Monday, August 14, 2006

Random Flickr-Blogging: IMG_5929: Words and image edition



Your lover lies beside you fast asleep
The moonlight falls upon the tears you weep
And you can hear the waves crash on the beach
At night, oh at night
So all you really need is love
Love to give, receive above
And then the waves will soothe your heart
Your one true love will never part
True love (Is the answer to everything
True love is the answer true love is the thing)
True love (Is the answer to everything
True love is the answer true love is the thing)
And we will lie together both asleep
The moonlight will provide the tears we weep
And as we breathe the waves crash on the beach
At night
-The Waves, Wang Chung


Original source here.

1 comment:

Nobody in Particular said...

The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; -on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Aegean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
—Matthew Arnold