For certain he hath seen all perfectness
Who among other ladies hath seen mine:
They that go with her humbly should combine
To thank their God for such peculiar grace.
So perfect is the beauty of her face
That is begets in no wise any sigh
Of envy, but draws round her a clear line
Of love, and blessed faith, and gentleness.
Merely the sight of her makes all things bow:
Not she herself alone is holier
Than all; but hers, through her, are raised above.
From all her acts such lovely graces flow
That truly one may never think of her
Without a passion of exceeding love.

Love and the gentle heart are one same thing,
Even as the wise man in his ditty saith.
Each, of itself, would be such life in death
As rational soul bereft of reasoning.
'Tis Nature makes them when she loves: a king
Love is, whose palace where he sojourneth
Is call'd the Heart; there draws he quiet breath
At first, with brief or longer slumbering.
Then beauty seen in virtuous womankind
Will make the eyes desire, and through the heart
Send the desiring of the eyes again;
Where often it abides so long enshrined
That Love at length out of his sleep will start.
And women feel the same for worthy men.

There is a gentle thought that often springs
to life in me, because it speaks of you.
Its reasoning about love’s so sweet and true,
the heart is conquered, and accepts these things.
‘Who is this’ the mind enquires of the heart,
‘who comes here to ****** our intellect?
Is his power so great we must reject
every other intellectual art?
The heart replies ‘O, meditative mind
this is love’s messenger and newly sent
to bring me all Love’s words and desires.
His life, and all the strength that he can find,
from her sweet eyes are mercifully lent,
who feels compassion for our inner fires.’

There is snow on the ground,
And the valleys are cold,
And a midnight profound
Blackly squats o'er the wold;
But a light on the hilltops half-seen hints of feastings un-hallowed and old.

There is death in the clouds,
There is fear in the night,
For the dead in their shrouds
Hail the sin's turning flight.
And chant wild in the woods as they dance round a Yule- altar fungous and white.

To no gale of Earth's kind
Sways the forest of oak,
Where the sick boughs entwined
By mad mistletoes choke,
For these pow'rs are the pow'rs of the dark, from the graves of the lost Druid-folk.

The world was young, the mountains green,

No stain yet on the Moon was seen,

No words were laid on stream or stone

When Durin woke and walked alone.

He named the nameless hills and dells;

He drank from yet untasted wells;

He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,

And saw a crown of stars appear,

As gems upon a silver thread,

Above the shadow of his head



The world was fair, the mountains tall,

In Elder Days before the fall.

Of mighty kings of Nargothrond

And Gondolin, who now beyond

The Western Seas have passed away;

The world was fair in Durin's Day.



A king he was on carven throne

In many-pillared halls of stone

With golden roof and silver floor,

And runes of power upon the door.

The light of sun and star and moon

In shining lamps of crystal hewn

Undimmed by cloud or shade of night

There shone for ever fair and bright.



There hammer on the anvil smote,

There chisel clove, and graver wrote,

There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;

The delver mined, the mason built,

There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,

And metal wrought like fishes' mail,

Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,

And shining spears were laid in hoard.



Unwearied then were Durin's folk;

Beneath the mountains music woke:

The harpers harped, the minstrels sang

And at the gates the trumpets rang.



The world is grey, the mountains old,

The forge's fire is ashen cold;

No harp is wrung, no hammer falls,

The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;

The shadow lies upon his tomb

In Moria, in Khazad-dûm.

But still the sunken stars appear

In dark and windless Mirrormere;

There lies his crown in water deep,

Till Durin wakes again from sleep.

One ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.

Three rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them

In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

I know a place
Far from this time 
That has gray skies 
Yet never rains 

I know a place 
That has just one city 
Glass windows broken 
Vines and plants smothering 
The gray cement 

I know a place 
Where there are only 
Fallen skyscrapers 
Cracked streets 

I know a place 
Where people are scared 
And huddle in the city 
To threatened to move 
Imagine it 
Mankinds whole population 
In one city 
They are Violent 
Because war reins 

I know a place 
Where gun ships replace 
Rain 
Where bombs replace 
Trees 
Where starvation replaces
Animals i once knew by name 
That are no longer 
Where food is to be fought for 
And sides to be chosen 

Yes I know this place 
I visited it in a dream 
I was on the opposing side 
In this silly game 
A member of their convenient war council 
Yet I do not know what we were called, what we fought for 
I was here in this mourning city 
By accident 
And I saw a boy that I knew 
Flying one of those gunships 
Our eyes locked, and 
Next thing I knew 
I was holding his face in my hands 
Crying, for war was indestructible 
Whispering to him, "I know you" 
And he looked at me with frightened eyes 
And said, "I wish I did" 

Yes, I know a place 
Of despair 
Of toil
Of misguided hatred for our brothers 
Our sisters
Of loss 
Of agony 
Of people so crude, so violent and twisted by fear and loss
Huddled in the Mourning City 
Where even hope isn't among their prized possessions 
Did you know 
That some don't know what the sun is? 

Yes I stay away from that place 
The Mourning City 
I wonder which is really the evil side
And travel down a hill 
Covered in grass 
Shining, lustrous, long blades of it 
Braided together in clumps 
Sand showing between them 
I sit on this hill 
And look out at an ocean 
Reflecting the gray of the sky 
But somehow transforming the gray 
Into the finest silver 
It is an ocean, yes 
But it has no waves to ruffle it 
Even the wind has fled  

 It is the only beautiful place left 
Where grass cranes float in the sky 
It used to be called origami
Borne by a wind made just for them 
I do not make these grass cranes 
Nobody does 
But the grass sitting in clumps on the hillside 
Bends and twists and folds 
Giving up it's life in the ground
To go sailing in the gray sky  
By some miracle offering up true beauty 
If only people would come and see it 

This is the place where I am truly happy 
Joyful to the point of tears 
As a crane floats down to me  
I catch it and hold it gently, this miracle the grass has folded itself into 
It reminds me of the paper cranes I played with as a child 
With a smooth, long, straigt body 
With a long tail sloping up in the back 
Pointed upwards to the sky, it's final destination 
The neck is long and slender 
The head perched atop of the neck furrowed down 
In the greatest majesty 
The wings 
Smooth and unbroken 
Wide pieces of blades melded together 
About the length of my hand 
The end adjoining the body the widest part
And blooms and tapers slowly to a point 
Like the petals in a flower 

It is beautiful and graceful, this grass crane 
I throw it back up in the air 
Watch it soar with it's comrades 
As I lay on my back 
Go to sleep 
And awake in my house 
Clinging to the memory of 
a place where I was  happy 
The place of the Grass Cranes