Photo
* * * * * 4 votes

Poems, Videos, Lyrics, Letting A Positive Vibe-->Or Making Reflect--> Or Smile


Best Answer paoladegliesposti , 22 July 2015 - 02:10 PM

Song of Songs

 

Sing me at morn but only with your laugh;
Even as Spring that laugheth into leaf;
Even as Love that laugheth after Life.


Sing me but only with your speech all day,
As voluble leaflets do; let viols die;
The least word of your lips is melody!


Sing me at eve but only your sigh!
Like lifting seas it solaceth; breathe so,
Slowly and low, the sense that no songs say.


Sing me at midnight with your murmurous heart!
Let youth's immortal-moaning chord be heard
Throbbing through you, and sobbing, unsubdued.

 

Wilfred Owen

 

:(

Go to the full post


  • Please log in to reply
1172 replies to this topic

#1161 paoladegliesposti

paoladegliesposti

    Atomic Bomb ✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

  • 4,359 posts

Posted 05 March 2017 - 08:09 AM

It doesn' t sound boring, by the way. All those attitudes in peace!

 

The meadows in Spring.

 

Tis a dull sight
To see the year dying,
When winter winds
Set the yellow wood sighing:
Sighing, oh! sighing.

When such a time cometh,
I do retire
Into and old room
Beside a bright fire:
Oh, pile a bright fire!

And there I sit
Reading old things,
Of knights and lorn damsels,
While the wind sings— 
Oh, drearily sings!

I never look out
Nor attend to the blast;
For all to be seen
Is the leaves falling fast:
Falling, falling!

But close at the hearth,
Like a cricket, sit I,
Reading of summer
And chivalry— 
Gallant chivalry!

Then with an old friend
I talk of our youth!
How 'twas gladsome, but often
Foolish, forsooth:
But gladsome, gladsome!

Or to get merry
We sing some old rhyme,
That made the wood ring again
In summertime— 
Sweet summertime!

Then go we to smoking,
Silent and snug:
Nought passes between us,
Save a brown jug— 
Sometimes!

And sometimes a tear
Will rise in each eye,
Seeing the two old friends
So merrily— 
So merrily!

And ere to bed
Go we, go we,
Down on the ashes
We kneel on the knee,
Praying together!

Thus, then, live I,
Till, 'mid all the gloom,
By heaven! the bold sun
Is with me in the room
Shining, shining!

Then the clouds part,
Swallow soaring between;
The spring is alive,
And the meadows are green!

I jump up, like mad,
Break the old pipe in twain,
And away to the meadows,
The meadows again! 

Edward Fitzgerald


#1162 paoladegliesposti

paoladegliesposti

    Atomic Bomb ✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

  • 4,359 posts

Posted 06 March 2017 - 03:10 PM

Barter by Sara Teasdale

 

Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children's faces looking up,
Holding wonder like a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like the curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit's still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.

Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be. 



#1163 paoladegliesposti

paoladegliesposti

    Atomic Bomb ✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

  • 4,359 posts

Posted 08 March 2017 - 08:39 AM

Remember - Poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti

 

 

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad. 



#1164 paoladegliesposti

paoladegliesposti

    Atomic Bomb ✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

  • 4,359 posts

Posted 09 March 2017 - 10:22 AM

Sisters by Rainer Maria Rilke

 

Look how the same possibilities
unfold in their opposite demeanors,
as though one saw different ages
passing through two identical rooms.

Each thinks that she props up the other,
while resting wearily on her support;
and they can't make use of one another,
for they cause blood to rest on blood,

when as in the former times they softly touch
and try, along the tree-lined walks,
to feel themselves conducted and to lead;
ah, the ways they go are not the same. 



#1165 paoladegliesposti

paoladegliesposti

    Atomic Bomb ✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

  • 4,359 posts

Posted 10 March 2017 - 08:24 AM

On the Lady Manchester

 

While haughty Gallia's dames, that pread
O'er their pale cheeks, an artful red,
Beheld this beauteous stranger there
In native charms, divinely fair;
Confusion in their looks they show'd;
And with unborrow'd blushes glow'd. 

Joseph Addison


#1166 paoladegliesposti

paoladegliesposti

    Atomic Bomb ✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

  • 4,359 posts

Posted 11 March 2017 - 07:48 AM

Aeolian Harp 

 

O pale green sea, 
With long, pale, purple clouds above - 
What lies in me like weight of love ? 
What dies in me 
With utter grief, because there comes no sign 
Through the sun-raying West, or the dim sea-line ? 

O salted air, 
Blown round the rocky headland still, 
What calls me there from cove and hill? 
What calls me fair 
From thee, the first-born of the youthful night, 
Or in the waves is coming through the dusk twilight ? 

O yellow Star, 
Quivering upon the rippling tide - 
Sendest so far to one that sigh'd? 
Bendest thou, Star, 
Above, where the shadows of the dead have rest 
And constant silence, with a message from the blest? 

William Allingham


#1167 paoladegliesposti

paoladegliesposti

    Atomic Bomb ✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

  • 4,359 posts

Posted 13 March 2017 - 08:28 AM

Amor intellectualis

 

OFT have we trod the vales of Castaly
And heard sweet notes of sylvan music blown
From antique reeds to common folk unknown:
And often launched our bark upon that sea
Which the nine Muses hold in empery,
And ploughed free furrows through the wave and foam,
Nor spread reluctant sail for more safe home
Till we had freighted well our argosy.
Of which despoilèd treasures these remain,
Sordello's passion, and the honied line 
Of young Endymion, lordly Tamburlaine
Driving his pampered jades, and more than these,
The seven-fold vision of the Florentine,
And grave-browed Milton's solemn harmonies.

 

Oscar Wilde



#1168 paoladegliesposti

paoladegliesposti

    Atomic Bomb ✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

  • 4,359 posts

Posted 16 March 2017 - 09:13 AM

Little Fugue

 

The yew's black fingers wag:
Cold clouds go over.
So the deaf and dumb
Signal the blind, and are ignored.

I like black statements.
The featurelessness of that cloud, now!
White as an eye all over!
The eye of the blind pianist

At my table on the ship.
He felt for his food.
His fingers had the noses of weasels.
I couldn't stop looking.

He could hear Beethoven:
Black yew, white cloud,
The horrific complications.
Finger-traps—a tumult of keys.

Empty and silly as plates,
So the blind smile.
I envy big noises,
The yew hedge of the Grosse Fuge.
Deafness is something else.
Such a dark funnel, my father!
I see your voice
Black and leafy, as in my childhood.

A yew hedge of orders,
Gothic and barbarous, pure German.
Dead men cry from it.
I am guilty of nothing.

The yew my Christ, then.
Is it not as tortured?
And you, during the Great War
In the California delicatessen

Lopping off the sausages!
They colour my sleep,
Red, mottled, like cut necks.
There was a silence!

Great silence of another order.
I was seven, I knew nothing.
The world occurred.
You had one leg, and a Prussian mind.

Now similar clouds
Are spreading their vacuous sheets.
Do you say nothing?
I am lame in the memory.

I remember a blue eye,
A briefcase of tangerines.
This was a man, then!
Death opened, like a black tree, blackly.

I survive the while,
Arranging my morning.
These are my fingers, this my baby.
The clouds are a marriage of dress, of that pallor. 

Sylvia Plath


#1169 paoladegliesposti

paoladegliesposti

    Atomic Bomb ✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

  • 4,359 posts

Posted 17 March 2017 - 09:37 AM

:)

 



#1170 paoladegliesposti

paoladegliesposti

    Atomic Bomb ✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

  • 4,359 posts

Posted 17 March 2017 - 10:31 AM

Oh, what a beautiful city, I only can imagine, from the far and from what I see! Oh what a beautiful city, in all the splendour of a natural landscape, full of the things made by the people , however! Oh what a beautiful city, in a a big land I only can imagine from the far, but quiet is the vision because of its smart people. Olè olè, how I can explain the good time I only can imagine being there for a while. Oh what a beautiful big city!

 

 

 

( N.Y.  :rolleyes: )


Edited by paoladegliesposti, 17 March 2017 - 10:32 AM.


#1171 paoladegliesposti

paoladegliesposti

    Atomic Bomb ✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

  • 4,359 posts

Posted 17 March 2017 - 10:31 AM



#1172 paoladegliesposti

paoladegliesposti

    Atomic Bomb ✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

  • 4,359 posts

Posted 22 March 2017 - 09:03 AM

Poem

 

About the size of an old-style dollar bill,
American or Canadian,
mostly the same whites, gray greens, and steel grays
-this little painting (a sketch for a larger one?)
has never earned any money in its life.
Useless and free., it has spent seventy years
as a minor family relic handed along collaterally to owners
who looked at it sometimes, or didn't bother to.

It must be Nova Scotia; only there
does one see abled wooden houses
painted that awful shade of brown.
The other houses, the bits that show, are white.
Elm trees., low hills, a thin church steeple
-that gray-blue wisp-or is it? In the foreground
a water meadow with some tiny cows,
two brushstrokes each, but confidently cows;
two minuscule white geese in the blue water,
back-to-back,, feeding, and a slanting stick.
Up closer, a wild iris, white and yellow,
fresh-squiggled from the tube.
The air is fresh and cold; cold early spring
clear as gray glass; a half inch of blue sky
below the steel-gray storm clouds.
(They were the artist's specialty.)
A specklike bird is flying to the left.
Or is it a flyspeck looking like a bird?

Heavens, I recognize the place, I know it!
It's behind-I can almost remember the farmer's name.
His barn backed on that meadow. There it is,
titanium white, one dab. The hint of steeple,
filaments of brush-hairs, barely there,
must be the Presbyterian church.
Would that be Miss Gillespie's house?
Those particular geese and cows
are naturally before my time.

A sketch done in an hour, "in one breath,"
once taken from a trunk and handed over.
Would you like this? I'll Probably never
have room to hang these things again.
Your Uncle George, no, mine, my Uncle George,
he'd be your great-uncle, left them all with Mother
when he went back to England.
You know, he was quite famous, an R.A....

I never knew him. We both knew this place,
apparently, this literal small backwater,
looked at it long enough to memorize it,
our years apart. How strange. And it's still loved,
or its memory is (it must have changed a lot).
Our visions coincided-"visions" is
too serious a word-our looks, two looks:
art "copying from life" and life itself,
life and the memory of it so compressed
they've turned into each other. Which is which?
Life and the memory of it cramped,
dim, on a piece of Bristol board,
dim, but how live, how touching in detail
-the little that we get for free,
the little of our earthly trust. Not much.
About the size of our abidance
along with theirs: the munching cows,
the iris, crisp and shivering, the water
still standing from spring freshets,
the yet-to-be-dismantled elms, the geese. 

 

Elizabeth Bishop



#1173 paoladegliesposti

paoladegliesposti

    Atomic Bomb ✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

  • 4,359 posts

Posted 28 March 2017 - 08:25 AM

steeple and not stumble, I see from the far! It is a main thing from the other things I may watch. Steeple and not stumble, it is a miracle to stay a rock in my feet! Steeple and not stumble the flowers are so many on the fields. Which idea do I have to follow? Which thought do I have to prolong? Steeple and not stumble, it is what I really want for my life! ;)