الأحد، 17 أغسطس، 2014

it`s not goodbye


it`s not goodbye



Now what if I never kiss your lips again
Or feel the touch of your sweet embrace
How would I ever go on?
Without you there's no place to belong
Well someday love is going to lead you back to me
But till it does I'll have an empty heart
So I'll just have to believe
Some where out there you're thinkin' of me
Till the day I let you go
Until we say our next hello its not goodbye
Till I see you again
I'll be right here remembering when
And if time is on our side
There will be no tears to cry on down the road
There is one thing I can't deny its not goodbye
You think I'd be strong enough to make it through
And rise above when the rain falls down
But its so hard to be strong
When you've been missing somebody so long
Its just a matter of time I'm sure
Well time takes time and I can't hold on
So won't you try as hard as you can
Put my broken heart together again?
Till the day I let you go
Until we say our next hello its not goodbye
Till I see you again
I'll be right here remembering when
And if time is on our side
There will be no tears to cry on down the road
There is one thing I can't deny its not goodbye
Hey, yeah its not goodbye, ooh
Till the day I'll let you go
Until we say our next hello its not goodbye
Till I see you again
I'll be right here remembering when
And if time is on our side
There will be no tears to cry on down the road
And I can't deny it's, not goodbye
Till the day I'll let you go
Until we say our next hello its not goodbye
Till I see you
I'll be right here remembering when
And if time is on our side
There will be no tears to cry on down the road
And I can't deny it's, not goodbye
It's, not goodbye
Goodbye
No more tears to cry
Its not goodbye


السبت، 16 أغسطس، 2014

The Fall of the House of Usher

Brander Matthews (1852–1929).  The Short-Story.  1907.

X.  The Fall of the House of Usher

By Edgar Allan Poe

        Son cœur est un luth suspendu;
Sitôt qu’on le touche il résonne.
—DE BÉRANGER.

DURING the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country; and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how it was; but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I say insufferable; for the feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable, because poetic, sentiment, with which the mind usually receives even the sternest natural images of the desolate or terrible. I looked upon the scene before me—upon the mere house, and the simple landscape features of the domain—upon the bleak walls—upon the vacant eye-like windows—upon a few rank sedges—and upon a few white trunks of decayed trees—with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream of the reveler upon opium—the bitter lapse into every-day life—the hideous dropping off of the veil. There was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart—an unredeemed dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could torture into aught of the sublime. What was it—I paused to think—what was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation of the House of Usher? It was a mystery all insoluble; nor could I grapple with the shadowy fancies that crowded upon me as I pondered. I was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactory conclusion that while, beyond doubt, there are combinations of very simple natural objects which have the power of thus affecting us, still the analysis of this power lies among considerations beyond our depth. It was possible, I reflected, that a mere different arrangement of the particulars of the scene, of the details of the picture, would be sufficient to modify, or perhaps to annihilate its capacity for sorrowful impression; and, acting upon this idea, I reined my horse to the precipitous brink of a black and lurid tarn that lay in unruffled luster by the dwelling, and gazed down—but with a shudder even more thrilling than before—upon the remodeled and inverted images of the gray sedge, and the ghastly tree stems, and the vacant and eye-like windows.