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03.02.2018 – Fright from the Past Medium Detective: Trail of the Midnight Heart Jewel Quest:

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1. 1The Face of Envy European Mystery: Broken Hour Mystery Case Files:
2. 6 The Vengeance Grim Tales:http://softik.org/ccleaner-windows-7-not-genuine/Flowers of Death European Mystery: Spring of Shadows Otherworld:

3. 1 Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders, I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.http://softik.org/ccleaner-64-bit-full-crack/The graphics are excellent. Alaskan Wild Mystery Tales:

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4. 5 Of Fiends and Fairies Myths of the World: Most Popular PC Games.Dark parables rise of the snow queenLogic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul. Gerda next visits an old sorceress with a beautiful garden of eternal summer.

5. 2 Legends Collector’s Edition Nevertales: The Vengeance Grim Tales:

6. 3 The Forsaken Island Shadowplay:

7. 5 Thanks for sharing your thoughts about this game! Escape the Dreamscape Angelica Weaver:

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9. She knew that she had to destroy the princess utterly if she was to be sure to keep her grip on the man who had been king, though he was now but a slave chained to her bedpost.

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10. 7 The Dusk Wanderer Fear for Sale: The tale has a moral, no matter how others have tried to twist the history with false significance.

11. 9 My foothold is tenon’d and mortis’d in granite, I laugh at what you call dissolution, And I know the amplitude of time.

12. The theme that I subscribe to is female domination, the result can be that male and female protagonists get caught up in webs of sexual domination that they cannot overcome. Tracks of Terror Shadow Wolf Mysteries:

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13. 1 Midnight’s Call Christmas Eve: I wish though I would have gotten the SE for this – the bonus chapter had nothing at all to do with these characters and didn’t add to or enhance this story – but focused on another fairy tale Hansel and Gretelwhich was okay- but I could have definitely done without confronting the giant spider!

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14. 1 Estate of Affairs Jane Croft:

Gerda next visits an old sorceress with a beautiful garden of eternal summer. The sorceress wants Gerda to stay with her forever, so she causes Gerda to forget all about Kai, and causes all the roses in her garden to sink beneath the earth, since she knows that the sight of them will remind Gerda of her friend.

However, a while later, whilst playing in the garden, Gerda sees a rose on the sorceress’s hat, then remembers Kai and begins to cry. Gerda’s warm tears raise one bush above the ground, and it tells her that it could see all the dead while it was under the earth, and Kai is not among them.

Gerda flees and meets a crow, who tells her that Kai is in the princess’s palace. Gerda goes to the palace and meets the princess and the prince, who is not Kai, but looks like him. Gerda tells them her story, and they provide her with warm clothes and a beautiful coach.

While traveling in the coach Gerda is captured by robbers and brought to their castle, where she befriends a little robber girl, whose pet doves tell her that they saw Kai when he was carried away by the Snow Queen in the direction of Lapland.

The captive reindeer Bae tells her that he knows how to get to Lapland since it is his home. The robber girl frees Gerda and the reindeer to travel north to the Snow Queen’s palace. They make two stops: The Finn woman tells the reindeer that the secret of Gerda’s unique power to save Kai is in her sweet and innocent child’s heart:.

When Gerda reaches the Snow Queen’s palace, she is halted by the snowflakes guarding it. She prays the Lord’s Prayer , which causes her breath to take the shape of angels, who resist the snowflakes and allow Gerda to enter the palace.

Gerda finds Kai alone and almost immobile on a frozen lake, which the Snow Queen calls the “Mirror of Reason”, on which her throne sits. Kai is engaged in the task that the Snow Queen gave him: If he is able to form the word the Snow Queen told him to spell she will release him from her power and give him a pair of skates.

Gerda runs up to Kai and kisses him, and he is saved by the power of her love: Gerda weeps warm tears on him, melting his heart and burning away the troll-mirror splinter in it. As a result, Kai bursts into tears which dislodge the splinter from his eye and becomes cheerful and healthy again with sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks, and also recognizes Gerda.

He and Gerda dance around on the lake of ice so joyously that the splinters of ice Kai had been playing with are caught up into the dance. When they tire of dancing they fall down to spell “eternity,” the very word Kai was trying to spell.

Even if the Snow Queen were to return although it is never said from where , she would be obligated to free Kai. Kai and Gerda then leave the Snow Queen’s domain with the help of the reindeer, the Finn woman, and the Lapp woman.

They meet the robber girl, and from there they walk back to their home, “the big city. Kai and Gerda find that everything at home is the same and that it is they who have changed; they are now grown up, and are also delighted to see that it is summertime.

Andersen met Swedish opera singer Jenny Lind in , and fell in love with her, but she was not interested in him romantically although the two became friends. According to Carole Rosen, Andersen was inspired to model the icy-hearted Snow Queen on Lind after she rejected him as a suitor.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. This article is about the fairy tale. For other uses, see Snow Queen disambiguation. The Lost City Chase for Adventure 2: The Iron Oracle Chase for Adventure 2: Ultimate Omelette Chicken Invaders 4: Christmas Edition Chicken Invaders 5: Cluck of the Dark Side Chicken Invaders 5: Halloween Edition Chicken Rush Chimeras: Blinding Love Collector’s Edition Chimeras: Cursed and Forgotten Chimeras: Cursed and Forgotten Collector’s Edition Chimeras: Mark of Death Chimeras: Mark of Death Collector’s Edition Chimeras: Mortal Medicine Collector’s Edition Chimeras: The Signs of Prophecy Chimeras: Tune Of Revenge Chimeras: Decadence by Design Chocolatier 2: Secret Ingredients Christmas Adventure: Candy Storm Christmas Eve: Midnight’s Call Christmas Eve: A Christmas Carol Christmas Stories: A Little Prince Christmas Stories: Nutcracker Collector’s Edition Christmas Stories: Puss in Boots Christmas Stories: The Gift of the Magi Christmas Stories: The Dreaming Garden Chronicles of Albian: The Magic Convention Chronicles of Albian 2: Secret of the Lost Kingdom Chronicles of Mystery: The Scorpio Ritual Chronicles of Mystery: Hello Seattle City Style Clairvoyant: The Magician Mystery Classic Adventures: Of Glass and Ink Clockwork Tales: Who is The Void?

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Rise of the Snow Queen Collector’s Edition is rated 4. The FROGs were fairly straightforward and easy to solve. Any time I got stuck, I was able to consult the guide for assistance.

There was also a bonus game featuring the tale of Hansel and Gretel which ties to the main game in surprising ways I won’t reveal. I bought the original but the bonus chapter looked fun so i re-bought it as CE. The bonus chapter was really and gave us some more insight but that is the only special feature.

You can’t earn achievements , review any pop ups or review the parables. That was very disappointing. I have bought other collectors editions and it included all of that and then some. You get a couple of wallpapers and that’s it.

Also the biggest letdown you have to finish the main game and the bonus chapter to unlock any bonus content. Buy the main game and you wouldn’t be disappointed. I have withheld from buying the games, Dark Parables, because of the name Most of the “Dark-type” games are about phsyco something and go into real darkness with murders, asylums and such.

I was totally surprised. BFG has toooo many “dark” games and not enough of the games like Snow Queen. The graphic were amazing and mesmerizing! Rated 5 out of 5 by Boomer from Snowy Fun I enjoyed playing this game.

You play as the detective and are searching for missing children from the village. You enter the snow kingdom and go from there. The graphics are excellent. The voice overs are well done, but the music was a bit annoying so I muted it.

There are lots of places to visit and items to collect to get the back story. The FROGs and mini games are fun to play. There is a map that is helpful most of the time. There is a SG that you may have to use at a couple points in the game.

The story had a satisfying ending and I enjoyed the bonus chapter. This is a long game, which I like. I recommend this game and am looking forward to playing the next one in the series.

These games are FROG adventures with consistently high-quality graphics and fairy-tale based storylines. I enjoyed the FROG scenes and found them quite challenging in some cases, though the florid art style might not appeal to all players.

The morphing objects were also challenging in some scenes, as were the mini-games. Overall, a lovely and fun game with a somewhat refreshing take on “dark” fairy tales it’s not the same old bad-guy plot!

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Heave Ho Farm Frenzy: For it the nebula cohered to an orb, The long slow strata piled to rest it on, Vast vegetables gave it sustenance, Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it with care. Monster in Disguise Grim Facade:The Lost Halloween Evil Pumpkin: Be Like No One.Because roses adorn the window box garden, the sight of roses always reminds Gerda of her love for Kai. I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least, Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself.

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8. 5 Family Portrait Ominous Objects: Souls of the Innocent PuppetShow:

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9. Phantom Reflection Ominous Objects:

Dark parables rise of the snow queen

10. 3 Into Oblivion Riddles of Fate: The mini games were so well integrated into the flow of things that sometimes I wasn’t sure if I had played a mini game or not.

11. 10 In the midst of this descent of the court into a web of fearful glances, toadying praise, blackmailed servitude and sexual horror was the roya princess.

12. Halo Wars 2 Cheats. But, this tale is not one for children and those of a delicate disposition.

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13. 1 The Vengeance Grim Tales: The general strategy behind them is to locate specific pieces of an item that you are trying to build, rather than complete specific items.

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14. 7 Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting. The graphics, sound and all the other technical features of the game are just what we expect from this development team.

Your username is permanent and yours forever. Enter the email address you use for your Big Fish account. Please enable JavaScript in your browser to view our site properly. The Thief and the Tinderbox Collector’s Edition.

Share on Facebook Share Tweet Get game tips. Play Now Download the free trial Free sample version Replay puzzles, mini-games, and hidden-object scenes! Unlock bonus challenges, souvenirs, and collectibles! Get original artwork, music, and video content!

Access the helpful Strategy Guide! Buy this game, Get 3 Punches! Internet Explorer 7 or later. Reviews at a Glance. The Thief and the Tinderbox Collector’s Edition is rated 3. Rated 5 out of 5 by readTiger92 from Love the Parables Love this series.

I love the plot twists. I wish that the games would allow you to pick yes or no when it comes to recognizing character, but over I enjoyed them all. They are great twist on the normal telling of the fairytales!!!

Just because she is turned to ice using her magic couldn’t Gerda just use a tear to reverse the spell? I really would like to know what happen to her. I was hoping for some clarification in the parables or videos if she was said or not.

Because it is driving me nuts right know!!!!! Rated 5 out of 5 by AbdallahAli from The most amazing wedding with the most amazing old characters I loved this game very much, the Graphics: The storyline in this game is new and I loved how the old characters were tied into a new storyline instead of just introducing a bunch of new characters the game contains a parables and it needs to be collected by finding the morphing object, Finding the parables was very difficult and I had to use the strategy guide so many times and I didn’t like that and i hope to change this in the future since the parables is very important to the story.

Overall, This game is a WOW to me, Eipix did a very great job with this installment and this is their best dark parables, Don’t forget to try the demo first and see what do you think.

What a fantastic creation Blue Tea Games and Eipix developed. The game is based on the Danish Fairytale of The Tinderbox with some elements taken from Arabian mythology and Russian history. Okay Detective, Prince Gwyn has been the rightful ruler of the Mountain Kingdom ever since the Mountain King slipped into his frozen sleep.

Now the Prince requires your expertise. The royal wedding between Prince Gwyn and Gerda is approaching, and wildfire is ravaging the kingdom’s forest. A mysterious figure was seen setting the flames, but they were never caught.

Your mission is to find the person responsible for this and end the destruction before it escalates. Also, Gerda and Gwyn would be delighted if you could attend their wedding. This will be an arduous journey as you solve the adventure and it kept me playing for several days.

I also took notes along the way of how this story connects several of the other Dark Parables games which I found fascinating. Both characters were first seen in Rise of the Snow Queen. We learn later in the game that his name is Hansel, meaning he is the first Golden Child whose story was told in Hansel and Gretel.

He was last seen in The Thumbelina Curse. We also discover he had a brother named Rasputin. It was the only artifact capable of breaking the False Mirror after Snow White had reformed it.

I have the entire collection to date and I look forward to more editions of this Magical Series! Good Luck and Enjoy Rated 5 out of 5 by Wiz from Played all the way through without stopping Such a lovely game to play with no long bits, no unnecessary jumping back and forth.

The smoke of my own breath, Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs, The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color’d sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn, The sound of the belch’d words of my voice loos’d to the eddies of the wind, A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms, The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag, The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides, The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.

Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? Have you practis’d so long to learn to read? Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems? Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems, You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, there are millions of suns left, You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books, You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me, You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now, And will never be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now. Urge and urge and urge, Always the procreant urge of the world.

Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex, Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life. To elaborate is no avail, learn’d and unlearn’d feel that it is so.

Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entretied, braced in the beams, Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical, I and this mystery here we stand. Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.

Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen, Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn. Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age, Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself.

Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean, Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar than the rest.

I am satisfied–I see, dance, laugh, sing; As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy tread, Leaving me baskets cover’d with white towels swelling the house with their plenty, Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my eyes, That they turn from gazing after and down the road, And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent, Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is ahead?

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am, Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary, Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest, Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next, Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.

Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders, I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait. Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat, Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best, Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.

I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning, How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over upon me, And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart, And reach’d till you felt my beard, and reach’d till you held my feet.

Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth, And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own, And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own, And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers, And that a kelson of the creation is love, And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields, And brown ants in the little wells beneath them, And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap’d stones, elder, mullein and poke-weed.

I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, Growing among black folks as among white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. Tenderly will I use you curling grass, It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, It may be if I had known them I would have loved them, It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers’ laps, And here you are the mothers’ laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, Darker than the colorless beards of old men, Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues, And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women, And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps. What do you think has become of the young and old men?

And what do you think has become of the women and children? They are alive and well somewhere, The smallest sprout shows there is really no death, And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it, And ceas’d the moment life appear’d.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier. I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.

I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash’d babe, and am not contain’d between my hat and boots, And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good, The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.

I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth, I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and fathomless as myself, They do not know how immortal, but I know. Every kind for itself and its own, for me mine male and female, For me those that have been boys and that love women, For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be slighted, For me the sweet-heart and the old maid, for me mothers and the mothers of mothers, For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears, For me children and the begetters of children.

The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill, I peeringly view them from the top. The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bedroom, I witness the corpse with its dabbled hair, I note where the pistol has fallen.

I am there, I help, I came stretch’d atop of the load, I felt its soft jolts, one leg reclined on the other, I jump from the cross-beams and seize the clover and timothy, And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.

The Yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle and scud, My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from the deck. The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me, I tuck’d my trowser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time; You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle.

I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west, the bride was a red girl, Her father and his friends sat near cross-legged and dumbly smoking, they had moccasins to their feet and large thick blankets hanging from their shoulders, On a bank lounged the trapper, he was drest mostly in skins, his luxuriant beard and curls protected his neck, he held his bride by the hand, She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight locks descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach’d to her feet.

The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside, I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile, Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak, And went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him, And brought water and fill’d a tub for his sweated body and bruis’d feet, And gave him a room that enter’d from my own, and gave him some coarse clean clothes, And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness, And remember putting piasters on the galls of his neck and ankles; He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass’d north, I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean’d in the corner.

She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank, She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window. Which of the young men does she like the best? Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.

Where are you off to, lady? Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather, The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them. The beards of the young men glisten’d with wet, it ran from their long hair, Little streams pass’d all over their bodies.

An unseen hand also pass’d over their bodies, It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs. The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to the sun, they do not ask who seizes fast to them, They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending arch, They do not think whom they souse with spray.

Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil, Each has his main-sledge, they are all out, there is a great heat in the fire. From the cinder-strew’d threshold I follow their movements, The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms, Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure, They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.

I behold the picturesque giant and love him, and I do not stop there, I go with the team also. In me the caresser of life wherever moving, backward as well as forward sluing, To niches aside and junior bending, not a person or object missing, Absorbing all to myself and for this song.

Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain or halt in the leafy shade, what is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life. My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck on my distant and day-long ramble, They rise together, they slowly circle around.

I believe in those wing’d purposes, And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me, And consider green and violet and the tufted crown intentional, And do not call the tortoise unworthy because she is not something else, And the in the woods never studied the gamut, yet trills pretty well to me, And the look of the bay mare shames silliness out of me.

The sharp-hoof’d moose of the north, the cat on the house-sill, the chickadee, the prairie-dog, The litter of the grunting sow as they tug at her teats, The brood of the turkey-hen and she with her half-spread wings, I see in them and myself the same old law.

The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections, They scorn the best I can do to relate them. I am enamour’d of growing out-doors, Of men that live among cattle or taste of the ocean or woods, Of the builders and steerers of ships and the wielders of axes and mauls, and the drivers of horses, I can eat and sleep with them week in and week out.

What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me, Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns, Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me, Not asking the sky to come down to my good will, Scattering it freely forever.

The drover watching his drove sings out to them that would stray, The pedler sweats with his pack on his back, the purchaser higgling about the odd cent; The bride unrumples her white dress, the minute-hand of the clock moves slowly, The opium-eater reclines with rigid head and just-open’d lips, The prostitute draggles her shawl, her bonnet bobs on her tipsy and pimpled neck, The crowd laugh at her blackguard oaths, the men jeer and wink to each other, Miserable!

I do not laugh at your oaths nor jeer you; The President holding a cabinet council is surrounded by the great Secretaries, On the piazza walk three matrons stately and friendly with twined arms, The crew of the fish-smack pack repeated layers of halibut in the hold, The Missourian crosses the plains toting his wares and his cattle, As the fare-collector goes through the train he gives notice by the jingling of loose change, The floor-men are laying the floor, the tinners are tinning the roof, the masons are calling for mortar, In single file each shouldering his hod pass onward the laborers; Seasons pursuing each other the indescribable crowd is gather’d, it is the fourth of Seventh-month, what salutes of cannon and small arms!

I resist any thing better than my own diversity, Breathe the air but leave plenty after me, And am not stuck up, and am in my place. The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place, The bright suns I see and the dark suns I cannot see are in their place, The palpable is in its place and the impalpable is in its place.

This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is, This the common air that bathes the globe. Have you heard that it was good to gain the day? I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.

I beat and pound for the dead, I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them. Vivas to those who have fail’d! And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea! And to those themselves who sank in the sea!

And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes! And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known! This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair, This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning, This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face, This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again.

Do you guess I have some intricate purpose? Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has. Do you take it I would astonish? Does the daylight astonish? Do I astonish more than they? This hour I tell things in confidence, I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.

What is a man anyhow? All I mark as my own you shall offset it with your own, Else it were time lost listening to me. I do not snivel that snivel the world over, That months are vacuums and the ground but wallow and filth.

Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for invalids, conformity goes to the fourth-remov’d, I wear my hat as I please indoors or out. Why should I pray? Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counsel’d with doctors and calculated close, I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.

In all people I see myself, none more and not one a barley-corn less, And the good or bad I say of myself I say of them. I know I am solid and sound, To me the converging objects of the universe perpetually flow, All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means.

I know I am deathless, I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter’s compass, I know I shall not pass like a child’s carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night. I know I am august, I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood, I see that the elementary laws never apologize, I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by, after all.

I exist as I am, that is enough, If no other in the world be aware I sit content, And if each and all be aware I sit content. One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is myself, And whether I come to my own to-day or in ten thousand or ten million years, I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait.

My foothold is tenon’d and mortis’d in granite, I laugh at what you call dissolution, And I know the amplitude of time. I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man, And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.

I chant the chant of dilation or pride, We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, I show that size is only development. Have you outstript the rest?

It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every one, and still pass on. I am he that walks with the tender and growing night, I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night.

Press close bare-bosom’d night–press close magnetic nourishing night! Night of south winds–night of the large few stars! Still nodding night–mad naked summer night. Smile O voluptuous cool-breath’d earth!

Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees! Earth of departed sunset–earth of the mountains misty-topt! Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue! Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river!

Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and clearer for my sake! Far-swooping elbow’d earth–rich apple-blossom’d earth! Smile, for your lover comes. Prodigal, you have given me love–therefore I to you give love!

O unspeakable passionate love. I resign myself to you also–I guess what you mean, I behold from the beach your crooked fingers, I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me, We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land, Cushion me soft, rock me in billowy drowse, Dash me with amorous wet, I can repay you.

Sea of stretch’d ground-swells, Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths, Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell’d yet always-ready graves, Howler and scooper of storms, capricious and dainty sea, I am integral with you, I too am of one phase and of all phases.

Partaker of influx and efflux I, extoller of hate and conciliation, Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others’ arms. I am he attesting sympathy, Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house that supports them?

I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also. What blurt is this about virtue and about vice? Evil propels me and reform of evil propels me, I stand indifferent, My gait is no fault-finder’s or rejecter’s gait, I moisten the roots of all that has grown.

Did you fear some scrofula out of the unflagging pregnancy? Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be work’d over and rectified? I find one side a balance and the antipedal side a balance, Soft doctrine as steady help as stable doctrine, Thoughts and deeds of the present our rouse and early start.

This minute that comes to me over the past decillions, There is no better than it and now. What behaved well in the past or behaves well to-day is not such wonder, The wonder is always and always how there can be a mean man or an infidel.

And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse. A word of the faith that never balks, Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely. It alone is without flaw, it alone rounds and completes all, That mystic baffling wonder alone completes all.

I accept Reality and dare not question it, Materialism first and last imbuing. Hurrah for positive science! Fetch stonecrop mixt with cedar and branches of lilac, This is the lexicographer, this the chemist, this made a grammar of the old cartouches, These mariners put the ship through dangerous unknown seas.

This is the geologist, this works with the scalper, and this is a mathematician. Gentlemen, to you the first honors always! Just Bring It, eight wrestlers will be able to be in a match at once, instead of 6.

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Snedronningen is an original fairy tale written by Danish author Hans Christian Andersen. The tale was first published 21 December in New Fairy Tales. The story is one of Andersen’s longest and most highly acclaimed stories.

It is regularly included in selected tales and collections of his work and is frequently reprinted in illustrated storybook editions for children. The devilin the form of an evil troll[2] has made a magic mirror that distorts the appearance of everything that it reflects.

The magic mirror fails to reflect the good and beautiful aspects of people and things, and magnifies their bad and ugly aspects. The devil, who is headmaster at a troll school, takes the mirror and his pupils throughout the world, delighting in using it to distort everyone and everything; the mirror makes the loveliest landscapes look like “boiled spinach.

These splinters are blown by the wind all over the Earth and get into people’s hearts and eyes, freezing their hearts like blocks of ice and making their eyes like the troll-mirror itself, seeing only the bad and ugly in people and things.

There was only one way to get it out. Years later, a little boy Kai and a little girl Gerda live next door to each other in the garrets of buildings with adjoining roofs in a large city.

One could get from one’s home to the other’s just by stepping over the gutters of each building. The two families grow vegetables and roses in window boxes placed on the gutters.

Gerda and Kai have a window-box garden to play in, and they become devoted to each other as playmates, and as close as if they were siblings. Kai’s grandmother tells the children about the Snow Queen, who is ruler over the “snow bees” — snowflakes that look like bees.

As bees have a queen, so do the snow parables, and she is seen where the snowflakes cluster the most. Looking out of his frosted window one winter, Rise sees the Snow Queen, who beckons him to come with her.

Kai draws back in fear from the window. By the following spring, Gerda has learned a song that she sings to Kai: Roses flower in the vale; there we hear Child Jesus’ tale! Because roses adorn the window box garden, the sight of roses always reminds Snow of her love for Kai.

On a pleasant summer day, splinters of the troll-mirror get into Kai’s heart and eyes while he and Gerda are looking at a picture queen in their window-box garden.

Kai becomes cruel and aggressive. He destroys their window-box garden, he makes fun of his grandmother, and he no longer cares about Gerda, since all of them now appear bad and ugly to him. The only beautiful and perfect things to him now are the tiny snowflakes that he sees through a magnifying glass.

Dark following winter, Kai goes out with his sled to play in the snowy market square and — as was the custom — hitches it to a curious white sleigh carriage, driven by the Snow Queen, who appears as a woman in a white fur-coat.

Outside the city she reveals herself to Kai and kisses him twice: She takes Kai in her sleigh to her palace. The people of the city conclude the Kai died in the nearby river. Gerda, heartbroken, goes out to look for him and questions everyone and everything the Kai’s whereabouts.

She offers her new red shoes to the river in exchange for Kai; by not taking the gift at first, the river lets her know that Kai did not drown. Gerda next visits an old sorceress with a beautiful garden of eternal summer.

The sorceress queen Gerda to stay with her forever, so she causes Gerda to forget all about Kai, and causes all the roses in her garden to sink beneath the earth, since she knows that the sight of them will remind Gerda of her friend.

However, a while later, whilst playing in the garden, Gerda sees a rose on the sorceress’s hat, then remembers Kai and begins to cry. Gerda’s warm tears raise one bush above the ground, and it tells her that it parables see all the dead while it was under the earth, and Kai is not among them.

Gerda flees and meets a crow, who tells parables that Kai is in the princess’s palace. Gerda goes to the palace and meets the princess and the prince, who is not Kai, but looks like him.

Gerda tells them her story, and they provide her with warm clothes and a beautiful coach. While traveling in the coach Gerda is snow by robbers and brought to their castle, where she befriends a little snow girl, whose pet doves tell her that they saw Kai when he was carried away by the Snow Queen in the direction of Lapland.

The captive reindeer Bae tells her that he knows how to get to Lapland since it is his home. The robber girl frees Gerda and the reindeer to travel north to the Snow Queen’s palace. They make two stops: The Finn woman tells the reindeer that the secret of Gerda’s unique power to save Kai is in her sweet and innocent child’s heart:.

When Gerda reaches the Snow Queen’s palace, she is halted by the snowflakes guarding it. She prays the Lord’s Prayerwhich causes her breath to take the shape of angels, who resist the snowflakes and allow Gerda to enter the palace.

Gerda finds Kai alone and almost immobile on a frozen lake, which the Snow Queen calls the “Mirror of Reason”, on which her throne sits. Kai is engaged in the task that the Snow Queen gave him: If he is able to form the word the Snow Queen told him to spell she will release him from her power and give him a pair of skates.

Gerda runs up to Kai and kisses him, and he is saved by the power of her love: Gerda weeps warm tears on him, melting his heart and burning away the troll-mirror splinter in it.

As a result, Kai bursts into tears which dislodge the splinter from his eye and becomes cheerful and healthy again with sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks, and also recognizes Gerda. He and Gerda dance around on the lake of ice so joyously that the splinters of ice Kai had been rise with are caught up into the dance.

When they tire of dancing they fall down to spell “eternity,” the very word Kai was trying to spell. Even if the Snow Queen were to return although it is never said from whereshe would be obligated to free Kai.

Dark and Gerda then leave the Snow Queen’s domain with the help of the reindeer, the Finn woman, and the Lapp woman. They meet the robber girl, and from there they walk back to their home, “the big city.

Kai and Gerda find that everything at home is the same and that it is they who have changed; they are now grown up, and are also delighted to see that it is summertime.

Andersen met Swedish opera singer Jenny Lind inand fell in love with her, but she was not interested in him romantically although the two became friends. According to Carole Rosen, Andersen was inspired to model the icy-hearted Snow Queen on Lind after she rejected him as a suitor.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. This article is about the fairy tale. For other uses, see Snow Queen dark. The Complete Fairy Tales and Stories. Retrieved 3 December Oxford Dictionary of National Biography.

Retrieved April 1, Retrieved 23 December The Classical Music Specialists. The Guide to Musical Theatre. Steele Spring Stage Rights. The New York Times. Retrieved 25 April Retrieved 29 January Retrieved 29 September Retrieved on 21 July Retrieved 29 April Lewis’s The Chronicles of Narnia.

The Improvisatore The Two Baronesses My Life as a Fairytale miniseries Young Andersen serial. Fire and Ice Anna Elsa Kristoff Olaf Hans. Olaf’s Quest Frozen Free Fall.

Retrieved from ” https: Pages using deprecated image syntax Articles containing Danish-language text Articles containing Japanese-language text Interlanguage link template link number All articles with unsourced statements Articles with unsourced statements rise January Articles the LibriVox links Wikipedia articles with Queen identifiers.

Views Read Edit View history. In other projects Wikimedia Commons Wikisource. This page was last edited on 24 Januaryat By using this site, you agree to the Terms of Use and Privacy Policy. I can give her no greater power than she has already,” said the woman; “don’t you see how strong that is?

How men and animals are obliged to serve her, and how well she has got through the world, barefooted as she is. She cannot receive any power from me greater than she now has, which consists in her own purity and innocence of heart.

If she cannot herself obtain access to the Snow Queen, and remove the glass fragments from little Kai, we can do nothing to help her Wikisource has original text related to this article: Wikimedia Commons has media related to The Snow Queen.

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Sign Up for Time to Play! I hear the violoncello, ’tis the young man’s heart’s complaint, I hear the key’d cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears, It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast.

I hear the chorus, it is a grand opera, Ah this indeed is music–this suits me. A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me, The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full.

I hear the train’d soprano what work with hers is this? The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies, It wrenches such ardors from me I did not know I possess’d them, It sails me, I dab with bare feet, they are lick’d by the indolent waves, I am cut by bitter and angry hail, I lose my breath, Steep’d amid honey’d morphine, my windpipe throttled in fakes of death, At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles, And that we call Being.

Round and round we go, all of us, and ever come back thither, If nothing lay more develop’d the quahaug in its callous shell were enough. Mine is no callous shell, I have instant conductors all over me whether I pass or stop, They seize every object and lead it harmlessly through me.

I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy, To touch my person to some one else’s is about as much as I can stand. The sentries desert every other part of me, They have left me helpless to a red marauder, They all come to the headland to witness and assist against me.

I am given up by traitors, I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the greatest traitor, I went myself first to the headland, my own hands carried me there. Did it make you ache so, leaving me?

Parting track’d by arriving, perpetual payment of perpetual loan, Rich showering rain, and recompense richer afterward. Sprouts take and accumulate, stand by the curb prolific and vital, Landscapes projected masculine, full-sized and golden.

Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul. Only what proves itself to every man and woman is so, Only what nobody denies is so. A minute and a drop of me settle my brain, I believe the soggy clods shall become lovers and lamps, And a compend of compends is the meat of a man or woman, And a summit and flower there is the feeling they have for each other, And they are to branch boundlessly out of that lesson until it becomes omnific, And until one and all shall delight us, and we them.

I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss, fruits, grains, esculent roots, And am stucco’d with quadrupeds and birds all over, And have distanced what is behind me for good reasons, But call any thing back again when I desire it.

In vain the speeding or shyness, In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach, In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powder’d bones, In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes, In vain the ocean settling in hollows and the great monsters lying low, In vain the buzzard houses herself with the sky, In vain the snake slides through the creepers and logs, In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods, In vain the razor-bill’d auk sails far north to Labrador, I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissure of the cliff.

They do not sweat and whine about their condition, They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things, Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago, Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.

So they show their relations to me and I accept them, They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their possession. I wonder where they get those tokens, Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them?

Myself moving forward then and now and forever, Gathering and showing more always and with velocity, Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them, Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers, Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms.

A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses, Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears, Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground, Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving.

His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him, His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return. I but use you a minute, then I resign you, stallion, Why do I need your paces when I myself out-gallop them?

Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you. My ties and ballasts leave me, my elbows rest in sea-gaps, I skirt sierras, my palms cover continents, I am afoot with my vision.

I visit the orchards of spheres and look at the product, And look at quintillions ripen’d and look at quintillions green. I fly those flights of a fluid and swallowing soul, My course runs below the soundings of plummets.

I help myself to material and immaterial, No guard can shut me off, no law prevent me. I anchor my ship for a little while only, My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns to me.

I go hunting polar furs and the seal, leaping chasms with a pike-pointed staff, clinging to topples of brittle and blue. I ascend to the foretruck, I take my place late at night in the crow’s-nest, We sail the arctic sea, it is plenty light enough, Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonderful beauty, The enormous masses of ice pass me and I pass them, the scenery is plain in all directions, The white-topt mountains show in the distance, I fling out my fancies toward them, We are approaching some great battle-field in which we are soon to be engaged, We pass the colossal outposts of the encampment, we pass with still feet and caution, Or we are entering by the suburbs some vast and ruin’d city, The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living cities of the globe.

I am a free companion, I bivouac by invading watchfires, I turn the bridgroom out of bed and stay with the bride myself, I tighten her all night to my thighs and lips. My voice is the wife’s voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs, They fetch my man’s body up dripping and drown’d.

I understand the large hearts of heroes, The courage of present times and all times, How the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless wreck of the steamship, and Death chasing it up and down the storm, How he knuckled tight and gave not back an inch, and was faithful of days and faithful of nights, And chalk’d in large letters on a board, Be of good cheer, we will not desert you; How he follow’d with them and tack’d with them three days and would not give it up, How he saved the drifting company at last, How the lank loose-gown’d women look’d when boated from the side of their prepared graves, How the silent old-faced infants and the lifted sick, and the sharp-lipp’d unshaved men; All this I swallow, it tastes good, I like it well, it becomes mine, I am the man, I suffer’d, I was there.

The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother of old, condemn’d for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on, The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, cover’d with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, the murderous buckshot and the bullets, All these I feel or am.

I am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of the dogs, Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen, I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn’d with the ooze of my skin, I fall on the weeds and stones, The riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close, Taunt my dizzy ears and beat me violently over the head with whip-stocks.

Agonies are one of my changes of garments, I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person, My hurts turn livid upon me as I lean on a cane and observe. I am the mash’d fireman with breast-bone broken, Tumbling walls buried me in their debris, Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades, I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels, They have clear’d the beams away, they tenderly lift me forth.

I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my sake, Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy, White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of their fire-caps, The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches.

Distant and dead resuscitate, They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock myself. I am an old artillerist, I tell of my fort’s bombardment, I am there again. Again the long roll of the drummers, Again the attacking cannon, mortars, Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive.

I take part, I see and hear the whole, The cries, curses, roar, the plaudits for well-aim’d shots, The ambulanza slowly passing trailing its red drip, Workmen searching after damages, making indispensable repairs, The fall of grenades through the rent roof, the fan-shaped explosion, The whizz of limbs, heads, stone, wood, iron, high in the air.

Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general, he furiously waves with his hand, He gasps through the clot Mind not me–mind–the entrenchments. Retreating they had form’d in a hollow square with their baggage for breastworks, Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemies, nine times their number, was the price they took in advance, Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone, They treated for an honorable capitulation, receiv’d writing and seal, gave up their arms and march’d back prisoners of war.

They were the glory of the race of rangers, Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship, Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate, Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters, Not a single one over thirty years of age.

The second First-day morning they were brought out in squads and massacred, it was beautiful early summer, The work commenced about five o’clock and was over by eight. None obey’d the command to kneel, Some made a mad and helpless rush, some stood stark and straight, A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart, the living and dead lay together, The maim’d and mangled dug in the dirt, the new-comers saw them there, Some half-kill’d attempted to crawl away, These were despatch’d with bayonets or batter’d with the blunts of muskets, A youth not seventeen years old seiz’d his assassin till two more came to release him, The three were all torn and cover’d with the boy’s blood.

At eleven o’clock began the burning of the bodies; That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men. Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars? List to the yarn, as my grandmother’s father the sailor told it to me.

Our foe was no sulk in his ship I tell you, said he, His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never will be; Along the lower’d eve he came horribly raking us.

We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touch’d, My captain lash’d fast with his own hands. We had receiv’d some eighteen pound shots under the water, On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around and blowing up overhead.

Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark, Ten o’clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five feet of water reported, The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the after-hold to give them a chance for themselves.

The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels, They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust. Our frigate takes fire, The other asks if we demand quarter?

If our colors are struck and the fighting done? Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain, We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun our part of the fighting.

Only three guns are in use, One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy’s main-mast, Two well serv’d with grape and canister silence his musketry and clear his decks.

The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially the main-top, They hold out bravely during the whole of the action. Not a moment’s cease, The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine.

One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally thought we are sinking. Serene stands the little captain, He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low, His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns.

Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender to us. In at the conquer’d doors they crowd! Embody all presences outlaw’d or suffering, See myself in prison shaped like another man, And feel the dull unintermitted pain.

For me the keepers of convicts shoulder their carbines and keep watch, It is I let out in the morning and barr’d at night. Not a mutineer walks handcuff’d to jail but I am handcuff’d to him and walk by his side, I am less the jolly one there, and more the silent one with sweat on my twitching lips.

Not a youngster is taken for larceny but I go up too, and am tried and sentenced. Not a cholera patient lies at the last gasp but I also lie at the last gasp, My face is ash-color’d, my sinews gnarl, away from me people retreat.

Askers embody themselves in me and I am embodied in them, I project my hat, sit shame-faced, and beg. Somehow I have been stunn’d. Give me a little time beyond my cuff’d head, slumbers, dreams, gaping, I discover myself on the verge of a usual mistake.

That I could forget the mockers and insults! That I could forget the trickling tears and the blows of the bludgeons and hammers! That I could look with a separate look on my own crucifixion and bloody crowning.

I remember now, I resume the overstaid fraction, The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves, Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from me.

I troop forth replenish’d with supreme power, one of an average unending procession, Inland and sea-coast we go, and pass all boundary lines, Our swift ordinances on their way over the whole earth, The blossoms we wear in our hats the growth of thousands of years.

Eleves, I salute you! Continue your annotations, continue your questionings. Is he waiting for civilization, or past it and mastering it? Is he some Southwesterner rais’d out-doors? Is he from the Mississippi country?

Wherever he goes men and women accept and desire him, They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to them, stay with them. Behavior lawless as snow-flakes, words simple as grass, uncomb’d head, laughter, and naivete, Slow-stepping feet, common features, common modes and emanations, They descend in new forms from the tips of his fingers, They are wafted with the odor of his body or breath, they fly out of the glance of his eyes.

You light surfaces only, I force surfaces and depths also. Man or woman, I might tell how I like you, but cannot, And might tell what it is in me and what it is in you, but cannot, And might tell that pining I have, that pulse of my nights and days.

Behold, I do not give lectures or a little charity, When I give I give myself. You there, impotent, loose in the knees, Open your scarf’d chops till I blow grit within you, Spread your palms and lift the flaps of your pockets, I am not to be denied, I compel, I have stores plenty and to spare, And any thing I have I bestow.

I do not ask who you are, that is not important to me, You can do nothing and be nothing but what I will infold you. To cotton-field drudge or cleaner of privies I lean, On his right cheek I put the family kiss, And in my soul I swear I never will deny him.

On women fit for conception I start bigger and nimbler babes. This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics. To any one dying, thither I speed and twist the knob of the door. Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed, Let the physician and the priest go home.

I seize the descending man and raise him with resistless will, O despairer, here is my neck, By God, you shall not go down! I dilate you with tremendous breath, I buoy you up, Every room of the house do I fill with an arm’d force, Lovers of me, bafflers of graves.

Sleep–I and they keep guard all night, Not doubt, not decease shall dare to lay finger upon you, I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself, And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is so.

I heard what was said of the universe, Heard it and heard it of several thousand years; It is middling well as far as it goes–but is that all? Come my children, Come my boys and girls, my women, household and intimates, Now the performer launches his nerve, he has pass’d his prelude on the reeds within.

Easily written loose-finger’d chords–I feel the thrum of your climax and close. My head slues round on my neck, Music rolls, but not from the organ, Folks are around me, but they are no household of mine. Ever the hard unsunk ground, Ever the eaters and drinkers, ever the upward and downward sun, ever the air and the ceaseless tides, Ever myself and my neighbors, refreshing, wicked, real, Ever the old inexplicable query, ever that thorn’d thumb, that breath of itches and thirsts, Ever the vexer’s hoot!

Here and there with dimes on the eyes walking, To feed the greed of the belly the brains liberally spooning, Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in to the feast never once going, Many sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff for payment receiving, A few idly owning, and they the wheat continually claiming.

This is the city and I am one of the citizens, Whatever interests the rest interests me, politics, wars, markets, newspapers, schools, The mayor and councils, banks, tariffs, steamships, factories, stocks, stores, real estate and personal estate.

The little plentiful manikins skipping around in collars and tail’d coats I am aware who they are, they are positively not worms or fleas, I acknowledge the duplicates of myself, the weakest and shallowest is deathless with me, What I do and say the same waits for them, Every thought that flounders in me the same flounders in them.

I know perfectly well my own egotism, Know my omnivorous lines and must not write any less, And would fetch you whoever you are flush with myself. Not words of routine this song of mine, But abruptly to question, to leap beyond yet nearer bring; This printed and bound book–but the printer and the printing-office boy?

The well-taken photographs–but your wife or friend close and solid in your arms? The black ship mail’d with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets–but the pluck of the captain and engineers?

In the houses the dishes and fare and furniture–but the host and hostess, and the look out of their eyes? The sky up there–yet here or next door, or across the way? The saints and sages in history–but you yourself?

Sermons, creeds, theology–but the fathomless human brain, And what is reason? One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang I turn and talk like man leaving charges before a journey. Down-hearted doubters dull and excluded, Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, dishearten’d, atheistical, I know every one of you, I know the sea of torment, doubt, despair and unbelief.

How the flukes splash! How they contort rapid as lightning, with spasms and spouts of blood! Be at peace bloody flukes of doubters and sullen mopers, I take my place among you as much as among any, The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same, And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all, precisely the same.

I do not know what is untried and afterward, But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and cannot fail. Each who passes is consider’d, each who stops is consider’d, not single one can it fall.

It cannot fall the young man who died and was buried, Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side, Nor the little child that peep’d in at the door, and then drew back and was never seen again, Nor the old man who has lived without purpose, and feels it with bitterness worse than gall, Nor him in the poor house tubercled by rum and the bad disorder, Nor the numberless slaughter’d and wreck’d, nor the brutish koboo call’d the ordure of humanity, Nor the sacs merely floating with open mouths for food to slip in, Nor any thing in the earth, or down in the oldest graves of the earth, Nor any thing in the myriads of spheres, nor the myriads of myriads that inhabit them, Nor the present, nor the least wisp that is known.

What is known I strip away, I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown. The clock indicates the moment–but what does eternity indicate? We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers, There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.

Births have brought us richness and variety, And other births will bring us richness and variety. I do not call one greater and one smaller, That which fills its period and place is equal to any.

Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my sister? I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me, All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation, What have I to do with lamentation?

I am an acme of things accomplish’d, and I an encloser of things to be. My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs, On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps, All below duly travel’d, and still I mount and mount.

Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me, Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there, I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist, And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon.

Long I was hugg’d close–long and long. I bought the original but the bonus chapter looked fun so i re-bought it as CE. The bonus chapter was really and gave us some more insight but that is the only special feature.

You can’t earn achievements , review any pop ups or review the parables. That was very disappointing. I have bought other collectors editions and it included all of that and then some.

You get a couple of wallpapers and that’s it. Also the biggest letdown you have to finish the main game and the bonus chapter to unlock any bonus content. Buy the main game and you wouldn’t be disappointed.

I have withheld from buying the games, Dark Parables, because of the name Most of the “Dark-type” games are about phsyco something and go into real darkness with murders, asylums and such.

I was totally surprised. BFG has toooo many “dark” games and not enough of the games like Snow Queen. The graphic were amazing and mesmerizing! Rated 5 out of 5 by Boomer from Snowy Fun I enjoyed playing this game.

You play as the detective and are searching for missing children from the village. You enter the snow kingdom and go from there. The graphics are excellent. The voice overs are well done, but the music was a bit annoying so I muted it.

There are lots of places to visit and items to collect to get the back story. The FROGs and mini games are fun to play. There is a map that is helpful most of the time. There is a SG that you may have to use at a couple points in the game.

The story had a satisfying ending and I enjoyed the bonus chapter. This is a long game, which I like. I recommend this game and am looking forward to playing the next one in the series. These games are FROG adventures with consistently high-quality graphics and fairy-tale based storylines.

I enjoyed the FROG scenes and found them quite challenging in some cases, though the florid art style might not appeal to all players. The morphing objects were also challenging in some scenes, as were the mini-games.

Overall, a lovely and fun game with a somewhat refreshing take on “dark” fairy tales it’s not the same old bad-guy plot! Definitely recommended, especially for those who like fantasy-based games. Rated 5 out of 5 by mushu from loved it i loved the game, its very fun and i love the story line.

Rated 5 out of 5 by MysteryAngel from A great twist to a well loved tale I have always loved the story of the Snow Queen, ever since I was a child, and really enjoyed this twist to the classic tale!

It gives it a new, fun twist that I love — and this story idea was done very well and was a lot of fun to play!