I burn to pour a thousand drops of nectar in your ear
I burn to pour a thousand drops of nectar in your ear;
To wrap you in a filament of words, and doing this
Make your senses reel until you need must
Stay your soaring mind, your body thus,
Against a common prop;
Lean your trembling right hand against a wooden chair
A mundane artefact, lest your soul expires
In blissful transports of literary delights.
Your left hand pressed against your heaving breast,
Scarce daring to allow these words of mine
Should so transport you to another plane.
This hub is simply an exercise in self indulgence.
I wrote the poem, which I hope you will like, and then to add some sort of a backdrop to the emotion which I was attempting to convey, I though I would search among the pieces of music which gave the feeling of Love. Love given, received and perhaps, withheld, but definitely Love.
I am aware that that dear oaf, Samson, for all his physical power and prowess with the jawbone of an ass, would have found neither the time nor the intelligence to put pen to paper, so poor Delilah, no doubt, would have waited somewhat in vain for the Biblical postman to arrive on her doorstep with a hastily scratched Love Letter from his good self.
But this, as I said, is an exercise in self indulgence and I thought, my friends:
“I love these versions of the aria ‘Mon coeur s'ouvre á ta voix’ from the opera ‘Samson and Delilah' by Camille Saint-Saëns.
I hope you come to love them as much as I”.
All of the above may make my little eleven liner pale into insignificance, but as I said; this is an exercise in self indulgence, and it's my hub and I'll do what I want with it.
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A fairly lighthearted (though basically bitter) retelling of the history of having a room converted into a bathroom. With no offence meant to men on horses, the builders were a crowd of evil cowboys.