Annabel Lee By Edgar Allan Poe
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 wingèd 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 kinsmen 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 her sepulchre there by the sea—
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
topic title: Annabel Lee
9 posts
• Page 1 of 1
-
eugen-bPosts: 307
- Joined: 23 Aug 2015
#2
Tey used to spend less money on elections, that's true. But the next crisis is coming, there will be less spending sooner or later.
-
Alanarchy
Posts 0 Alanarchy
#3
Love’s Philosophy By Percy Bysshe Shelley
The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
Why not I with thine?—
See the mountains kiss high heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What is all this sweet work worth
If thou kiss not me?
The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
Why not I with thine?—
See the mountains kiss high heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What is all this sweet work worth
If thou kiss not me?
Last edited by Guest on 14 Feb 2016, 14:06, edited 2 times in total.
-
jdmeaux1952Posts: 667
- Joined: 01 Nov 2013
#4
Public Opinion is what the controlled media tell you it is. That means that it is not what the majority of the public believe, but what the media wants you to believe they believe.
-
Alanarchy
Posts 0 Alanarchy
#5
To a Distant Friend by W. Wordsworth
WHY art thou silent? Is thy love a plant
Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air
Of absence withers what was once so fair?
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant?
Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant,
Bound to thy service with unceasing care—
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant
For nought but what thy happiness could spare.
Speak!—though this soft warm heart, once free to hold
A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine,
Be left more desolate, more dreary cold
Than a forsaken bird's-nest fill'd with snow
'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine—
Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know!
WHY art thou silent? Is thy love a plant
Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air
Of absence withers what was once so fair?
Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant?
Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant,
Bound to thy service with unceasing care—
The mind's least generous wish a mendicant
For nought but what thy happiness could spare.
Speak!—though this soft warm heart, once free to hold
A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine,
Be left more desolate, more dreary cold
Than a forsaken bird's-nest fill'd with snow
'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine—
Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know!
-
Alanarchy
Posts 0 Alanarchy
#6
The Gods and The People by Voltairine de Cleyre
What have you done, O skies,
That the millions should kneel to you?
Why should they lift wet eyes,
Grateful with human dew?
Why should they clasp their hands,
And bow at thy shrines, O heaven,
Thanking thy high commands
For the mercies that thou hast given?
What have those mercies been,
O thou who art called the Good?
Who trod through a world of sin,
And stood where the felon stood
What is that wondrous peace
Vouchsafed to the child of dust
For whom all doubt shall cease
In the light of thy perfect trust?
How hast Thou heard their prayers
Smoking up from the bleeding sod,
Who, crushed by their weight of cares,
Cried up to thee, Most High God
... ... .... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Where the swamps of Humanity sicken
Read the answer in dumb, white scars!
You, Skies, gave the sore and the stricken
The light of your far- off stars!
The children who plead are driven,
Shelterless, through the street,
Receiving the Mercy of heaven
Hard-frozen in glittering Sleet!
The women who prayed for pity,
Who called on the saving Name,
Through the walks of your merciless city,
Are crying the rent, of shame!
The starving, who gazed till the plenty
In which they might not share
Have died in their hunger, rent by
The anguish of unheard prayer !
The weary who plead for remission,
For a moment only release,
Have sunk, with unheeded petition--
This the Christ-pledged Peace.
These are the mercies of heaven,
These are the answer of God
To the prayers of the agony-shriven,
From the paths where the millions plod!
The Silent scorn of the sightless!
The callous ear of the deaf!
The wrath of Might to the mightless!
The shroud and the mourning sheaf!
Light--to behold their squalor!
Breath --to draw in life's pain!
Voices to plead and call for
Heaven's help--hearts tip bleed--in vain!
... ... .... ... ... ... ... ... ...
What have you done, O Church,
That the weary should bless your name?
Should come with faith's holy torch
To light up your altered fane?
Why should they kiss the folds
Of The garment of your High Priest?
Or bow to the chalice that holds
The wine of your Sacred Feast?
Have you blown out the breath of their sighs?
Have you strengthened the weak, the ill?
Have you wiped the dark tears from their eyes,
And bade their sobbing be still?
Have you touched, have you known, have you felt,
Have you bent and softly smiled
In the face of the woman who dealt
In lewdness--to feed her child?
Have you heard the cry in the night
Going up from the outraged heart,
Masked from the social sight
By the cloak that but angered the smart?
Have you heard the children's moan,
By the light of the skies denied?--
Answer, O Walls of Stone,
In the name of your Crucified!
. ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Out of the clay of their heart-break,
From the red dew of its sod,
You have mortared your bricks for Christ's sake
And reared a palace to God
Your painters have dipped their brushes
In the tears and the blood of the race
Whom, living, your dark frown crushes
And limned--a dead Saviour's face!
Ye have seized, in the name of God, the
Child's crust from famine's dole;
You have taken the price of its body
And sung a mass for its soul!
You have smiled on the man, who, deceiving,
Paid exemption to ease your wrath !
You have cursed the pour fool who believed him,
Though her body lay prone in your path !
You have laid the seal on the lip !
You have bade us to be content !
To bow 'neath our master's whip,
And give thanks for the scourge--"heaven sent."
These, O Church are your thanks :
These are the fruits without flaw,
That flow from the chosen ranks
Who keep in your perfect law !
Doors hard locked on the homeless,
Stained glass windows for bread !
On the living, the law of dumbness,
And the law of need, for-the dead!
Better the dead, who, not needing,
Go down to the vaults of the earth,
Than the living whose hearts lie bleeding,
Crushed by you at their very birth!
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
What have you done, O State,
That the toilers should shout your ways?
Should light up the fires of their hate
If a"traitor" should dare dispraise?
How do you guard the trust
That the people repose in you?
Do you keep to the law of the just,
And hold to the changeless true?
What do you mean when you say
"The home of the free and brave?"
How free are your people, pray?
Have you no such thing as a slave?
What are the lauded"rights,"
Broad-sealed by your Sovereign Grace?
What are the love-feeding sights
You yield to your subject race?
... .. ... ... ... ... ... ...
The rights?-Ah ! the right to toil,
That another, idle, may reap ;
The right to make fruitful the soil,
And a meagre pittance to keep.
The right of a woman to own
Her body spotlessly pure,
And starve in the street--alone!
The right of the wronged--to endure !
The right of the slave--to its yoke,
The right of the hungry--to pray,
The right, of the toiler--to vote
For the master who buys his day !
You have sold the sun and the air,
You have dealt in the price of blood,
You have taken the lion's share
While the lion is fierce for food!
You have laid the load of the strong
On the helpless, the young, the weak!
You have trod out the purple of wrong;--
Beware where its wrath shall wreak!
"Let the voice of the People be heard!
O--" You strangled it with your rope,
Denied the last dying word
While your Trap and your Gallows spoke!
But a thousand voices rise
Where the words of the martyr fell ;
The seed springs fast to the Skies
Watered deep from that bloody well !
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Hark! Low down you will hear
The storm in the underground!
Listen, tyrants, and fear!
Quake at that muffled sound
"Heavens that mocked our dust,
Smile on, in your pitiless blue!
Silent as you are to us,
So silent are we to you!
"Churches that scourged our brains,
Priests that locked fast our hands!-
We planted the torch in Your chains:
Now gather the burning brands!
"States, that have given us law,
When we asked for the right to earn bread--
The Sword that Damocles saw
By a hair swings over your head!
What ye have sown ye shall reap :
Teardrops, and Blood, and Hate,
Gaunt gather before your Seat
And knock at your palace gate!
"There are murderers on your thrones,
There are thieves in your Justice halls!
White Leprosy cancers their stones,
And gnaws at their worm-eaten walls!
"And the Hand of Belshazzar's Feast
Writes over, in flaming light,
'Thought's kingdom no more to the Priest;
Nor the law of Right to the Might.'"
What have you done, O skies,
That the millions should kneel to you?
Why should they lift wet eyes,
Grateful with human dew?
Why should they clasp their hands,
And bow at thy shrines, O heaven,
Thanking thy high commands
For the mercies that thou hast given?
What have those mercies been,
O thou who art called the Good?
Who trod through a world of sin,
And stood where the felon stood
What is that wondrous peace
Vouchsafed to the child of dust
For whom all doubt shall cease
In the light of thy perfect trust?
How hast Thou heard their prayers
Smoking up from the bleeding sod,
Who, crushed by their weight of cares,
Cried up to thee, Most High God
... ... .... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Where the swamps of Humanity sicken
Read the answer in dumb, white scars!
You, Skies, gave the sore and the stricken
The light of your far- off stars!
The children who plead are driven,
Shelterless, through the street,
Receiving the Mercy of heaven
Hard-frozen in glittering Sleet!
The women who prayed for pity,
Who called on the saving Name,
Through the walks of your merciless city,
Are crying the rent, of shame!
The starving, who gazed till the plenty
In which they might not share
Have died in their hunger, rent by
The anguish of unheard prayer !
The weary who plead for remission,
For a moment only release,
Have sunk, with unheeded petition--
This the Christ-pledged Peace.
These are the mercies of heaven,
These are the answer of God
To the prayers of the agony-shriven,
From the paths where the millions plod!
The Silent scorn of the sightless!
The callous ear of the deaf!
The wrath of Might to the mightless!
The shroud and the mourning sheaf!
Light--to behold their squalor!
Breath --to draw in life's pain!
Voices to plead and call for
Heaven's help--hearts tip bleed--in vain!
... ... .... ... ... ... ... ... ...
What have you done, O Church,
That the weary should bless your name?
Should come with faith's holy torch
To light up your altered fane?
Why should they kiss the folds
Of The garment of your High Priest?
Or bow to the chalice that holds
The wine of your Sacred Feast?
Have you blown out the breath of their sighs?
Have you strengthened the weak, the ill?
Have you wiped the dark tears from their eyes,
And bade their sobbing be still?
Have you touched, have you known, have you felt,
Have you bent and softly smiled
In the face of the woman who dealt
In lewdness--to feed her child?
Have you heard the cry in the night
Going up from the outraged heart,
Masked from the social sight
By the cloak that but angered the smart?
Have you heard the children's moan,
By the light of the skies denied?--
Answer, O Walls of Stone,
In the name of your Crucified!
. ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Out of the clay of their heart-break,
From the red dew of its sod,
You have mortared your bricks for Christ's sake
And reared a palace to God
Your painters have dipped their brushes
In the tears and the blood of the race
Whom, living, your dark frown crushes
And limned--a dead Saviour's face!
Ye have seized, in the name of God, the
Child's crust from famine's dole;
You have taken the price of its body
And sung a mass for its soul!
You have smiled on the man, who, deceiving,
Paid exemption to ease your wrath !
You have cursed the pour fool who believed him,
Though her body lay prone in your path !
You have laid the seal on the lip !
You have bade us to be content !
To bow 'neath our master's whip,
And give thanks for the scourge--"heaven sent."
These, O Church are your thanks :
These are the fruits without flaw,
That flow from the chosen ranks
Who keep in your perfect law !
Doors hard locked on the homeless,
Stained glass windows for bread !
On the living, the law of dumbness,
And the law of need, for-the dead!
Better the dead, who, not needing,
Go down to the vaults of the earth,
Than the living whose hearts lie bleeding,
Crushed by you at their very birth!
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
What have you done, O State,
That the toilers should shout your ways?
Should light up the fires of their hate
If a"traitor" should dare dispraise?
How do you guard the trust
That the people repose in you?
Do you keep to the law of the just,
And hold to the changeless true?
What do you mean when you say
"The home of the free and brave?"
How free are your people, pray?
Have you no such thing as a slave?
What are the lauded"rights,"
Broad-sealed by your Sovereign Grace?
What are the love-feeding sights
You yield to your subject race?
... .. ... ... ... ... ... ...
The rights?-Ah ! the right to toil,
That another, idle, may reap ;
The right to make fruitful the soil,
And a meagre pittance to keep.
The right of a woman to own
Her body spotlessly pure,
And starve in the street--alone!
The right of the wronged--to endure !
The right of the slave--to its yoke,
The right of the hungry--to pray,
The right, of the toiler--to vote
For the master who buys his day !
You have sold the sun and the air,
You have dealt in the price of blood,
You have taken the lion's share
While the lion is fierce for food!
You have laid the load of the strong
On the helpless, the young, the weak!
You have trod out the purple of wrong;--
Beware where its wrath shall wreak!
"Let the voice of the People be heard!
O--" You strangled it with your rope,
Denied the last dying word
While your Trap and your Gallows spoke!
But a thousand voices rise
Where the words of the martyr fell ;
The seed springs fast to the Skies
Watered deep from that bloody well !
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Hark! Low down you will hear
The storm in the underground!
Listen, tyrants, and fear!
Quake at that muffled sound
"Heavens that mocked our dust,
Smile on, in your pitiless blue!
Silent as you are to us,
So silent are we to you!
"Churches that scourged our brains,
Priests that locked fast our hands!-
We planted the torch in Your chains:
Now gather the burning brands!
"States, that have given us law,
When we asked for the right to earn bread--
The Sword that Damocles saw
By a hair swings over your head!
What ye have sown ye shall reap :
Teardrops, and Blood, and Hate,
Gaunt gather before your Seat
And knock at your palace gate!
"There are murderers on your thrones,
There are thieves in your Justice halls!
White Leprosy cancers their stones,
And gnaws at their worm-eaten walls!
"And the Hand of Belshazzar's Feast
Writes over, in flaming light,
'Thought's kingdom no more to the Priest;
Nor the law of Right to the Might.'"
-
eugen-bPosts: 307
- Joined: 23 Aug 2015
#7
Georg Heym (1887-1912)
The War
(1911)
(translated from German by Walter A. Aue,
========= SCRAPER REMOVED AN EMBEDDED LINK HERE ===========
url was:"http://myweb.dal.ca/waue/Trans/Heym-Krieg.html"
linktext was:"http://myweb.dal.ca/waue/Trans/Heym-Krieg.html"
====================================
)
Now he has arisen: he, who slept so long,
from the depth arisen, out of arches strong.
Huge he stands and unknown in the twilight land,
and the moon he crushes in his blackened hand.
Broad on city's evening, wide and angrily
shadows fall, and frost of strange obscurity
makes the market's bustle stop in icy scare.
Silence reigns. They turn - and no one is aware.
In the street it comes to touch her shoulders light:
Just a question. Answerless. A face goes white.
From afar the abbey bells are whining thin
and the beards are quaking round the pointed chin.
High up, on the mountains, he begins to dance,
and he cries: You fighters, rise up and advance!
Echoes sound: around his shaking, blackened head
swings a chain of skulls he wrenched from thousand dead.
Tower-like he squashes embers' dying gleam
and, where day is fleeing, fills with blood the stream.
Countless are the corpses swept into the reeds,
covered by white feathers, where the vulture feeds.
He stands over ramparts blue of flames around,
over darkened streets with heavy weapons sound,
over broken gates where gatemen lie across,
over bridges bending under human dross.
Through the night he chases fire across the world:
red-fanged hound of hell with savage scream unfurled.
Out of darkness leaps dominion of night,
frightful at its border shine volcanoes bright.
And a thousand redcaps, pointed far and wide,
litter up the dark plain, flicker up astride.
Those below in alleys, running to and fro,
he sweeps in the fire, that it hotter grow.
And the flames are leaping, burning tree by tree.
Yellow bats of fire clawing endlessly.
And he thrusts his kiln-staff, dark and charcoal-bound
deep amongst the trees to stoke the flames around.
An important city, chocked in yellow glow,
jumped without a whisper to the depths below,
while he stands, a giant, over glowing urns,
wild, in bloody heavens, thrice his torch he turns
over stormstrung clouds reflecting fiery brands,
to the deadly dark of frigid desert sands,
down he pours the fires, withering the night,
phosphorus and brimstone on Gomorrha bright.
The War
(1911)
(translated from German by Walter A. Aue,
========= SCRAPER REMOVED AN EMBEDDED LINK HERE ===========
url was:"http://myweb.dal.ca/waue/Trans/Heym-Krieg.html"
linktext was:"http://myweb.dal.ca/waue/Trans/Heym-Krieg.html"
====================================
)
Now he has arisen: he, who slept so long,
from the depth arisen, out of arches strong.
Huge he stands and unknown in the twilight land,
and the moon he crushes in his blackened hand.
Broad on city's evening, wide and angrily
shadows fall, and frost of strange obscurity
makes the market's bustle stop in icy scare.
Silence reigns. They turn - and no one is aware.
In the street it comes to touch her shoulders light:
Just a question. Answerless. A face goes white.
From afar the abbey bells are whining thin
and the beards are quaking round the pointed chin.
High up, on the mountains, he begins to dance,
and he cries: You fighters, rise up and advance!
Echoes sound: around his shaking, blackened head
swings a chain of skulls he wrenched from thousand dead.
Tower-like he squashes embers' dying gleam
and, where day is fleeing, fills with blood the stream.
Countless are the corpses swept into the reeds,
covered by white feathers, where the vulture feeds.
He stands over ramparts blue of flames around,
over darkened streets with heavy weapons sound,
over broken gates where gatemen lie across,
over bridges bending under human dross.
Through the night he chases fire across the world:
red-fanged hound of hell with savage scream unfurled.
Out of darkness leaps dominion of night,
frightful at its border shine volcanoes bright.
And a thousand redcaps, pointed far and wide,
litter up the dark plain, flicker up astride.
Those below in alleys, running to and fro,
he sweeps in the fire, that it hotter grow.
And the flames are leaping, burning tree by tree.
Yellow bats of fire clawing endlessly.
And he thrusts his kiln-staff, dark and charcoal-bound
deep amongst the trees to stoke the flames around.
An important city, chocked in yellow glow,
jumped without a whisper to the depths below,
while he stands, a giant, over glowing urns,
wild, in bloody heavens, thrice his torch he turns
over stormstrung clouds reflecting fiery brands,
to the deadly dark of frigid desert sands,
down he pours the fires, withering the night,
phosphorus and brimstone on Gomorrha bright.
-
anticapitalista
Posts: 5,955
- Site Admin
- Joined: 11 Sep 2007
#8
Wilfred Owen - Strange Meeting
It seemed that out of battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which titanic wars had groined.
Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands, as if to bless.
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall,—
By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell.
With a thousand fears that vision's face was grained;
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan.
“Strange friend,” I said, “here is no cause to mourn.”
“None,” said that other, “save the undone years,
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world,
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something had been left,
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity war distilled.
Now men will go content with what we spoiled.
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress.
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.
Courage was mine, and I had mystery;
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery:
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels,
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.
I would have poured my spirit without stint
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.
“I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark: for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now. . . .”
It seemed that out of battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which titanic wars had groined.
Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands, as if to bless.
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall,—
By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell.
With a thousand fears that vision's face was grained;
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan.
“Strange friend,” I said, “here is no cause to mourn.”
“None,” said that other, “save the undone years,
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world,
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something had been left,
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity war distilled.
Now men will go content with what we spoiled.
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress.
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.
Courage was mine, and I had mystery;
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery:
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels,
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.
I would have poured my spirit without stint
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.
“I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark: for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now. . . .”
-
Alanarchy
Posts 0 Alanarchy
#9
A Sane Revolution - Poem by D.H. Lawrence
If you make a revolution, make it for fun,
don't make it in ghastly seriousness,
don't do it in deadly earnest,
do it for fun.
Don't do it because you hate people,
do it just to spit in their eye.
Don't do it for the money,
do it and be damned to the money.
Don't do it for equality,
do it because we've got too much equality
and it would be fun to upset the apple-cart
and see which way the apples would go a-rolling.
Don't do it for the working classes.
Do it so that we can all of us be little aristocracies on our own
and kick our heels like jolly escaped asses.
Don't do it, anyhow, for international Labour.
Labour is the one thing a man has had too much of.
Let's abolish labour, let's have done with labouring!
Work can be fun, and men can enjoy it; then it's not labour.
Let's have it so! Let's make a revolution for fun!
David Herbert Lawrence
If you make a revolution, make it for fun,
don't make it in ghastly seriousness,
don't do it in deadly earnest,
do it for fun.
Don't do it because you hate people,
do it just to spit in their eye.
Don't do it for the money,
do it and be damned to the money.
Don't do it for equality,
do it because we've got too much equality
and it would be fun to upset the apple-cart
and see which way the apples would go a-rolling.
Don't do it for the working classes.
Do it so that we can all of us be little aristocracies on our own
and kick our heels like jolly escaped asses.
Don't do it, anyhow, for international Labour.
Labour is the one thing a man has had too much of.
Let's abolish labour, let's have done with labouring!
Work can be fun, and men can enjoy it; then it's not labour.
Let's have it so! Let's make a revolution for fun!
David Herbert Lawrence