Poem of the Day

[margo49]

Ah... our solitary friend of great insight and sensitivity!

[enzed]

Alfred Lord Tennyson - Break Break Break


Break, break, break
On thy cold grey stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.

O well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.


I studied this poetry in 5th Form English. It's a rather sad poem, I suppose it's a reflection of the poet's life (which was not always a happy one)
There's this quant cementry overlooking a valley near where I grew up. On one of the headstones, the third verse is quoted. [But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!]
It's quite sad yet romantic - A story of a lost love

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Another of my fav poets, whom I studied at school, is Wilfred Owen.
Whilst the poems have a sad overtone, they give a clear message - war is furtile

Anthem for Doomed Youth
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
-Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,-
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.


What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds

[KnottedYet]

I like that the last line takes on some of the metric qualities of the last measures of "Taps". ( **- feet rather than *- feet)

[enzed]

Here's one of my favourite romantic poets.


Elizabeth Barret Browning - Sonnets from the Portuguese

XLIII
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday`s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle - light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood`s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, - I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! - and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

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In high school I had the same english teacher for 3 years in a row.
She taught me to enjoy poetry and to appreciate Shakespeare (Over ten years later, I can still remember most of the words from "That Time of year" off by heart)

[margo49]

Nothing like knowing stuff by heart.
A few months ago I read this piece where this Christian Nun said we should learn a lot of stuff by heart because at the sticky end all you will have is your memory so there'd better be something in it.
Staves off Alzheimer's too in the meantime!

[KnottedYet]

excerpt from Morning Song of Senlin

It is morning, I awake from a bed of silence,
Shining I rise from the starless waters of sleep.
The walls are about me still as in the evening,
I am the same, and the same name still I keep.

The earth revolves with me, yet makes no motion,
The stars pale silently in a coral sky.
In a whistling void I stand before my mirror,
Unconcerned and tie my tie.

There are horses neighing on far-off hills
Tossing their long white manes,
And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk,
Their shoulders black with rains...
It is morning. I stand by the mirror
And surprise my soul once more;
The blue air rushes above my ceiling,
There are suns beneath my floor...

--Conrad Aiken