some source code about twisted

1_7.http_proxy_server/python/twisted-intro-dave/poetry/ecstasy.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,80 @@
+The Ecstasy
+
+Where, like a pillow on a bed
+         A pregnant bank swell'd up to rest
+The violet's reclining head,
+         Sat we two, one another's best.
+Our hands were firmly cemented
+         With a fast balm, which thence did spring;
+Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread
+         Our eyes upon one double string;
+So to'intergraft our hands, as yet
+         Was all the means to make us one,
+And pictures in our eyes to get
+         Was all our propagation.
+As 'twixt two equal armies fate
+         Suspends uncertain victory,
+Our souls (which to advance their state
+         Were gone out) hung 'twixt her and me.
+And whilst our souls negotiate there,
+         We like sepulchral statues lay;
+All day, the same our postures were,
+         And we said nothing, all the day.
+If any, so by love refin'd
+         That he soul's language understood,
+And by good love were grown all mind,
+         Within convenient distance stood,
+He (though he knew not which soul spake,
+         Because both meant, both spake the same)
+Might thence a new concoction take
+         And part far purer than he came.
+This ecstasy doth unperplex,
+         We said, and tell us what we love;
+We see by this it was not sex,
+         We see we saw not what did move;
+But as all several souls contain
+         Mixture of things, they know not what,
+Love these mix'd souls doth mix again
+         And makes both one, each this and that.
+A single violet transplant,
+         The strength, the colour, and the size,
+(All which before was poor and scant)
+         Redoubles still, and multiplies.
+When love with one another so
+         Interinanimates two souls,
+That abler soul, which thence doth flow,
+         Defects of loneliness controls.
+We then, who are this new soul, know
+         Of what we are compos'd and made,
+For th' atomies of which we grow
+         Are souls. whom no change can invade.
+But oh alas, so long, so far,
+         Our bodies why do we forbear?
+They'are ours, though they'are not we; we are
+         The intelligences, they the spheres.
+We owe them thanks, because they thus
+         Did us, to us, at first convey,
+Yielded their senses' force to us,
+         Nor are dross to us, but allay.
+On man heaven's influence works not so,
+         But that it first imprints the air;
+So soul into the soul may flow,
+            Though it to body first repair.
+As our blood labors to beget
+         Spirits, as like souls as it can,
+Because such fingers need to knit
+         That subtle knot which makes us man,
+So must pure lovers' souls descend
+         T' affections, and to faculties,
+Which sense may reach and apprehend,
+         Else a great prince in prison lies.
+To'our bodies turn we then, that so
+         Weak men on love reveal'd may look;
+Love's mysteries in souls do grow,
+         But yet the body is his book.
+And if some lover, such as we,
+         Have heard this dialogue of one,
+Let him still mark us, he shall see
+         Small change, when we'are to bodies gone. 
+
+    -- John Donne

1_7.http_proxy_server/python/twisted-intro-dave/poetry/fascination.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,17 @@
+The Fascination of what's Difficult
+
+The fascination of what's difficult
+Has dried the sap out of my veins, and rent
+Spontaneous joy and natural content
+Out of my heart. There's something ails our colt
+That must, as if it had not holy blood
+Nor on Olympus leaped from cloud to cloud,
+Shiver under the lash, strain, sweat and jolt
+As though it dragged road metal. My curse on plays
+That have to be set up in fifty ways,
+On the day's war with every knave and dolt,
+Theatre business, management of men.
+I swear before the dawn comes round again
+I'll find the stable and pull out the bolt.
+
+    -- William Butler Yeats

1_7.http_proxy_server/python/twisted-intro-dave/poetry/science.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,18 @@
+Sonnet - To Science
+
+Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!
+Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
+Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart,
+Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?
+How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise,
+Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering
+To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,
+Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing?
+Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car?
+And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
+To seek a shelter in some happier star?
+Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood,
+The Elfin from the green grass, and from me
+The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?
+
+    -- Edgar Allen Poe