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-21 Angel (2007 movie by Francois Ozon) icons~Rebecca~
currently listening to: "Running up that hill" by Placebo (kind of reminds me of Twilight, especially Edward and Bella's relationship)
current mood: high on Twilight and the Cullen family (especially the Cullens, though) (I'm not really high on Jacob Black but the actor who plays him, Taylor Lautner, is quite yummy...)
| Oh never talk again to me | |
| Of northern climes and British ladies; | |
| It has not been your lot to see, | |
| Like me, the lovely girl of Cadiz | |
| 5 | Although her eye be not of blue, |
| Nor fair her locks, like English lasses, | |
| How far its own expressive hue | |
| The languid azure eye surpasses ! | |
| Prometheus-like, from heaven she stole | |
| 10 | The fire, that through those silken lashes |
| In darkest glances seem to roll, | |
| From eyes that cannot hide their flashes: | |
| And as along her bosom steal | |
| In lengthen'd flow her raven tresses, | |
| 15 | You'd swear each clustering lock could feel, |
| And curl'd to give her neck caresses. | |
| Our English maids are long to woo, | |
| And frigid even in possession; | |
| And if their charms be fair to view, | |
| 20 | Their lips are slow at Loves confession: |
| But, born beneath a brighter sun, | |
| For love ordain'd the Spanish maid is, | |
| And who, --- when fondly, fairly won, --- | |
| Enchants you like the Girl of Cadiz ? | |
| 25 | The Spanish maid is no coquette, |
| Nor joys to see a lover tremble, | |
| And if she love, or if she hate, | |
| Alike she knows not to dissemble. | |
| Her heart can ne'er be bought or sold --- | |
| 30 | Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely; |
| And, though it will not bend to gold, | |
| 'T will love you long and love you dearly. | |
| The Spanish girl that meets your love | |
| Ne'er taunts you with a mock denial, | |
| 35 | For every thought is bent to prove |
| Her passion in the hour of trial. | |
| When thronging foemen menace Spain, | |
| She dares the deed and shares the danger; | |
| And should her lover press the plain, | |
| 40 | She hurls the spear, her love's avenger. |
| And when, beneath the evening star, | |
| She mingles in the gay Bolero, | |
| Or sings to her attuned guitar | |
| Of Christian knight or Moorish hero, | |
| 45 | Or counts her beads with fairy hand |
| Beneath the twinkling rays of Hesper, | |
| Or joins Devotion's choral band, | |
| To chaunt the sweet and hallow'd vesper; — | |
| In each her charms the heart must move | |
| 50 | Of all who venture to behold her; |
| Then let not maids less fair reprove | |
| Because her bosom is not colder: | |
| Through many a clime 't is mine to roam | |
| Where many a soft and melting maid is, | |
| 55 | But none abroad, and few at home, |
| May match the dark-eyed Girl of Cadiz. |

I recently bought a poetry book, it's called "Poems of the Romantic Revival". Poems from that time period are my favourite...Except for Pablo Neruda, who's a pretty modern poet. Here's an expert from a poem by William Wordsworth that I absolute love:
Ode
Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is now now as it hath been of yore; -
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
The rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the Rose,
The Moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare,
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath past away a glory from the earth.
Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong:
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
No more shall frief of mine the season wrong;
I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng,
The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
And all the earth is gay;
Land and sea
Give themselves up to jollitry,
And with the heart of May
Doth every Best keep holiday; -
Thou Child of Joy,
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy
Shepherd-boy!
William Wordsworth, 1803-1806
I would've put the entire poem as it's so beautiful and picturesque, but the entire poem is 6 pages. The expert is just over a page. Isn't it pretty, though? In the book where I got this poem there are also poems by S.T Coleridge, Lord Byron, P.B. Shelley, John Keats, Robert Browning and Lord Tennyson, on top of William Wordsworth. I'd have to say my favourite from those is authors is Lord Byron and P.B. Shelley. All the others have really nice poems, though. I'd have to say Lord Tennyson is also on the list of my favourites. Hmm, it says the book was published in 1904. I don't know if this edition was, but judging from the cover, it's probably almost as old...wow.
I got the book An Old-Fashioned Girl by Louisa May Alcott from a used book sale and it said "To Christie" Merry Christmas 1934...(not part of the published book.) I thought that was pretty cool.
~Rebecca~
Currently listening to: Mad World by Gary Jules (Tears for Fears cover - pretty piano playing!!)
Current mood: calm