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Desiderata?

Very nice.

I think my favorite two are Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Coledrige, and the Wasteland by T.S. Elliot (Blake was pretty good as well).

Here is the opening of the Wasteland (which is kinda about WWI and the 20th century).



I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD



APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

Winter kept us warm, covering 5

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding

A little life with dried tubers.

Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee

With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,

And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, 10

And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.

Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,

My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,

And I was frightened. He said, Marie, 15

Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.

In the mountains, there you feel free.

I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.



What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow

Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, 20

You cannot say, or guess, for you know only

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,

And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,

And the dry stone no sound of water. Only

There is shadow under this red rock, 25

(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),

And I will show you something different from either

Your shadow at morning striding behind you

Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;

I will show you fear in a handful of dust. 30

Frisch weht der Wind

Der Heimat zu.

Mein Irisch Kind,

Wo weilest du?

'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; 35

'They called me the hyacinth girl.'

—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,

Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not

Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither

Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, 40

Looking into the heart of light, the silence.

Od' und leer das Meer.



It is a very long piece so I won't go into it all here, but its a wonderful work.

jesse b;505398 wrote: one point



had it read out at both brothers and dads sevices


I bet they liked that, Jesse. :-4

It's a beautiful poem and there is reason it's stood the test of time. It applies to everyone in any era of time, any age or gender or anything else.



Thanks for reminding me about it. This is a good time in my life to keep it around.

Pinky;506655 wrote: I've got a special edition version of 'The Rime of the Anicient Mariner' with astoundingly lovely illustrations in, though I only read it once in a blue moon, I'd never get rid of it.

Now going to search for a couple of my faves!


Water, water, every where,

Nor any drop to drink.

Remember that from school, brilliant

i like this,

WARNING TO A LOVER

Every time you try to change me,

We run the risk I might.

Two questions darkly cross my mind,

So let them cross yours too –

Could you really love another me,

And would he, you?

Pinky;506664 wrote: Ozymandias

By Percy Bysshe Shelley





I met a traveller from an antique land,

Who said--"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desart....Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings,

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.

THE DEATH OF AUTUMN

Edna St. Vincent Millay

When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,

And feathered pampas-grass rides into the wind

Like aged warriors westward, tragic, thinned

Of half their tribe, and over the flattened rushes,

Stripped of its secret, open, stark and bleak,

Blackens afar the half-forgotten creek,--

Then leans on me the weight of the year, and crushes

My heart. I know that Beauty must ail and die,

And will be born again,--but ah, to see

Beauty stiffened, staring up at the sky!

Oh, Autumn! Autumn!--What is the Spring to me?


Yes, Shelley was one of the best, as was Keats. Our own Irish lad W.B. Yeats, he wasn't so bad either.