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| | The Best Poems | |
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WickedSmile
Posts : 57 Join date : 2010-03-18 Age : 37
| Subject: The Best Poems Fri Mar 19, 2010 10:43 am | |
| There have been poems I've read over the years that have stuck with me. What are yours?
Ithaka by C.P. Cavafy
As you set out for Ithaka hope your road is a long one, full of adventure, full of discovery. Laistrygonians, Cyclops, angry Poseidon-don't be afraid of them: you'll never find things like that on your way as long as you keep your thoughts raised high, as long as a rare excitement stirs your spirit and your body. Laistrygonians, Cyclops, wild Poseidon-you won't encounter them unless you bring them along inside your soul, unless your soul sets them up in front of you.
Hope your road is a long one. May there be many summer mornings when, with what pleasure, what joy, you enter harbors you're seeing for the first time; may you stop at Phoenician trading stations to buy fine things, mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony, sensual perfume of every kind- as many sensual perfumes as you can; and may you visit many Egyptian cities to learn and go on learning from their scholars.
Keep Ithaka always in your mind. Arriving there is what you're destined for. But don't hurry the journey at all. Better if it lasts for years, so you're old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you've gained on the way, not expecting Ithaka to make you rich. Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey. Without her you wouldn't have set out. She has nothing left to give you now.
And if you find her poor, Ithaka won't have fooled you. Wise as you will have become, so full of experience, you'll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.
~~~~~~ "Why So Pale and Wan, Fond Lover?" by Sir John Suckling
Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?
Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Prithee, why so mute? Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing do't? Prithee, why so mute?
Quit, quit for shame! This will not move; This cannot take her. If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her: The devil take her! | |
| | | bloodiestkisses Admin
Posts : 146 Join date : 2010-03-04 Age : 32 Location : Michigan
| Subject: Re: The Best Poems Fri Mar 19, 2010 10:33 pm | |
| The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost Mother to Son by Langston Hughes Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe A Dream Within a Dream by Edgar Allan Poe Not gonna post 'em, cause I believe in y'alls ability to use google. Annnd, The Raven would take up like two topic pages by itself. | |
| | | Eekaboo
Posts : 106 Join date : 2010-03-05 Age : 34 Location : The Rainbow, Somewhere Over
| Subject: Re: The Best Poems Fri Mar 19, 2010 11:33 pm | |
| After seeing the movie, I've fallen in love with this poem.
Bright Star
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art-- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors-- No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
By: John Keats | |
| | | bloodiestkisses Admin
Posts : 146 Join date : 2010-03-04 Age : 32 Location : Michigan
| Subject: Re: The Best Poems Fri Mar 19, 2010 11:51 pm | |
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| | | WickedSmile
Posts : 57 Join date : 2010-03-18 Age : 37
| | | | bloodiestkisses Admin
Posts : 146 Join date : 2010-03-04 Age : 32 Location : Michigan
| Subject: Re: The Best Poems Wed Mar 24, 2010 10:06 pm | |
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| | | LadyMinnyOfRaven Admin
Posts : 85 Join date : 2010-03-04 Age : 32 Location : Aussie Land
| Subject: Re: The Best Poems Mon Mar 29, 2010 10:13 pm | |
| I sent this one to Britt, its my favorite because I love the story it tells
THE LADY OF SHALOTT by Alferd Tennyson
On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd Camelot; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below, The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Through the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow veil'd, Slide the heavy barges trail'd By slow horses; and unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd Skimming down to Camelot: But who hath seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand? Or is she known in all the land, The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early, In among the bearded barley Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly; Down to tower'd Camelot; And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott."
There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.
And moving through a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot; There the river eddy whirls, And there the surly village churls, And the red cloaks of market girls Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad Goes by to tower'd Camelot; And sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two. She hath no loyal Knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often through the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, went to Camelot; Or when the Moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed. "I am half sick of shadows," said The Lady of Shalott.
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armor rung Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together, As he rode down to Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, burning bright, Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror, "Tirra lirra," by the river Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott.
In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining. Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And around about the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse Like some bold seer in a trance, Seeing all his own mischance -- With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right -- The leaves upon her falling light -- Thro' the noises of the night, She floated down to Camelot: And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darkened wholly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame, And around the prow they read her name, The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? And what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they crossed themselves for fear, All the Knights at Camelot; But Lancelot mused a little space He said, "She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott."
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| | | LadyMinnyOfRaven Admin
Posts : 85 Join date : 2010-03-04 Age : 32 Location : Aussie Land
| Subject: Re: The Best Poems Mon Mar 29, 2010 10:14 pm | |
| - bloodiestkisses wrote:
- The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe
Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost Mother to Son by Langston Hughes Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe A Dream Within a Dream by Edgar Allan Poe
Not gonna post 'em, cause I believe in y'alls ability to use google. Annnd, The Raven would take up like two topic pages by itself. I love Annabel Lee, I can't beleive I haven't googled more of Edgar Allan Poe's poetry considered I love The Raven | |
| | | Courtney
Posts : 6 Join date : 2010-03-28
| Subject: Re: The Best Poems Tue Mar 30, 2010 7:10 pm | |
| I love Poe's poetry. POEtry. <--- Punny me. Oh well, I think they're so beautiful! I can't say I'm a huge fan of his short stories, however. | |
| | | Courtney
Posts : 6 Join date : 2010-03-28
| Subject: Re: The Best Poems Tue Mar 30, 2010 7:11 pm | |
| I also love Sylvia Plath and John Keats. Those two are high on my list right now and I've been reading a lot of them. | |
| | | bloodiestkisses Admin
Posts : 146 Join date : 2010-03-04 Age : 32 Location : Michigan
| Subject: Re: The Best Poems Tue Mar 30, 2010 7:33 pm | |
| - Courtney wrote:
- I love Poe's poetry. POEtry. <--- Punny me.
Oh well, I think they're so beautiful! I can't say I'm a huge fan of his short stories, however. POEtry and punny. You've already said the two most awesome things on this forum and you just arrived. | |
| | | WickedSmile
Posts : 57 Join date : 2010-03-18 Age : 37
| Subject: Re: The Best Poems Thu Apr 08, 2010 11:20 pm | |
| "Porphyria's Lover" by Robert Browning
THE rain set early in to-night, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its worst to vex the lake: I listen'd with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria; straight She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneel'd and made the cheerless grate Blaze up, and all the cottage warm; Which done, she rose, and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl, And laid her soil'd gloves by, untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall, And, last, she sat down by my side And call'd me. When no voice replied, She put my arm about her waist, And made her smooth white shoulder bare, And all her yellow hair displaced, And, stooping, made my cheek lie there, And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair, Murmuring how she loved me—she Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour, To set its struggling passion free From pride, and vainer ties dissever, And give herself to me for ever. But passion sometimes would prevail, Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain A sudden thought of one so pale For love of her, and all in vain: So, she was come through wind and rain. Be sure I look'd up at her eyes Happy and proud; at last I knew Porphyria worshipp'd me; surprise Made my heart swell, and still it grew While I debated what to do. That moment she was mine, mine, fair, Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do, and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around, And strangled her. No pain felt she; I am quite sure she felt no pain. As a shut bud that holds a bee, I warily oped her lids: again Laugh'd the blue eyes without a stain. And I untighten'd next the tress About her neck; her cheek once more Blush'd bright beneath my burning kiss: I propp'd her head up as before, Only, this time my shoulder bore Her head, which droops upon it still: The smiling rosy little head, So glad it has its utmost will, That all it scorn'd at once is fled, And I, its love, am gain'd instead! Porphyria's love: she guess'd not how Her darling one wish would be heard. And thus we sit together now, And all night long we have not stirr'd, And yet God has not said a word!
Yep that's right. He strangled her with her own hair. | |
| | | Courtney
Posts : 6 Join date : 2010-03-28
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