FAVOURITE POEMS

Guest

Come live with me and be my love
Christopher Marlowe

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of th purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.

The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.
The Passionate Shepherd to His Love
Christopher Marlowe

Guest

That is one of my favourite poems, Bella.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Kubla Khan

OR, A VISION IN A DREAM.
A FRAGMENT.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced :
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail :
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war !

The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves ;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw :
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,

That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Guest

This poem goes on forever so this is just a small piece.

Henry Wadsworth longfellow -

HIAWATHA

By the shores of Gitche Gumee
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis,
Dark behind it rose the forest,
Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,
Rose the firs with cones upon them;
Bright before it beat the water,
Beat the clear and sunny water,
Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.
Then the little Hiawatha
Learned of every bird its language,
Learned their names and all their secrets,
How they built their nests in Summer,
Where they hid themselves in Winter,
Talked with them whene'er he met them,
Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens."
And behold! the young Mondamin,
With his soft and shining tresses,
With his garments green and yellow,
With his long and glossy plumage...
Suddenly upon the greensward
All alone stood Hiawatha,
Panting with his wild exertion,
Palpitating with the struggle;
And before him breathless, lifeless,
Lay the youth, with hair dishevelled
Plumage torn, and garments tattered,
Dead he lay there in the sunset.
"Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree!
Of your yellow bark, O Birch-tree!
Growing by the rushing river,
Tall and stately in the valley!
I a light canoe will build me,
Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing,
That shall float upon the river,
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,
Like a yellow water-lily!"
"In the land of the Dacotahs
Lives the Arrow-maker's daughter
Minnehaha, Laughing Water,
Handsomest of all the women.
I will bring her to your wigwam,
She shall run upon your errands,
Be your starlight, moonlight, firelight,
Be the sunlight of my people!"
Westward, westward Hiawatha
Sailed into the fiery sunset,
Sailed into the purple vapors,
And the people from the margin
Watched him floating, rising, sinking
Till the birch canoe seemed lifted
High into that sea of splendor,
Till it sank into the vapors
Like the new moon slowly, slowly
Sinking in the purple distance.
And they said, "Farewell forever!"
Said, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"
And the forest, dark and lonely,
Moved through all their depth of darkness,
Sighed, "Farewell, O Hiawatha!"

Guest

there once was a man from nantucket whose ...................................................... Rolling Eyes

Guest

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Guest

No more shall walls, no more shall walls confine
That glorious soul which in my flesh doth shine:
No more shall walls of clay or mud
Nor ceilings made of wood,
Nor crystal windows, bound my sight,
But rather shall admit delight.
The skies that seem to bound
My joys and treasures,
Of more endearing pleasures
Themselves become a ground:
While from the centre to the utmost sphere
My goods are multiplied everywhere.

The Deity, the Deity to me
Doth all things give, and make me clearly see
The moon and stars, the air and sun
Into my chamber come:
The seas and rivers hither flow,
Yea, here the trees of Eden grow,
The fowls and fishes stand,
Kings and their thrones,
As 'twere, at my command;
God's wealth, His holy ones,
The ages too, and angels all conspire:
While I, that I the centre am, admire.

No more, no more shall clouds eclipse my treasures,
Nor viler shades obscure my highest pleasures;
No more shall earthen husks confine
My blessings which do shine
Within the skies, or else above:
Both worlds one Heaven made by love,
In common happy I
With angels walk
And there my joys espy;
With God Himself I talk;
Wondering with ravishment all things to see
Such real joys, so truly mine, to be.

No more shall trunks and dishes be my store,
Nor ropes of pearl, nor chains of golden ore;
As if such beings yet were not,
They all shall be forgot.
No such in Eden did appear,
No such in Heaven: Heaven here
Would be, were those remov'd;
The sons of men
Live in Jerusalem,
Had they not baubles lov'd.
These clouds dispers'd, the heavens clear I see,
Wealth new invented, mine shall never be.

Transcendent objects doth my God provide,
In such convenient order all contriv'd,
That all things in their proper place
My soul doth best embrace,
Extends its arms beyond the seas,
Above the heavens itself can please,
With God enthron'd may reign:
Like sprightly streams
My thoughts on things remain;
Or else like vital beams
They reach to, shine on, quicken things, and make
Them truly useful; while I all partake.

For me the world created was by Love;
For me the skies, the seas, the sun, do move;
The earth for me doth stable stand;
For me each fruitful land,
For me the very angels God made His
And my companions in bliss:
His laws command all men
That they love me,
Under a penalty
Severe, in case they miss:
His laws require His creatures all to praise
His name, and when they do't be most my joys.

Guest

That's a lovely poem, Star. What is the name of it?

Guest

I couldn't tell you the name of it ...But its by Thomas Traherne

And this next one is too Very Happy

Guest

stargazer1 wrote:: I couldn't tell you the name of it ...But its by Thomas Traherne

And this next one is too

Strange, Star, I'd never heard of him. You've taught me something today.

Guest

O nectar! O delicious stream!
O ravishing and only pleasure! Where
Shall such another theme
Inspire my tongue with joys, or please mine ear!
Abridgement of delights!
And queen of sights!
O mine of rarities! O kingdom wide!
O more! O cause of all! O glorious bride!
O God! O bride of God! O king!
O soul and crown of everything!
Did not I covet to behold
Some endless monarch, that did always live
In palaces of gold,
Willing all kingdoms, realms and crowns to give
Unto my soul! Whose love
A spring might prove
Of endless glories, honours, friendships, pleasures,
Joys, praises, beauties, and celestial treasures!
Lo, now I see there's such a King,
The fountainhead of everything!
Did my ambition ever dream
Of such a Lord, of such a love! Did I
Expect so sweet a stream
As this at any time! Could any eye
Believe it? Why, all power
Is used here
Joys down from Heaven on my head to shower,
And Jove beyond the fiction doth appear
Once more in golden rain to come
To Danae's pleasing fruitful womb.
His Ganymede! His life! His joy!
Or He comes down to me, or takes me up
That I might be his boy,
And fill, and taste, and give, and drink the cup.
But these (tho great) are all
Too short and small,
Too weak and feeble pictures to express
The true mysterious depths of blessedness.
I am His image, and His friend.
His son, bride, glory, temple, end.

Guest

Once again, Star, a great poem. Very indulgent, and as I like those the best, this is one of the best!

Guest

Unscathed by love, we slept before we met.
A frozen Christmas, chill and Orthodox,
A quick-caught closeness never bettered yet:
She still recalls the colour of my socks.
The dark ignited snow-fires on that train,
My coldest, warmest love and paradox
Retaining cold and heat and peace and pain:
She still recalls the colour of my socks.
The night was icy, blank and blanketed
By snow. We huddled close against the ox-
y-acetylene cutting cold. She said
She still recalls the colour of my socks.
Congealed closeness with the snow-sparks flaring
Warms as my icebox memory unlocks.
I can't recall: what were we wearing?
She still recalls the colour of my socks.
In scathing sleep, no love unthawed our meeting,
No night is equal to that equinox
Rapt by that Christmas giftwrapped greeting:
She still recalls the colour of my socks.

Guest

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient sleepless eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors;
No yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever or else swoon to death. Very Happy

Guest

How can I always lend a hand
But ignore the cries within myself
It brings me joy to bring you a smile
But my emptiness still sits up on the shelf

Inside my heart will always bleed
But I will never let it be shown on my face
Only the tear that falls down my cheek
Will give you a glimpse, a shadow, a trace

I suffocate when I try to breathe
The chains you gave won't let my body go
I have dreams, and needs, and wants
My body is numb, I think maybe you should know

I struggle with my demons each day
You feed them while you slowly watch me die
Please let me be and please set me free
I want to smile as I look up at the sky

I want the moon to brighten the night
I want the clouds to pass me on by
I want the stars to guide me to heaven
And I want wings to life me and fly

Guest

My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd;

For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

Guest

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its lovliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkn'd ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.

John Keats

Guest

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.

Guest

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering;
The sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.

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

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.

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

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.

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

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gaz'd and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes--
So kiss'd to sleep.

And there we slumber'd on the moss,
And there I dream'd, ah woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cry'd--"La belle Dame sans merci
Hath thee in thrall!"

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

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

Guest

My love, I have tried with all my being
to grasp a form comparable to thine own,
but nothing seems worthy;

I know now why Shakespeare could not
compare his love to a summer’s day.

It would be a crime to denounce the beauty
of such a creature as thee,
to simply cast away the precision
God had placed in forging you.

Each facet of your being
whether it physical or spiritual
is an ensnarement
from which there is no release.
But I do not wish release.
I wish to stay entrapped forever.
With you for all eternity.
Our hearts, always as one.

Guest

Keats is one of my favourite poets as well, Star. He has a consummate style of ease, charged with such vision of the soul.

Guest

THE FLEA.
by John Donne

MARK but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is ;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead ;
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two ;
And this, alas ! is more than we would do.

O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,
And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
'Tis true ; then learn how false fears be ;
Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.

Guest

I love Keats as well Shine ....The one about the Flea i like

Guest

If I could have just one wish,
I would wish to wake up everyday
to the sound of your breath on my neck,
the warmth of your lips on my cheek,
the touch of your fingers on my skin,
and the feel of your heart beating with mine...
Knowing that I could never find that feeling
with anyone other than you.

One of my favourites ..... Very Happy

Guest

stargazer1 wrote:: If I could have just one wish,
I would wish to wake up everyday
to the sound of your breath on my neck,
the warmth of your lips on my cheek,
the touch of your fingers on my skin,
and the feel of your heart beating with mine...
Knowing that I could never find that feeling
with anyone other than you.

One of my favourites .....

And a very nice one too, Star.

Guest

A winter poem

Now Winter Nights Enlarge

by Thomas Campion (1617)

[ Now winter nights enlarge The number of their hours, And clouds their storms discharge Upon the airy towers. Let now the chimneys blaze, And cups o’erflow with wine; Let well-tuned words amaze With harmony divine. Now yellow waxen lights Shall wait on honey love, While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights Sleep’s leaden spells remove. This time doth well dispense With lovers’ long discourse; Much speech hath some defence, Though beauty no remorse. All do not all things well; Some measures comely tread, Some knotted riddles tell, Some poems smoothly read. The summer hath his joys And winter his delights; Though love and all his pleasures are but toys, They shorten tedious nights.

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