Cave Of The Golden Roses 2 
2009-05-25 - extension: rar - parts: 4 - size: 98 MB
Cave Of The Golden Roses 2
Fantaghiro Trilogy
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Cave of the golden Roses 3 2009-05-25 - extension: rar - parts: 5 - size: 98 MB
Cave of the golden Roses 3
Fantaghiro Trilogy
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5-1 2009-03-18 - extension: rar - size: 97 MB
5-1
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Video results for: cave of the golden rosesMore results from video 
Cavafy Poems 1-7 I have paraphrased a great deal of Cavafy's verse and here are poems 1-7 according to the (More) I have paraphrased a great deal of Cavafy's verse and here are poems 1-7 according to the Alexandrian canon of 1935.
I. DESIRES
Exquisite young corpses, beautiful still
in candle-glow, serene,
entombed in a painted mausoleum,
roses around their shining heads,
jasmine strewed across their naked feet
(feet and flesh protected from decay
by the embalmer's art)
- desires are like these, desires grown cold,
unsatisfied, unfulfilled desires
that never witnessed the palpitating night
nor the first pleasurable morning after love.
2. Voices
The remembered voices with their ideal tones
the throbbing voices of the dead,
the thrilling remembered voices
of the undead lost and departed
those we wished to hold who went from us.
In our dreams we hear these voices
at night, in the early dawn.
Sometimes we seem to hear them in the day.
As we listen to these dead and undead voices
we're drawn back to the living past
whispering and echoing in the cave-skull
like far off night-music from a hall or tavern
distant and dying away
the further we travel from it.
3. PRAYER
Down down down the sailor drowned
down to the deeps.
And as he drowned, his mother
(how could she know?)
lit a tall wax candle
before the ikon at the Virgin's shrine
Our Lady of the Sea.
'Let him soon come back; the ocean calm.'
And as she prays she listens for the wind
and for its turn.
And as she prays and as she listens
the eyes of the painting watch her
in the candleglow,
a mother's eyes,
knowing her son will never again return.
4. FIRST STEP
A young poet
complained one day to his teacher:
'For two years I've been scribbling now
and have finished only one work.
I despair. The art is so very difficult
I'll never reach its height
but always be a very minor poet.'
His master said: 'Don't be silly,
try not to talk such rubbish.
You have written one very proper poem
and should be thankful and proud.
To have got so far is a fine accomplishment.
This first step
lifts you above the prosaic world,
and standing on this new height
you're admitted to the great City of Thought.
Only by hard work and exceptional talent
can one be enrolled in that distinguished company;
the requirements are so stringent
no fool could ever enter.
You have achieved a most wonderful thing.'
The pupil blushed;
but his downcast eyes were ablaze.
5. AN OLD MAN
His unread newspaper in his hands
an old man sits alone in the noisy bar
huddled and shabby.
Afraid of age and fear, he's thinking
how little he appreciated, how little he enjoyed
the years of his strength, his handsome youth.
He feels so old, so tired, so spent,
amazed that it was only yesterday
that he was young, the time's so quickly gone;
remembers he never did what he desired,
never grasped his chances, stupidly believing
there was all the time in the world to have some fun,
but for now he must get on,
working hard, making money.
He'd checked his impulsive sexual longings,
the quick enjoyments he might have tasted,
fearing entanglements and waste of effort;
he had been so very very cautious;
and now is shrivelled by a vast regret.
Befuddled by the light, the noise, the smoke,
the drink, he dozes over his unread paper,
pathetic in the noisy bar, alone.
6. CANDLES
Our future days,
a row of lighted candles,
bright, golden and warm,
the days-to-come.
Our past days,
guttered candles, wasted, spent
and out;
the nearest and most recent
smoking sunken wrecks of melted wax.
Looking at the past, I feel the cold
and see their lights extinguished -
so sad to think that once they burned so brightly:
I'd like to avert my gaze from their dead darkness
and focus only on the living flames
but, terrified, I see the blackness growing,
the lighted candles fading one by one.
7. LAST STAND (THERMOPYLAE)
If life should be a battlefield, as it can be,
we should becomingly praise and celebrate
those who defend, against an overwhelming host,
the final fort on the frontier, knowing it will fall.
They see and do their duty and are faithful,
are sympathetic and compassionate;
generous when wealthy; and when poor
ready to share with others what they have;
straight-dealing, truthful,
not hating those who lie and cheat
(they know that hate's a self-consuming sickness).
And even more should we admire them
when we see what they foresee:
that the traitor who shares the little they possess
will sell them to the enemy;
and the enemy will conquer in the end. (Less)
Cavafy Poems 1-7 I have paraphrased a great deal of Cavafy's verse and here are poems 1-7 according to the (More) I have paraphrased a great deal of Cavafy's verse and here are poems 1-7 according to the Alexandrian canon of 1935. I. DESIRES Exquisite young corpses, beautiful still in candle-glow, serene, entombed in a painted mausoleum, roses around their shining heads, jasmine strewed across their naked feet (feet and flesh protected from decay by the embalmer's art) - desires are like these, desires grown cold, unsatisfied, unfulfilled desires that never witnessed the palpitating night nor the first pleasurable morning after love. 2. Voices The remembered voices with their ideal tones the throbbing voices of the dead, the thrilling remembered voices of the undead lost and departed those we wished to hold who went from us. In our dreams we hear these voices at night, in the early dawn. Sometimes we seem to hear them in the day. As we listen to these dead and undead voices we're drawn back to the living past whispering and echoing in the cave-skull like far off night-music from a hall or tavern distant and dying away the further we travel from it. 3. PRAYER Down down down the sailor drowned down to the deeps. And as he drowned, his mother (how could she know?) lit a tall wax candle before the ikon at the Virgin's shrine Our Lady of the Sea. 'Let him soon come back; the ocean calm.' And as she prays she listens for the wind and for its turn. And as she prays and as she listens the eyes of the painting watch her in the candleglow, a mother's eyes, knowing her son will never again return. 4. FIRST STEP A young poet complained one day to his teacher: 'For two years I've been scribbling now and have finished only one work. I despair. The art is so very difficult I'll never reach its height but always be a very minor poet.' His master said: 'Don't be silly, try not to talk such rubbish. You have written one very proper poem and should be thankful and proud. To have got so far is a fine accomplishment. This first step lifts you above the prosaic world, and standing on this new height you're admitted to the great City of Thought. Only by hard work and exceptional talent can one be enrolled in that distinguished company; the requirements are so stringent no fool could ever enter. You have achieved a most wonderful thing.' The pupil blushed; but his downcast eyes were ablaze. 5. AN OLD MAN His unread newspaper in his hands an old man sits alone in the noisy bar huddled and shabby. Afraid of age and fear, he's thinking how little he appreciated, how little he enjoyed the years of his strength, his handsome youth. He feels so old, so tired, so spent, amazed that it was only yesterday that he was young, the time's so quickly gone; remembers he never did what he desired, never grasped his chances, stupidly believing there was all the time in the world to have some fun, but for now he must get on, working hard, making money. He'd checked his impulsive sexual longings, the quick enjoyments he might have tasted, fearing entanglements and waste of effort; he had been so very very cautious; and now is shrivelled by a vast regret. Befuddled by the light, the noise, the smoke, the drink, he dozes over his unread paper, pathetic in the noisy bar, alone. 6. CANDLES Our future days, a row of lighted candles, bright, golden and warm, the days-to-come. Our past days, guttered candles, wasted, spent and out; the nearest and most recent smoking sunken wrecks of melted wax. Looking at the past, I feel the cold and see their lights extinguished - so sad to think that once they burned so brightly: I'd like to avert my gaze from their dead darkness and focus only on the living flames but, terrified, I see the blackness growing, the lighted candles fading one by one. 7. LAST STAND (THERMOPYLAE) If life should be a battlefield, as it can be, we should becomingly praise and celebrate those who defend, against an overwhelming host, the final fort on the frontier, knowing it will fall. They see and do their duty and are faithful, are sympathetic and compassionate; generous when wealthy; and when poor ready to share with others what they have; straight-dealing, truthful, not hating those who lie and cheat (they know that hate's a self-consuming sickness). And even more should we admire them when we see what they foresee: that the traitor who shares the little they possess will sell them to the enemy; and the enemy will conquer in the end. (Less)
fantaghiro 1 sub 
2009-07-30 - extension: zip - size: 27 KB
fantaghiro 1 sub
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cli 2009-09-11 - extension: rar - size: 73 MB
cli
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F 4 2009-03-30 - extension: rar - parts: 4 - size: 102 MB
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F 1 2009-03-30 - extension: rar - parts: 2 - size: 102 MB
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CaveOfTheGoldenRoses1 2008-12-20 - extension: rar - size: 78 MB
CaveOfTheGoldenRoses1
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F 3 2009-03-30 - extension: rar - parts: 5 - size: 102 MB
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Cave Of The Golden Roses 2 2009-07-08 - extension: rar - parts: 4 - size: 95 MB
Cave Of The Golden Roses 2
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Groups results for: cave of the golden roses 
