Seeing all their luckless race are dead, save me, 

And I neglect the holy rite for thee. 

Even as you list invite your many guests; 

But if, as now it seems, your vision rests 

With any pleasure on me, do not bid 

Old Apollonius - from him keep me hid." 

Lycius, perplex'd at words so blind and blank, 

Made close inquiry; from whose touch she shrank, 

Feigning a sleep; and he to the dull shade 

Of deep sleep in a moment was betray'd

It was the custom then to bring away 

The bride from home at blushing shut of day, 

Veil'd, in a chariot, heralded along 

By strewn flowers, torches, and a marriage song, 

With other pageants: but this fair unknown 

Had not a friend. So being left alone, 

(Lycius was gone to summon all his kin) 

And knowing surely she could never win 

His foolish heart from its mad pompousness, 

She set herself, high-thoughted, how to dress 

The misery in fit magnificence. 

She did so, but 'tis doubtful how and whence 

Came, and who were her subtle servitors. 

About the halls, and to and from the doors, 

There was a noise of wings, till in short space 

The glowing banquet-room shone with wide-arched grace. 

A haunting music, sole perhaps and lone 

Supportress of the faery-roof, made moan 

Throughout, as fearful the whole charm might fade. 

Fresh carved cedar, mimicking a glade 

Of palm and plantain, met from either side, 

High in the midst, in honour of the bride: 

Two palms and then two plantains, and so on, 

From either side their stems branch'd one to one 

All down the aisled place; and beneath all 

There ran a stream of lamps straight on from wall to wall. 

So canopied, lay an untasted feast 

Teeming with odours. Lamia, regal drest, 

Silently paced about, and as she went, 

In pale contented sort of discontent, 

Mission'd her viewless servants to enrich 

The fretted splendour of each nook and niche. 

Between the tree-stems, marbled plain at first, 

Came jasper pannels; then, anon, there burst 

Forth creeping imagery of slighter trees, 

And with the larger wove in small intricacies. 

Approving all, she faded at self-will, 

And shut the chamber up, close, hush'd and still, 

Complete and ready for the revels rude,

When dreadful guests would come to spoil her solitude. 

The day appear'd, and all the gossip rout. 

O senseless Lycius! Madman! wherefore flout 

The silent-blessing fate, warm cloister'd hours, 

And show to common eyes these secret bowers? 

The herd approach'd; each guest, with busy brain, 

Arriving at the portal, gaz'd amain, 

And enter'd marveling: for they knew the street, 

Remember'd it from childhood all complete 

16.11.2009, Englisch, Barkow

titanium – Titan

cartilage – Knorpel

to spite sb – jmd ärgern, jmd eins auswischen

carpenter – Zimmerman

jailbird – jmd der im Gefängnis war

beauty lies in the eye of the beholder – Schönheit liegt im Auge des Betrachters

whale's tail – Arschgeweih

fashion fad – Modeerscheinung

to be major – volljährig sein

to rinse – spülen

to intangle – verhaken

blurred – verschwommen

crutches – Krücken

to afford – sich leisten können

affordable – leistbar

that is beneath me – das ist unter meiner Würde