What's your favourite poem?

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What's your favourite poem?

Postby Carrie » Sun Mar 23, 2008 7:38 pm

Mine is 'The Wasteland'

April is the cruellest month.....
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Re: What's your favourite poem?

Postby cushty » Sun Mar 23, 2008 7:46 pm

They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.

(Ernest Dowson)
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Re: What's your favourite poem?

Postby julygirl3210 » Sun Mar 23, 2008 7:51 pm

The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Tayler Coleridge

Too long to post up. It is an epic. But I love it.
"Out damned spot ................" - Macbeth
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Re: What's your favourite poem?

Postby Carrie » Sun Mar 23, 2008 7:51 pm

That's lovely Cushty:

I love this one too:

http://www.victorianweb.org/authors/cro ... arket.html
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Re: What's your favourite poem?

Postby Carrie » Sun Mar 23, 2008 7:55 pm

julygirl3210 wrote:The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Tayler Coleridge

Too long to post up. It is an epic. But I love it.


Coleridge is great; I love Kubla Khan: "Five miles meandering with a mazy motion...." great stuff.
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Re: What's your favourite poem?

Postby whatatangledweb » Sun Mar 23, 2008 7:56 pm

My fave is 'IF'
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRsJlAJvOSM
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=ZRvgK6M2_ ... re=related
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Re: What's your favourite poem?

Postby Carrie » Sun Mar 23, 2008 8:01 pm

whatatangledweb wrote:My fave is 'IF'


My mum loves that one! "If you can keep your head...whilst all around are losing theirs" (I think...not too familiar ...is it by Kipling?)
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Re: What's your favourite poem?

Postby whatatangledweb » Sun Mar 23, 2008 8:11 pm

yes it is :bounce: :bounce:
[IF]

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!


--Rudyard Kipling
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRsJlAJvOSM
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=ZRvgK6M2_ ... re=related
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Re: What's your favourite poem?

Postby PantsOfGanga » Sun Mar 23, 2008 9:39 pm

God, I'm such a common pleb. First not doing novels and now not really being moved by poetry. At school I used to always get top marks for writing my own, but the only poetry that has any emotional impact on me is the poetry that is song lyrics.
Thought for the day: Some people are like slinkies - not really good for anything, but they bring a smile to your face when you push them down the stairs.
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Re: What's your favourite poem?

Postby Scribbler » Sun Mar 23, 2008 11:34 pm

The Highwayman, by Alfred Noyes, is one of my favourites. Sorry it's so long. :lol:

The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle--
His rapier hilt a-twinkle--
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked--
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter--
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching--
Marching--marching--
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."

She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.

Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.

Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight--
Her musket shattered the moonlight--
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.

He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
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Re: What's your favourite poem?

Postby ejm » Sun Mar 23, 2008 11:39 pm

PantsOfGanga wrote:God, I'm such a common pleb. First not doing novels and now not really being moved by poetry. At school I used to always get top marks for writing my own, but the only poetry that has any emotional impact on me is the poetry that is song lyrics.


Same here, I couldn't name one poem :oops:
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Re: What's your favourite poem?

Postby Scribbler » Sun Mar 23, 2008 11:43 pm

I love poetry, big time. In fact, I could post so many I could bore the pants off you, Ganga!! :lol:
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Re: What's your favourite poem?

Postby Maeve » Mon Mar 24, 2008 12:56 am

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening -By Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
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Re: What's your favourite poem?

Postby pike1 » Mon Mar 24, 2008 6:50 am

Scribbler wrote:I love poetry, big time. In fact, I could post so many I could bore the pants off you, Ganga!! :lol:


scribbler
Snap! I particularly love the poems of T.S.Eliot ...didn`t always understand them just loved the language he used!
"Always tell the truth.That way you don`t have to remember what you said"[Mark Twain]

The 3 Arguidos Cookery Book : great recipes!

viewtopic.php?f=16&t=3620&p=355600#p355600
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Re: What's your favourite poem?

Postby scandi » Mon Mar 24, 2008 6:58 am

Here is my favorite poem:


Abou Ben Adhem

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An Angel writing in a book of gold:

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?" The Vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."

"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the Angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one who loves his fellow men."

The Angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And shoed the names whom love of God had blessed,
And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest!

Leigh Hunt (1784-1859)
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