#charles swain

[glos-glamours]

Conceit

Oh! have you all the beauty youth e’er knew That you’re so vain? Less pride might serve, if even it were true; And, you might gain By humbler show of graces you possess; The haughty bearing makes the charm the less. Nor is your beauty every thing to praise; Although your glass Reflect so fair a vision to your gaze, And, as you pass, A form, with something of patrician air; Yet hath the world some faces quite as fair. And eyes as blue, and ringlets just as curled, And lips of rose;— You have not all the beauty in the world, As you suppose: And if you had,—’tis easy to be seen What beauty loses with so proud a mien!

[of-fear-and-love]

Clip from Anna Lucasta (1958)

[ukdamo]

Home Defined

Charles Swain

If, like me, you live alone - be the one who loves. Nurture yourself. Promote and safeguard tour own flourishing.

Home's not merely four square walls,

Though with pictures hung and gilded:

Home is where affection calls,

Filled with shrines the heart hath builded!

Home! go watch the faithful dove,

Sailing 'neath the heaven above us;

Home is where there's one to love!

Home is where there's one to love us!

Home's not merely roof and room,

It needs something to endear it;

Home is where the heart can bloom,

Where there's some kind lip to cheer it!

What is home with none to meet,

None to welcome, none to greet us?

Home is sweet, -and only sweet-

When there's one we love to meet us!

[violettesiren]

Where thy gold-grotto stands

By the rose-flowing fountain,

Where the sea-nymphs link hands,

Near the wild coral mountain:

Under foam, under curl

Where the billow rolls widest;

Under the shell, under pearl,

From the cave where thou hidest;

Oh! come to me, come!

I am loveless and lonely;

My life hath no home,

Save in thy bosom only!

When the tide murmurs sweet,

While the mermaids are dancing,

When the sand 'neath their feet,

Like a silver floor's glancing;

Under moss, under spray,

Where the billow rolls clearest,

Away, come away!

Ever loved, ever dearest!

Oh! come to me, come!

I am weary and lonely;

My life hath no home,

Save in thy bosom only!

To the Sea-Nymph by Charles Swain

Far from this world of clay,

Far from its toil away,

Come, to the sea- nymph, come!

Under the golden sea,

There let us frolic free,

There let us sport and sing,

Down by the coral spring,

Merrily-merrily.

Flinging the silver shells,

Ringing the crystal bells,

Merrily-merrily.

Far from earth's weeping bowers,

Come to this home of ours,

Come, to the sea-nymph, come!

Music shall soothe thy rest,

Swelling from ocean's breast,

Sweeter than e'er was heard,

From lip or singing bird,

Heavenly-heavenly!

Dying in waves away,

Soft, as when angels pray,

Heavenly-heavenly.  

The Sea-Nymphs Reply by Charles Swain

[oiseaur0uge]

A Sigh

Nothing that lives can bloom Long upon earth; Meteors, that realms illume, Die in their birth! All that the soul admires— All that the heart desires— From heart and soul expires; Leaving but dearth!

Stars, as they light the hours Steal them away!— Suns which unfold the flowers Bring them decay!— Even Morn's beams of light Fresh on their heavenly flight, Shine but to speed the Night!— Nothing can stay!—

So, for a little while, Time passes on— Flowers that our hopes beguile Fade one by one! All that our love can say, Of those who blessed our way, Is—that they passed their day— Lived—and are gone!

[howtallcelebrity-blog]

All about Charles Swain : height, biography, quotes

How tall is Charles Swain

See at http://www.heightcelebs.com/2015/12/charles-swain/

for Charles Swain Height

Charles Swain's height is 6ft 4in (1.93 m) Charles Swain is director, born: 1966. Charles Swain is best known for "The Reluctant Polyglot" Best Known For Movie: The Reluctant PolyglotHeight: 6ft 4in (1.93 m)Born: 1966Filmography: The Reluctant Polyglot (2016), Duplicity (2011), The...

[thenthedoctorsaidrun]

A Violet in Her Hair by Charles Swain.

  A violet in her lovely hair, A rose [within her fingers] fair! But O, her eyes A lovelier violet disclose, And her ripe lips the sweetest rose That's 'neath the skies. A lute beneath her graceful hand Breathes music forth at her command; But still her tongue Far richer music calls to birth Than all the minstrel power on earth Can give to song. And thus she moves in tender light, The purest ray, where all is bright, Serene, and sweet; And sheds a graceful influence round, That bellows e'ed the very ground Beneath her feet!

[forgamarshall-blog]

september 16th

The orders to stand in line are wearisome,     and I believe my body     is built to buck reigns like a vigilante ox,         but let’s think smaller; I have no horns     or hooves or any anatomical weaponry     to assert         my dissent. Perhaps I’m still the whining child,         but I never had     the wiry frame to support that stance,         so maybe it’s     another thing         entirely. I would rather learn how to shape myself within ever changing bounds     Than know my form in another’s terms.