Hymeneal
Adagio Concertante for Brass Band and Two Solo Cornets. Dedicated to Ruth & Alan on their marriage to each other. Simulation done with Garritan CaMB and GPO. (Thanks to Marius Masalar for help with percussion.) The cadenzas suffer from not being played by a human; use your imagination!
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Cradle of Filth - Tortured Soul Asylum
"Oh, sweet Midian I burn for thee at heart Don't despair Come bare me on wings of graveyard robbed leather To where pleasure rings deep secrets In spurts after dark..." * Under full moons waxing lyrically Death's poetry floods the soul Like the freezing seed of a demon freed To curse the stars with vertigo And in their dance, in trance I've prised wide Slick rifts twixt obsidian thighs Hymeneal gates to darker sides A glimpse of plinths where Midian lies Midian... Haunted by this portent This obsession in my mind With a city sunk below Tall cedar groves and graves sublime Sporting their importance Marble wings spread to the skies A vale of dreams that it would seem The daylights race to leave behind These visions struck like a furious fuck Nailing wet lips to cold cemetery walls Flashes of lust to dust Splashed across my psychic pall As hybrid lovers reached their cusp With final thrusts I saw it all Forbidden Midian A long fabled Judecca A sanctuary for sin... To rival Heaven Free of Eden's tragic wreck (Though the only Angels in repose Were those with ivy strangled necks) Small mercies in vistas of dolmen and vault Gaunt, haunched edifices Midst lightfingered mists From whence more awful shadows Drew back rusted bolts And dared a threshold The searing Sun had knelt to kiss Shades of dusk, cruelty and myth The Tribes of Christ will not forgive And shall not suffer their kind to live For I, mesmerized, started not from tombs Or their waltz so sibilant Through the <b>...</b>
Cradle of Filth - Tortured Soul Asylum
Lyrics: "Oh, sweet Midian I burn for thee at heart Don't despair me Come bare me on wings of graveyard robbed leather To where pleasure rings deep secrets In spurts after dark..." Under full moons waxing lyrically Death's poetry floods the soul Like the freezing seed of a demon freed To curse the stars with vertigo And in their dance, in trance I've prised wide Slick rifts twixt obsidian thighs Hymeneal gates to darker sides A glimpse of plinths where Midian lies Midian... Haunted by this portent This obsession in my mind With a city sunk below Tall cedar groves and graves sublime Sporting their importance Marble wings spread to the skies A vale of dreams that it would seem The daylights race to leave behind These visions struck like a furious fuck Nailing wet lips to cold cemetery walls Flashes of lust to dust Splashed across my psychic pall As hybrid lovers reached their cusp With final thrusts I saw it all Forbidden Midian A long fabled Judecca A sanctuary for sin... To rival Heaven Free of Eden's tragic wreck (Though the only Angels in repose Were those with ivy strangled necks) Small mercies in vistas of dolmen and vault Gaunt, haunched edifices Midst lightfingered mists From whence more awful shadows Drew back rusted bolts And dared a threshold The searing Sun had knelt to kiss Shades of dusk, cruelty and myth The Tribes of Christ will not forgive And shall not suffer their kind to live For I, mesmerized, started not from tombs Or their waltz so sibilant Through the <b>...</b>
Gosch Project feat Vincenzo Tunnera - Fade Out
The skilful mixing of electro and trance sounds combined with distinctive vocals that is Fade Out, the debut single by Gosch Project feat. Vincenzo Tunnera. Behind the Gosch Project lies none other than DJ and producer Sven Gosch from Wolfsburg who once again proves his musical diversity with the Gosch Project. Here, with his vocals, the Italian-born Vincenzo Tunnera lends an almost hymeneal character to the Club Mix as well as the Purple Project Mix. Furthermore, the Non Vox Mix rounds this sensational release off for all instrumental fans. Check it out at favourite download store !
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ΓΛYKYΠIKPOΣ EPΩΣ (Bittersweet Love) by Oscar Wilde
Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common clay I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the larger day. From the wildness of my wasted passion I had struck a better, clearer song, Lit some lighter light of freer freedom, battled with some Hydra-headed wrong. Had my lips been smitten into music by the kisses that but made them bleed, You had walked with Bice and the angels on that verdant and enamelled mead. I had trod the road which Dante treading saw the suns of seven circles shine, Ay! perchance had seen the heavens opening, as they opened to the Florentine. And the mighty nations would have crowned me, who am crownless now and without name, And some orient dawn had found me kneeling on the threshold of the House of Fame. I had sat within that marble circle where the oldest bard is as the young, And the pipe is ever dropping honey, and the lyre's strings are ever strung. Keats had lifted up his hymeneal curls from out the poppy-seeded wine, With ambrosial mouth had kissed my forehead, clasped the hand of noble love in mine. And at springtide, when the apple-blossoms brush the burnished bosom of the dove, Two young lovers lying in an orchard would have read the story of our love; Would have read the legend of my passion, known the bitter secret of my heart, Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two are fated now to part. For the crimson flower of our life is eaten by the cankerworm of truth, And <b>...</b>
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Ode to a Skylark - Percy Bysshe Shelley
A poet longs to sing as joyfully as a bird. A presentation of Samuel Godfrey George Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert - That from Heaven or near it Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest, Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are bright'ning, Thou dost float and run, Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of Heaven, In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight - Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and Heaven is overflowed. What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see, As from thy presence showers a rain of melody: - Like a Poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: Like a high-born maiden In a palace-tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aërial hue <b>...</b>
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To a Skylark by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are bright'ning, Thou dost float and run; Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of Heaven, In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight, Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear Until we hardly see -- we feel, that it is there. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and Heaven is overflowed. What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aërial hue Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view: Like a rose embowered In <b>...</b>
Cradle of Filth - Tortured Soul Asylum HD
Enjoy!! Song : Tortured Soul Asylum Album : Midian Artist : Cradle of Filth All rights reserved to Cradle of Filth! Myspace : www.myspace.com Facebook : www.facebook.com Lyrics : "Oh, sweet Midian, I burn for thee at heart. Don't despair me. Come bare me on wings of graveyard robbed leather To where pleasure rings deep secrets In spurts, after dark..." Under full moons waxing lyrically: Death's poetry floods the soul, Like the freezing seed of a demon freed To curse the stars with vertigo. And in their dance, in trance I've prised wide Slick rifts twixt obsidian thighs, Hymeneal gates to darker sides. A glimpse of plinths where Midian lies. Midian... Haunted by this portent, This obsession in my mind. With a city sunk below, Tall cedar groves and graves sublime Sporting their importance, Marble wings spread to the skies. A vale of dreams that it would seem, The daylights race to leave behind. These visions struck like a furious fuck Nailing wet lips to cold cemetery walls. Flashes of lust to dust Splashed across my psychic pall, As hybrid lovers reached their cusp With final thrusts I saw it all. Forbidden Midian, A long fabled Judecca. A sanctuary for sin... You rival Heaven Above Heaven's tragic wreck (Though the only Angels in repose Were those with ivy strangled necks) Small mercies in vistas of dolmen and vault. Gaunt, haunched edifices Midst lightfingered mists, From whence more awful shadows Drew back rusted bolts And dared a threshold. The searing Sun had knelt to <b>...</b>
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Dalton Trumbo's Masturbatory Epistle to His Son
Oral/aural sex -ed of the most sublime order regarding masturbation. Nathan Lane reads a letter by Dalton Trumbo to his son on the subject of masturbation. It's the brilliant, hilarious show stopper from TRUMBO (2007). If you like this, you'll LOVE the movie. Go buy/rent it! ------------------------------------------- My Dear Son, I am sending you two books I think appropriate for a young man spending 5/7ths of his time in the monkish precincts of John Jay Hall. The first is Education of a Poker Player, by Herbert O. Yardley. Read it in secret; hide it, whenever you leave quarters, and youll be rewarded with many unfair, but legal, advantages over friend and enemy alike. The second book I think you should share with your young companions. It is: Sex Without Guilt, by a man who will take his place in history as the greatest humanitarian since Mahatma Gandhi, Albert Ellis, PhD. This good man has written what might be called a manual for masturbators. The result (mailed in plane wrapper under separate cover) is one of those fortuitous events when the right man collides with the right idea at precisely the right time. This whole new approach, this fresh wind blowing under the sheets, so to speak, this large hearted appeal for cheerful self pollution invokes, perhaps, a deeper response in my heart than in most for I sneaky, timorous, incontinent little beast with my pavian obsessions was never wholesomely at home with my penile problem, all because of that maggoty, mountainous <b>...</b>
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Percy Bysshe Shelley - To A Skylark - Glenn Close
Glenn Close reads Shelley's To A Skylark To A Skylark by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are bright'ning, Thou dost float and run, Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight -- Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear Until we hardly see -- we feel that it is there. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial <b>...</b>
Percy Bysshe Shelley To Skylark Poem Glenn Close Romantic Romanticism English British Poet Poetry Literature Poetictouch 2012
Percy Bysshe Shelley - To A Skylark - Vincent Price
Vincent Price reads Percy Bysshe Shelley's To A Skylark To A Skylark by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are bright'ning, Thou dost float and run, Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight -- Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear Until we hardly see -- we feel that it is there. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering <b>...</b>
Percy Bysshe Shelley To Skylark Poem Vincent Price Romantic Romanticism English British Poet Poetry Literature Poetictouch 2012
Percy Bysshe Shelley - To A Skylark
Percy Bysshe Shelley - To A Skylark - Read by Michael Sheen To A Skylark by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are bright'ning, Thou dost float and run, Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight -- Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear Until we hardly see -- we feel that it is there. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering <b>...</b>
Percy Bysshe Shelley To Skylark Poem Michael Sheen Romantic Romanticism English British Poet Poetry Literature Poetictouch 2012
Robert Burns - A Dream (Read by Siobhan Redmond)
Guid-Mornin' to your Majesty! May Heaven augment your blisses On ev'ry new birth-day ye see, A humble poet wishes. My bardship here, at your Levee On sic a day as this is, Is sure an uncouth sight to see, Amang thae birth-day dresses Sae fine this day. I see ye're complimented thrang, By mony a lord an' lady; "God save the King" 'sa cuckoo sang That's unco easy said aye: The poets, too, a venal gang, Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd an' ready, Wad gar you trow ye ne'er do wrang, But aye unerring steady, On sic a day. For me! before a monarch's face Ev'n there I winna flatter; For neither pension, post, nor place, Am I your humble debtor: So, nae reflection on your Grace, Your Kingship to bespatter; There's mony waur been o' the race, And aiblins ane been better Than you this day. 'Tis very true, my sovereign King, My skill may weel be doubted; But facts are chiels that winna ding, An' downa be disputed: Your royal nest, beneath your wing, Is e'en right reft and clouted, And now the third part o' the string, An' less, will gang aboot it Than did ae day. Far be't frae me that I aspire To blame your legislation, Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire, To rule this mighty nation: But faith! I muckle doubt, my sire, Ye've trusted ministration To chaps wha in barn or byre Wad better fill'd their station Than courts yon day. And now ye've gien auld Britain peace, Her broken shins to plaister, Your sair taxation does her fleece, Till she has scarce a tester: For me, thank God, my life's a lease <b>...</b>
776 crit on 19 rogue (Cnut) (outdated vid) acc for sale !
:P changed my gear slightly for higher crits, heres the result, im now trying for that elusive 8XX crit :D i'd sell her now cos i cant even play alot anymore, my insane mage with it.
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Chapter 24 - Anne of Avonlea by Lucy Maud Montgomery
Chapter 24: A Prophet in His Own Country. Classic Literature VideoBook with synchronized text, interactive transcript, and closed captions in multiple languages. Audio courtesy of Librivox. Read by Karen Savage. Playlist for Anne of Avonlea by Lucy Maud Montgomery: www.youtube.com
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