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POST YOUR FAVOURITE POEMS HERE...

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alfred lord tennyson...

Post by cyberjack on Mon May 04, 2009 5:18 pm

The Death of the Old Year


      Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,
      And the winter winds are wearily sighing;
      Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow,
      And tread softly and speak low,
      For the old year lies a-dying.
      Old year, you must not die;
      You came to us so readily,
      You lived with us so steadily,
      Old year, you shall not die.

      He lieth still, he doth not move;
      He will not see the dawn of day.
      He hath no other life above.
      He gave me a friend, and a true true-love,
      And the New-year will take ’em away.
      Old year, you must not go;
      So long as you have been with us,
      Such joy as you have seen with us,
      Old year, you shall not go.

      He froth’d his bumpers to the brim;
      A jollier year we shall not see.
      But tho’ his eyes are waxing dim,
      And tho’ his foes speak ill of him,
      He was a friend to me.
      Old year, you shall not die;
      We did so laugh and cry with you,
      I’ve half a mind to die with you,
      Old year, if you must die.

      He was full of joke and jest,
      But all his merry quips are o’er.
      To see him die, across the waste
      His son and heir doth ride post-haste,
      But he’ll be dead before.
      Every one for his own.
      The night is starry and cold, my friend,
      And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend,
      Comes up to take his own.

      How hard he breathes! over the snow
      I heard just now the crowing cock.
      The shadows flicker to and fro;
      The cricket chirps; the light burns low;
      ’Tis nearly twelve o’clock.
      Shake hands, before you die.
      Old year, we’ll dearly rue for you.
      What is it we can do for you?
      Speak out before you die.

      His face is growing sharp and thin.
      Alack! our friend is gone.
      Close up his eyes; tie up his chin;
      Step from the corpse, and let him in
      That standeth there alone,
      And waiteth at the door.
      There’s a new foot on the floor, my friend,
      And a new face at the door, my friend,
      A new face at the door.


_________________
There's a problem in the cockpit.
--The cockpit, what is it?
-It's the little room in the front of the plane where the pilots sit, but that's not important right now.
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cyberjack
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WHO I AM IS NOT IMPORTANT .. IT'S THE POETRY THAT MATTERS..

Post by cyberjack on Mon May 04, 2009 5:07 pm

The Lady of Shalott

      ..BY ALFRED LORD TENNYSON



          PART I.


      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
      Thro’ the wave that runs for ever
      By the island in the river
      Flowing down to Camelot.
      Four gray walls, and four gray 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.’



          PART II.


      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 thro’ 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 thro’ 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 thro’ 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.



          PART III.


      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 armour 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, trailing light,
      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 flash’d into the crystal mirror,
      ‘Tirra lirra,’ by the river
      Sang Sir Lancelot.
      She left the web, she left the loom,
      She made three paces thro’ 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.



          PART IV.


      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 round about the prow she wrote
      The Lady of Shalott.
      And down the river’s dim expanse
      Like some bold seër 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 darken’d 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 round 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 cross’d 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.’



_________________
There's a problem in the cockpit.
--The cockpit, what is it?
-It's the little room in the front of the plane where the pilots sit, but that's not important right now.
avatar
cyberjack
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JOHN KEATS...

Post by cyberjack on Thu Apr 30, 2009 5:33 pm

La Belle Dame Sans Merci (Keats)
( the beautiful lady without pity/mercy )

I.

O What can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

II.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.

III.

I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

IV.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful--a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

V.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look'd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

VI.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery's song.

VII.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said--
"I love thee true."

VIII.

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sigh'd fill sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.

IX.

And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream'd--Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill's side.

X.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried--"La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!"

XI.

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.

XII.

And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.



Last edited by cyberjack on Mon May 04, 2009 5:08 pm; edited 1 time in total

_________________
There's a problem in the cockpit.
--The cockpit, what is it?
-It's the little room in the front of the plane where the pilots sit, but that's not important right now.
avatar
cyberjack
Admin

Posts : 135
Join date : 2009-03-02
Age : 50
Location : WEST WINDS ESTATE

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W.B.YEATS...

Post by cyberjack on Thu Apr 30, 2009 5:25 pm

THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS
by: W.B. Yeats



      WENT out to the hazel wood,
      Because a fire was in my head,
      And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
      And hooked a berry to a thread;

      And when white moths were on the wing,
      And moth-like stars were flickering out,
      I dropped the berry in a stream
      And caught a little silver trout.

      When I had laid it on the floor
      I went to blow the fire a-flame,
      But something rustled on the floor,
      And some one called me by my name:
      It had become a glimmering girl
      With apple blossom in her hair
      Who called me by my name and ran
      And faded through the brightening air.

      Though I am old with wandering
      Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
      I will find out where she has gone,
      And kiss her lips and take her hands;
      And walk among long dappled grass,
      And pluck till time and times are done
      The silver apples of the moon,
      The golden apples of the sun.


_________________
There's a problem in the cockpit.
--The cockpit, what is it?
-It's the little room in the front of the plane where the pilots sit, but that's not important right now.
avatar
cyberjack
Admin

Posts : 135
Join date : 2009-03-02
Age : 50
Location : WEST WINDS ESTATE

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POST YOUR FAVOURITE POEMS HERE...

Post by cyberjack on Thu Apr 30, 2009 5:17 pm

ELDORADO (EDGAR ALLEN POE)


Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.

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 Eldorado.

And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow-
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be-
This land of Eldorado?"

"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied-
"If you seek for Eldorado!"



_________________
There's a problem in the cockpit.
--The cockpit, what is it?
-It's the little room in the front of the plane where the pilots sit, but that's not important right now.
avatar
cyberjack
Admin

Posts : 135
Join date : 2009-03-02
Age : 50
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