Don't just sit there by Lucius

      Don't just sit there 

by

Lucius

The Lyrics

Don’t just sit there

Tell me what I wanna know

What I wanna know, oh, oh, oh

Don’t just sit there,

Tell me what I wanna know

What I wanna know, oh, oh, oh

Did you find love, have you found love?

Did you find love again?

Did you find love, have you found love?

Did you find love again?

Don’t just sit there

Tell me what I wanna know

What I wanna know, oh, oh, oh

Don’t just sit there,

Tell me what I wanna know

What I wanna know, oh, oh, oh

Did you find love, have you found love?

Did you find love again?

Did you find love, have you found love?

Did you find love again?

And now you heart ain’t moving

And now you heart ain’t moving

It’s true, it’s true, it’s true, it’s true

Did you find love, have you found love?

Did you find love again?

Did you find love, have you found love?

Did you find love again?

Tell me what I wanna know

What I wanna know, oh, oh, oh.

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love by Christopher Marlowe

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

Come live with me and be my love,

And we will all the pleasures prove,

That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,

Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the Rocks,

Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks,

By shallow Rivers to whose falls

Melodious birds sing Madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of Roses

And a thousand fragrant posies,

A cap of flowers, and a kirtle

Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool

Which from our pretty Lambs we pull;

Fair lined slippers for the cold,

With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and Ivy buds,

With Coral clasps and Amber studs:

And if these pleasures may thee move,

Come live with me, and be my love.

The Shepherds’ Swains shall dance and sing

For thy delight each May-morning:

If these delights thy mind may move,

Then live with me, and be my love.

           .... by Christopher Marlowe

I would not paint a picture by Emily Dickinson

I would not paint a picture 

I would not paint — a picture 

I'd rather be the One

It's bright impossibility

To dwell — delicious — on 

And wonder how the fingers feel

Whose rare — celestial — stir 

Evokes so sweet a torment 

Such sumptuous — Despair 

I would not talk, like Cornets 

I'd rather be the One

Raised softly to the Ceilings 

And out, and easy on 

Through Villages of Ether 

Myself endued Balloon

By but a lip of Metal 

The pier to my Pontoon 

Nor would I be a Poet 

It's finer — Own the Ear 

Enamored — impotent — content 

The License to revere,

A privilege so awful

What would the Dower be,

Had I the Art to stun myself

With Bolts — of Melody!

           ...... by Emily Dickinson

You Who Never Arrived by Rainer Maria Rilke

You Who Never Arrived

You who never arrived

in my arms, Beloved, who were lost

from the start,

I don't even know what songs

would please you. I have given up trying

to recognize you in the surging wave of

the next moment. All the immense

images in me -- the far-off, deeply-felt

landscape, cities, towers, and bridges, and

unsuspected turns in the path,

and those powerful lands that were once

pulsing with the life of the gods--

all rise within me to mean

you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all

the gardens I have ever gazed at,

longing. An open window

in a country house-- , and you almost

stepped out, pensive, to meet me.

Streets that I chanced upon,--

you had just walked down them and vanished.

And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors

were still dizzy with your presence and,

startled, gave back my too-sudden image.

Who knows? Perhaps the same

bird echoed through both of us

yesterday, separate, in the evening...

                              .............by Rainer Maria Rilke