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rogue_eclipse
15-10-03, 11:38
Right now it is extremely early and I'm trying to do my English assignment. I'm having trouble finding a good relatively short poem. ANY suggestions for classical poems would be great. Please help me :(

Rogue http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/privateeye.gif

neil4768
15-10-03, 11:46
If
by Rudyard Kipling

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 on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe 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!

andromeda_eats
15-10-03, 11:56
hey rogue darl
my favourite famous short poem:
elizabeth barrett browning "how do i love thee?"

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 every day'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.

[ 15. October 2003, 12:58: Message edited by: andromeda_eats ]

stephaniedp
15-10-03, 16:26
Coleridge's The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner followed by Shelley's Ode to the West Wing. Oh wooooooooooooooooooooooooooow!

Webhed
15-10-03, 17:03
If
by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs,
You'll be the tallest one in the crowd!

tazmine
15-10-03, 23:09
This is probably too late for your English assignment, but one of my favourites: "A Coney Island of the Mind" by Lawrence Ferlinghetti...poems from Picture of the Gone World (1955)...#11...

The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind happiness
not always being
so very much fun
if you don't mind a touch of hell
now and then
just when everything is fine
because even in heaven
they don't sing
all the time

The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind some people dying
all the time
or maybe only starving
some of the time
which isn't half so bad
if it isn't you

Oh the world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don't mind
a few dead minds
in the higher places
or a bomb or two
in your upturned faces
or such other improprieties
as our Name Brand society
is prey to
with its men of distinction
and its men of extinction
and its priests
and othe patrolmen
and its various segregations
and congressional investigations
and other constipations
that our fool flesh
is heir to

Yes the world is the best place of all
for a lot of such things as
making the fun scene
and making the love scene
and making the sad scene
and singing low songs and having inspirations
and walking around
looking at everything
and smelling flowers
and goosing statues
and even thinkng
and kissing people and
making babies and wearing pants
and waving hats and
dancing
and going swimming in rivers
on picnics
in the middle of the summer
and just generally
'living it up'

Yes
but then right in the middle of it
comes the smiling

mortician

It doesn't appear the world has changed a lot since he wrote this, does it? :D

Isabella
15-10-03, 23:47
The Lady of Shalott


by Alfred Tennyson

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run 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
The 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."

DragonDan
15-10-03, 23:57
"There once was a man from Nantuckett..."

tazmine
16-10-03, 00:29
Originally posted by DragonDan:
"There once was a man from Nantuckett..."...who had a good hold of a bucket... :D

rogue_eclipse
16-10-03, 00:41
Those are such beautiful poems. I really liked the one by Rudyard Kipling and the Lady of Shalot is a beautiful poem also. I have the picture by Waterhouse by the same name I believe. She's in a boat in that one. I wish I could post it.

Andromeda: Your poem is well known, I'm afraid someone else in my class has already chosen it. It'S a classic love poem isn't it http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/love4.gif .

Tazmine: thanks for that poem, wow it must have taken you a lot of work to type it :eek: I like it- so true

Isabella: That is such a sad poem. Almost tragic. It moved me.

Rogue http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/mischievous.gif

Judie
16-10-03, 00:46
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And, when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

~ William Blake ~
1757 - 1827

tazmine
16-10-03, 00:49
Good one, Cersei. http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/smile.gif

Judie
16-10-03, 00:52
Hi tazmine http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/wave.gif

I'm moved by that poem. Can't put it any plainer than that http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/smile.gif

Vigilance
16-10-03, 04:27
Here are some that I like, but probably too late for your assignment. Cheers!

Modernist Poetry:

"In a Station of the Metro" Ezra Pound From "Poems of Lustra", 1913

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, "Only until this cigarette is ended"

Only until this cigarette is ended,
A little moment at the end of all,
While on the floor the quiet ashes fall,
And in the firelight to a lance extended,
Bizarrely with the jazzing music blended,
The broken shadow dances on the wall,
I will permit my memory to recall
The vision of you, by all my dreams attended.
And then adieu,--farewell!--the dream is done.
Yours is a face of which I can forget
The colour and the features, every one,
The words not ever, and the smiles not yet;
But in your day this moment is the sun
Upon a hill, after the sun has set.

Romanticist Poetry: (not my forte, but maybe more traditional)
George Gordon, Lord Byron
CLXXIII.*"She walks in beauty, like the night"

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek and o'er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.
*
And here are two poems that should be read in tandem with each other, as these two poets wrote them for each other!

Elizabeth Bishop's "The Armadillo" (http://unix.cc.wmich.edu/~cooneys/poems/bishop.armadillo.html)

Robert Lowell's "Skunk Hour" (http://www.poets.org/poems/poems.cfm?prmID=1050)

Cersei, I love William Blake. I find his longer work extremely challenging and his shorter work some of the most brilliant I've ever read.

I also like Phillip Larken (often), T.S. Eliot (always), and Seamus Heaney (lately), and many many more. :D

andromeda_eats
16-10-03, 08:55
Originally posted by rogue_eclipse:

Andromeda: Your poem is well known, I'm afraid someone else in my class has already chosen it. It'S a classic love poem isn't it http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/love4.gif http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/love1.gif http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/love4.gif

jitte
16-10-03, 09:07
fear of ghosts

like a feeling that i'm down
deep inside my heart
like i'm looking out through
splitting blood red
windows in my heart
from a higher up than heaven
and a harder down than stone
shake the fear that always clawing
pulls me clawing down alone
as i spitting splitting blood red
breaking windows in my heart
and the past is taunting
fear of ghosts
is forcing me apart
and the further i get
from the things that i care about
the less i care about
how much further away i get

i am lost again
with everything gone
and more alone
than i have ever been
i expect you to understand
to feel it too
but i know that even if you will
you cannot ever help me
nor can i
ever help you

i can't remember the authors name.
it was made into a song by The Cure.

[ 16. October 2003, 10:24: Message edited by: jitte ]

John Falstaff
16-10-03, 20:09
Hi Everbody,

http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/wave.gif

Favourite Poems? It took me some time to decide but here are my offerings for what they're worth.

John Keats

'On first looking into Chapman's Homer'

Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet never did I breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then I felt like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific-and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise-
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

William Shakespeare,

From 12th Night

DUKE 'And what's her history,'

VIOLA 'A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud,
Feed upon her damask cheek, She pin'd in thought;
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was this not love indeed?
We men may say more, swear more, but indeed
Our shows are more than will; for still we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.'

and - even though I'm not religious:

Friedrich Schiller

'Ode to Joy'

"Oh friends, not these tones!
Let us raise our voices in more
pleasing and more joyful sounds!

Joy, fair spark of the gods,
Daughter of Elysium,
Drunk with fiery rapture, Goddess,
We approach thy shrine!

Thy magic reunites those
Whom stern custom has parted;
All men will become brothers
Under thy gentle wing.

May he who has the fortune
To gain a true friend
And he who has won a noble wife
Join in our jubilation!

Yes, even if he calls but one soul
His own in all the world
But he who has failed in this
Must steal away alone in tears.

All the world's creatures
Draw joy from nature's breast;
Both the good and the evil
Follow her rose-strewn path.

She gave us kisses and wine
and a friend loyal unto death;
She gave lust for life to the lowliest,
And the cherub stands before God.

Joyously, as his suns speed
Through Heaven's glorious order,
Hasten, Brothers, on your way,
Exulting as a knight in victory.

Joy, fair spark of the gods,
Daughter of Elysium,
Drunk with fiery rapture, Goddess,
We approach thy shrine!

Thy magic reunites those
Whom stern custom has parted;
All men will become brothers
Under thy gentle wing.

Be embraced, Millions!
Take this kiss for all the world!
Brothers, surely a loving Father
Dwells above the canopy of stars.

Do you sink before him, Millions?
World, do you sense your Creator?
Seek him then beyond the stars!
He must dwell beyond the stars!"

I think that last one might sound well to music!

;)

conorcroft2001
16-10-03, 20:22
Carol Anne Duffy - Before You Were Mine

I'm ten years away from the corner you laugh on
with your pals, Maggie McGeeney and Jean Duff.
The three of you bend from the waist, holding
each other, or your knees, and shriek at the pavement.
Your polka-dot dress blows round your legs. Marilyn.
I'm not here yet. The thought of me doesn't occur
in the ballrooms with the thousand eyes, the fizzy, movie tomorrows
the right walk home could bring. I knew you would dance
like that. Before you were mine, your Ma stands at the close
with a hiding for the late one. You reckon it's worth it.

The decade ahead of my loud, possessive yell was the best one, eh?
I remember my hands in those high-heeled red shoes, relics,
and now your ghost clatters towards me over George Square
Till I see you, clear as scent, under the tree,
with its lights, and whose small bites on your neck, sweetheart?

Cha cha cha! You'd teach me the steps on the way home from Mass,
stamping stars from the wrong pavement. Even then
I wanted the bold girl winking in Portobello, somewhere
in Scotland, before I was born. That glamorous love lasts
where you sparkle and waltz and laugh before you were mine.

I love this poem, did it for GCSE English Language! I got a C in English because of it in my opinion!

Conor

rogue_eclipse
16-10-03, 23:12
William Blake is one of my favorites. I especially like the first stanza of that poem that starts with a 'a'.

To see the world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower
Hold infinty in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour

I just love that- it's seems so simple yet says so much

Rogue http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/smile.gif

John Falstaff
16-10-03, 23:20
Hi rogue,

http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/wave.gif

I seem to have heard that bit of William Blake before. I wonder where?

http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/privateeye.gif http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/whistle.gif

Isabella
17-10-03, 00:12
Originally posted by Cersei:
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And, when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

~ William Blake ~
1757 - 1827Cersei this is a great poem! I forgot about it.

http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/wave.gif

Also any poems by Pablo Neruda are spectacular!

Judie
17-10-03, 01:24
Thanks for the recommendation Isabella http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/wave.gif

rogue_eclipse
17-10-03, 02:36
hahaha I think you know where John Falstaff ;)

Rogue http://www.tombraiderforums.com/images/smilies/mischievous.gif

ps if you read the whole poem (it's really long - it deals with something entirely different. At least in my opinion)

Vigilance
17-10-03, 03:22
Originally posted by Conor McLaughlin:
Carol Anne Duffy - Before You Were Mine

I love this poem, did it for GCSE English Language! I got a C in English because of it in my opinion!

ConorI like her volume "The world's Wife" !

max_payne_99
17-10-03, 03:28
The Raven
By Edgar Allen Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore-
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door
" 'T is some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;-vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow-sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.
Then the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
" 'T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"-here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there and nothing more."
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'T is the wind and nothing more!"
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said,"art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what they lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled the ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning-little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the culptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered-not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden more
Of 'Never-nevermore.'"
But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloating o'er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee-by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite-respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!-
By that Heaven that bends above us-by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant
Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

[ 17. October 2003, 04:29: Message edited by: Deano ]

Vigilance
17-10-03, 03:32
Originally posted by jitte:
fear of ghosts

like a feeling that i'm down
deep inside my heart
like i'm looking out through
splitting blood red
windows in my heart
from a higher up than heaven
and a harder down than stone
shake the fear that always clawing
pulls me clawing down alone
as i spitting splitting blood red
breaking windows in my heart
and the past is taunting
fear of ghosts
is forcing me apart
and the further i get
from the things that i care about
the less i care about
how much further away i get

i am lost again
with everything gone
and more alone
than i have ever been
i expect you to understand
to feel it too
but i know that even if you will
you cannot ever help me
nor can i
ever help you

i can't remember the authors name.
it was made into a song by The Cure.I thought Robert credited himself! You simply must track down the source, pretty-please?

jitte
17-10-03, 05:38
I've had the fear of ghosts poem on disk for some time, and have had the lines "The further I get from the things I care about, the less I care about how much further away I get" posted on several different occasions in different contexts on my sites.

In fact it's used now on the izezi page of this one:

http://mind-files.com/

But the authors name became seperated from the poem over time. A google search of "fear of ghosts" before I posted didn't give me the authors name, adding Robert to the search turns up Robert Smith.

[ 17. October 2003, 06:48: Message edited by: jitte ]

jitte
17-10-03, 05:45
somehow i got a doublepost out of that.

[ 17. October 2003, 06:47: Message edited by: jitte ]