catalog |ˈkatlˌôg; -ˌäg| (also catalogue) noun a complete list of items, typically one in alphabetical or other systematic order, in particular verb ( -logs |ˈkødlˈɔgz| |kødlˈɑgz|, -loged |ˈkødlˈɔgd| |kødlˈɑgd|, -loging |ˈkødlˈɔgɪŋ| |kødlˈɑgɪŋ| ORIGIN late Middle English : via Old French from late Latin catalogus, from Greek katalogos, from katalegein ‘pick out or enroll.’
Friday, April 1, 2011
The Hollow Men
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
The Wind That Shakes the Barley
- I sat within a valley green
- I sat me with my true love
- My sad heart strove to choose between
- The old love and the new love
- The old for her, the new that made
- Me think on Ireland dearly
- While soft the wind blew down the glade
- And shook the golden barley
- Twas hard the woeful words to frame
- To break the ties that bound us
- But harder still to bear the shame
- Of foreign chains around us
- And so I said, "The mountain glen
- I'll seek at morning early
- And join the bold United Men
- While soft winds shake the barley"
- While sad I kissed away her tears
- My fond arms 'round her flinging
- The foeman's shot burst on our ears
- From out the wildwood ringing
- A bullet pierced my true love's side
- In life's young spring so early
- And on my breast in blood she died
- While soft winds shook the barley
- I bore her to some mountain stream
- And many's the summer blossom
- I placed with branches soft and green
- About her gore-stained bosom
- I wept and kissed her clay-cold corpse
- Then rushed o'er vale and valley
- My vengeance on the foe to wreak
- While soft winds shook the barley
- But blood for blood without remorse
- I've taken at Oulart Hollow
- And laid my true love's clay-cold corpse
- Where I full soon may follow
- As 'round her grave I wander drear
- Noon, night and morning early
- With breaking heart when e'er I hear
- The wind that shakes the barley
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Fisherman's Blues
Monday, February 28, 2011
Miracle Drug
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Prairie Love Song
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
O Field, My Field / Polyushko Polye
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Map of the World
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Totentanz
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Come Come Ye Saints
Come, come, ye Saints, no toil nor labor fear;
But with joy wend your way.
Though hard to you this journey may appear,
Grace shall be as your day.
'Tis better far for us to strive
Our useless cares from us to drive;
Do this, and joy your hearts will swell-
All is well! all is well!
Why should we mourn or think our lot is hard?
'Tis not so; all is right.
Why should we think to earn a great reward,
If we now shun the fight?
Gird up your loins; fresh courage take;
Our God will never us forsake;
And soon we'll have this tale to tell-
All is well! all is well!
We'll find the place which God for us prepared,
Far away in the West,
Where none shall come to hurt or make afraid;
There the Saints will be blessed.
We'll make the air with music ring,
Shout praises to our God and King;
Above the rest these words we'll tell--
All is well! all is well!
And should we die before our journey's through,
Happy day! all is well!
We then are free from toil and sorrow, too;
With the just we shall dwell!
But if our lives are spared again
To see the Saints their rest obtain,
O how we'll make this chorus swell--
All is well! all is well!