There was a land of Cavaliers and Cotton fields called the Old South...
Here in this pretty world Gallantry took it's last bow. Here was the last ever to be seen of Khights and their Ladies Fair, of Master and of Slave...
Look for it only in books, for it is no more than a dream remembered.
A Civilization gone with the wind...
Dream are rightly the mirrors of our soul. I call them "The Theatre of seven Hells". They are very important for our spiritual development.
How can I then return in happy plight
That am debarred the benefit of rest?
When day's oppression is not eased by night,
But day by night and night by day oppressed;
And each (though enemies to either's reign)
Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day to please him thou art bright,
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven;
So flatter I the swart-complexioned night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even:
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make griefs' strength seem stronger.
Non! ravi de tes mensonges,
O fille des loups,
Je m'endors noyé de songes
Entre tes genoux.
Après mon coeur que tu ronges
Que mangerons-nous?