To be or not to be? - Is that the question?
To have or not to have? - Oh, rot!
To do or not to do? - That is more like it.
And if it is, then what to do exactly?
To run away and burn,
Or stay and rot? - Oh, bollocks!
Oh, tedious old foolery!
To learn to play the game?
Perchance, to win a match or two?
To trample under foot?
To seek advancement?
To gain on the swings only to lose on the roundabouts?
And thus again in cirles?

So sailed the ship. And who has come returns.
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death.
Нет, весь я не умру...
Душа - в священной лире.
Хоть среди нас на удивленье мало
Таких, в ком песен не скудеет дух,
Я воспою, коль хватит мне уменья -

I sing, for want of hero - the poet herself.
The world's a place made by a singer for a dreamer:
And dreamer I am not the only one -
And so I sing for you and for myself. I

Turn off my mind, relax and float downstream.
This is not dying, no, but riverrun
Past Eve and Adam's -
Adam's Everyman, the first man of His-story -
I want to see this man, take me to him!

And thus I float downstream.

And my Ophelian snatches of the tunes
Fantastically garlanded with thorn -
Strawbirry reds and extra violates -
Elm, willow and laurel and...
And nothing to get hung about.
ALPying down the hill I stone myself with song;
The woman lost on whom
Imagination dwells the most.
Laurel myself, and stone and tree I rise
From either shore.
Myself a stone, I crown myself (with) Laurel
For singing of myself.

P.S.
April 23, 2014
Shakespeare 450!