Not in Cruelty,
Not in Wrath,
The Reaper came today.
An angel visited
This grey path,
And took the cube away.
Not in Wrath,
The Reaper came today.
An angel visited
This grey path,
And took the cube away.
Poll: Do you know any poetry by heart?
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Twas Brillig and the slithy toves
did gyre and gimble in the wabe
All mimsy were the borogoves
and the mome raths outgrabe.
Beware the jabberwock my son
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch.
Beware the jub jub bird
and shun the frumious bandersnatch.
He took his vorpal sword in hand
long time the manxome foe he sought
and rested he by the tum tum tree
and stood a while in thought
and while in uffish thought he stood
The jabberwork, with eyes of flame
came whiffling through the tulgey wood
and burbled as it came.
One, two, one, two, and through and through
the vorpal blade went snicker snack
He left it dead and with its head
he went galumphing back.
"Oh, has thou slain the jabberwock?
Come to me my beamish boy
Oh frabjous day, calooh, callay"
He chortled in his joy.
Twas Brillig and the slithy toves
did gyre and gimble in the wabe
All mimsy were the borogoves
and the mome raths outgrabe.
So yeah, I do.
did gyre and gimble in the wabe
All mimsy were the borogoves
and the mome raths outgrabe.
Beware the jabberwock my son
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch.
Beware the jub jub bird
and shun the frumious bandersnatch.
He took his vorpal sword in hand
long time the manxome foe he sought
and rested he by the tum tum tree
and stood a while in thought
and while in uffish thought he stood
The jabberwork, with eyes of flame
came whiffling through the tulgey wood
and burbled as it came.
One, two, one, two, and through and through
the vorpal blade went snicker snack
He left it dead and with its head
he went galumphing back.
"Oh, has thou slain the jabberwock?
Come to me my beamish boy
Oh frabjous day, calooh, callay"
He chortled in his joy.
Twas Brillig and the slithy toves
did gyre and gimble in the wabe
All mimsy were the borogoves
and the mome raths outgrabe.
So yeah, I do.
I actually just had to memorize Ozymandias for a class project. I now love that poem! It is a great poem to learn.
In this life
Of error, ignorance, and strife;
Where nothing is, but all things seem,
And we the shadows of the dream;
It is a modest creed, and yet
Pleasant to consider it:
To own that death itself must be,
Like all the rest, a mockery.
That garden sweet, that lady fair,
And all sweet shapes and odors there
In truth have never passed away;
'Tis we! 'Tis ours! are changed, not they.
For love, and beauty, and delight,
There is no death or change.
Excerpt from "The Sensitive Plant" by Percy Shelley
Most beautiful lines ever written by mortal man, IMHO.
Of error, ignorance, and strife;
Where nothing is, but all things seem,
And we the shadows of the dream;
It is a modest creed, and yet
Pleasant to consider it:
To own that death itself must be,
Like all the rest, a mockery.
That garden sweet, that lady fair,
And all sweet shapes and odors there
In truth have never passed away;
'Tis we! 'Tis ours! are changed, not they.
For love, and beauty, and delight,
There is no death or change.
Excerpt from "The Sensitive Plant" by Percy Shelley
Most beautiful lines ever written by mortal man, IMHO.
The Rowing Song
There's no earthly way of knowing
Which direction we are going
There's no knowing where we're rowing
Or which way the river's flowing
Is it raining, is it snowing?
Is a hurricane a-blowing?
Not a speck of light is showing
So the danger must be growing
Are the fires of Hell a-glowing?
Is the grisly reaper mowing?
Yes, the danger must be growing
For the rowers keep on rowing
And they're certainly not showing
Any signs that they are slowing
There's no earthly way of knowing
Which direction we are going
There's no knowing where we're rowing
Or which way the river's flowing
Is it raining, is it snowing?
Is a hurricane a-blowing?
Not a speck of light is showing
So the danger must be growing
Are the fires of Hell a-glowing?
Is the grisly reaper mowing?
Yes, the danger must be growing
For the rowers keep on rowing
And they're certainly not showing
Any signs that they are slowing
I haven't memorized poetry since high school--though I did it for myself, not for school...and that has been over 20 years ago.
I still have Shakespeare's Sonnet 29 memorized.
Also the first two stanza's of Coleridge's "Kubla Kahn."
I still read poetry...I should probably get back to memorizing some of it!
I still have Shakespeare's Sonnet 29 memorized.
Also the first two stanza's of Coleridge's "Kubla Kahn."
I still read poetry...I should probably get back to memorizing some of it!
Gaily bedight, a gallant knight
in sunshine and in shadow;
has journeyed long, singing a song
in search of El Dorado.
But he grew old, this knight so bold
and o'er his heart a shadow
fell as he found no spot of ground
that looked like El Dorado.
And as his strength, failed him at length
he met a pilgrim shadow
"Shadow," said he, "Where can it be?
This land of El Dorado?"
"Over the mountains of the moon,
and down the valley of shadow;
Ride, boldly ride," the shade replied,
"If you seek for El Dorado."
in sunshine and in shadow;
has journeyed long, singing a song
in search of El Dorado.
But he grew old, this knight so bold
and o'er his heart a shadow
fell as he found no spot of ground
that looked like El Dorado.
And as his strength, failed him at length
he met a pilgrim shadow
"Shadow," said he, "Where can it be?
This land of El Dorado?"
"Over the mountains of the moon,
and down the valley of shadow;
Ride, boldly ride," the shade replied,
"If you seek for El Dorado."
Always remember learning W.H Auden's "Funeral Blues" from Four Weddings and a Funeral.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
This is Just a Note to Say
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
I love W.C.W.
I also remember most of The Village Blacksmith by Longfellow, and Casabianca AKA The boy stood on the burning deck, by I Forget Who, and all of If by Kipling which I learned by rote at school. I still like If despite this.
I can also get about halfway through The Hollow Men and The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock before faltering.
When someone says poetry my mind goes to Eliot, always Eliot.
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
I love W.C.W.
I also remember most of The Village Blacksmith by Longfellow, and Casabianca AKA The boy stood on the burning deck, by I Forget Who, and all of If by Kipling which I learned by rote at school. I still like If despite this.
I can also get about halfway through The Hollow Men and The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock before faltering.
When someone says poetry my mind goes to Eliot, always Eliot.
I know a bunch of poetry from my time in choirs.
Jabberwocky,
O! To Make a Jubilant Song,
Because I could not stop for death,
Agua Nocturna,
And of course, a bunch of Robert Burns.
Jabberwocky,
O! To Make a Jubilant Song,
Because I could not stop for death,
Agua Nocturna,
And of course, a bunch of Robert Burns.
Back in school I could recite Duffy on demand. Now, less so.
I find that the only poem I really know a lot of is the remembrance poem now.
EDIT: I remember a lot of limericks, as well as this:
One fine day in the middle of the night,
Two dead men got up to fight.
Back to back, they faced each other,
Then drew their swords and shot each other.
I find that the only poem I really know a lot of is the remembrance poem now.
EDIT: I remember a lot of limericks, as well as this:
One fine day in the middle of the night,
Two dead men got up to fight.
Back to back, they faced each other,
Then drew their swords and shot each other.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!"Zenron said:
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Ninja'd me, this is the only poem I know by heart
One of my favorites. Even though, I thought it was spelled "Tyger" in the actual version of the poem, and it's just called "The Tyger". Could be wrong though.Fingerprint said:
I lied these are two more I know
You can have your army Khakis,
And your navy blues,
Here's a different sort of fighting man,
I'll introduce to you.
His uniform is unlike
Any you've ever seen;
And the Germans called him Devil Dog,
But his real name is Marine!
He was born on Parris Island
The land that God forgot.
The sand was 14 inches deep,
the sun was blazing hot.
He'd get up every morning,
Way before the sun,
And he'd run a hundred miles or more,
Before the day was done.
He fought in the cold of Korea,
In the heat of Viet Nam.
When ever our country goes to war,
The Marines are first to land.
We'll fight them on the ground,
We'll fight them in the sky,
When the Army and Navy are heading home,
The Marines are standing by.
And when he gets to heaven,
To St. Peter he will tell,
"Another Marine reporting, Sir,
I've served my time in Hell!
And your navy blues,
Here's a different sort of fighting man,
I'll introduce to you.
His uniform is unlike
Any you've ever seen;
And the Germans called him Devil Dog,
But his real name is Marine!
He was born on Parris Island
The land that God forgot.
The sand was 14 inches deep,
the sun was blazing hot.
He'd get up every morning,
Way before the sun,
And he'd run a hundred miles or more,
Before the day was done.
He fought in the cold of Korea,
In the heat of Viet Nam.
When ever our country goes to war,
The Marines are first to land.
We'll fight them on the ground,
We'll fight them in the sky,
When the Army and Navy are heading home,
The Marines are standing by.
And when he gets to heaven,
To St. Peter he will tell,
"Another Marine reporting, Sir,
I've served my time in Hell!
ell how do you do, Private William MacBride
do you mind if I sit here by your graveside?
And I'll rest for a while in the warm summer sun,
I've been walking all day and I'm nearly done.
I see by your gravestone that you were only 19
when you joined the dead heroes in 1915.
Well I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean
or Willie MacBride was it slow and obscene?
Well the sun's shining now on these green fields of France,
a warm wind blows gently and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished under the plow
no gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard that is still No Man's land
the countless white crosses in mute witness stand.
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man
to a whole generation that was butchered and damned.
And I can't help but wonder now Willie MacBride
do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you the cause?
Did you really believe them that this war would end wars?
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame -
the killing and dying - it was all done in vain.
Oh Willie MacBride, it's all happened again
and again, and again, and again, and again.
And did you leave wife or a sweetheart behind,
in some faithful heart are you forever enshrined?
And though you died back in 1915
to some faithful heart are you forever 19?
do you mind if I sit here by your graveside?
And I'll rest for a while in the warm summer sun,
I've been walking all day and I'm nearly done.
I see by your gravestone that you were only 19
when you joined the dead heroes in 1915.
Well I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean
or Willie MacBride was it slow and obscene?
Well the sun's shining now on these green fields of France,
a warm wind blows gently and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished under the plow
no gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard that is still No Man's land
the countless white crosses in mute witness stand.
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man
to a whole generation that was butchered and damned.
And I can't help but wonder now Willie MacBride
do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you the cause?
Did you really believe them that this war would end wars?
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame -
the killing and dying - it was all done in vain.
Oh Willie MacBride, it's all happened again
and again, and again, and again, and again.
And did you leave wife or a sweetheart behind,
in some faithful heart are you forever enshrined?
And though you died back in 1915
to some faithful heart are you forever 19?
Explorers are we, intrepid and bold,
Out in the wild, amongst wonders untold.
Equipped with our wits, a map, and a snack,
We're searching for fun and we're on the right track!
-Bill Watterson
Man is a genius
Out in the wild, amongst wonders untold.
Equipped with our wits, a map, and a snack,
We're searching for fun and we're on the right track!
-Bill Watterson
Man is a genius
