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RIPPLE

If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine

And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung

Would you hear my voice come through the music

Would you hold it near as it were your own?

It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken

Perhaps they're better left unsung

I don't know, don't really care

Let there be songs to fill the air.

(Chorus)

Ripple in still water

When there is no pebble tossed
Nor wind to blow

Reach out your hand if your cup be empty

If your cup is full may it be again

Let it be known there is a fountain

That was not made by the hands of men.

There is a road, no simple highway

Between the dawn and the dark of night

And if you go no one may follow
That path is for your steps alone

(Chorus)

You who choose to lead must follow

But if you fall you fall alone

If you should stand then who's to guide you?

If I knew the way I would take you home

The preceding lyrics encode something which is either crystal clear or totally unintelligible. No explanations are necessary, and no explanations can do any good. Nevertheless I cannot help commenting. We are alone together, after all.
Haiduc (talk) 03:51, 18 October 2009 (UTC)

DE AMORES

Plutarch

23. Now in regard there have been many such, as well<br among us as among the barbarians, who can bear with those that reproach Venus that, being coupled and present with Love, she becomes a hindrance of friendship? Whereas any sober and considerate person may rather revile the of male with male, and justly call it intemperance and lasciviousness,

A vile affront to Nature, no effect

Of lovely Venus or of chaste respect.

And therefore, as for those that willingly prostitute their bodies, we look upon them to be the most wicked and flagitious persons in the world, void of fidelity, neither endued with modesty nor any thing of friendship ; and but too truly and really, according to Sophocles,

They who ne'er had such friends as these,

Believe their blessing double ;

And they that have them, pray the Gods

To rid them of the trouble.•

And as for those who, not being by nature lewd and wicked, were circumvented and forced to prostitute themselves, there are no men whom these always look upon with greater suspicion and more perfect hatred than those that deluded and nattered them into so vile an act, and they bitterly revenge themselves when they find an opportunity. For Crateas killed Archelaus, who had rid him in his youth ; and Pytholaus slew Alexander of Pherae. Periander tyrant of the Ambraciotes asked his minion, whether he were not yet with child ; which the lad took so heinously that he stabbed him.

Plutarch's Lives (De Amores) Tr. by William Watson Goodwin p.304

See Voluntary servitude and the erotics of friendship: from classical antiquity ... By Marc D. Schachter p159

Oh Who Is That Young Sinner

Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists?
And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists?
And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air?
Oh they're taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.

'Tis a shame to human nature, such a head of hair as his;
In the good old time 'twas hanging for the colour that it is;
Though hanging isn't bad enough and flaying would be fair
For the nameless and abominable colour of his hair.

Oh a deal of pains he's taken and a pretty price he's paid
To hide his poll or dye it of a mentionable shade;
But they've pulled the beggar's hat off for the world to see and stare,
And they're haling him to justice for the colour of his hair.

Now 'tis oakum for his fingers and the treadmill for his feet
And the quarry-gang on Portland in the cold and in the heat,
And between his spells of labour in the time he has to spare
He can curse the God that made him for the colour of his hair.

A.E. Housman

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