Note: numbers of poems are merely order, not favoritism.
Overall Preface:
Overall Preface:
This poem collection epitomizes my views on poetry in several ways. First of all, the variety provided throughout these selected favorites demonstrate the wide reaching demographics I aspire to support when it comes to literature. Although there may be less favorable selections among those listed below, (i.e. the romantic sonnets by Francesco Petrarch) I think various poems are essential to building a foundation for better poetic understanding. The criteria for making my “my faves” list is quite simple: whether or not the poem makes me think. If I find the poem intellectually stimulating, or if it makes me think or view things differently than before, I can assure you I would put it on this list.
---'Should Lanterns Shine' by Dylan Thomas (Poem #1)--------
My Preface:
I chose this poem as a top favorite because it seems to question reality. By using insidious descriptions like “formed of flesh” and “fell from grace”, Dylan Thomas incorporates his classically dark views of the world around him in very subtle ways. In addition, I also found the movement of this poem to be captivating. It shifts from talking about withering of love and other abstract ideas, to the drop of a ball in a park towards the end of the poem. Lastly, I was interested in the way he incorporated a sort of first person narrative. He says “and many years should see some change” towards the end of the poem. I found this almost comical because he is telling the ‘story’ in the same way he’s heard it told so many years… yet he hasn’t changed it when he told it himself.
My Preface:
I chose this poem as a top favorite because it seems to question reality. By using insidious descriptions like “formed of flesh” and “fell from grace”, Dylan Thomas incorporates his classically dark views of the world around him in very subtle ways. In addition, I also found the movement of this poem to be captivating. It shifts from talking about withering of love and other abstract ideas, to the drop of a ball in a park towards the end of the poem. Lastly, I was interested in the way he incorporated a sort of first person narrative. He says “and many years should see some change” towards the end of the poem. I found this almost comical because he is telling the ‘story’ in the same way he’s heard it told so many years… yet he hasn’t changed it when he told it himself.
Should lanterns shine, the holy face,
Caught in an octagon of unaccustomed light,
Would wither up, an any boy of love
Look twice before he fell from grace.
The features in their private dark
Are formed of flesh, but let the false day come
And from her lips the faded pigments fall,
The mummy cloths expose an ancient breast.
I have been told to reason by the heart,
But heart, like head, leads helplessly;
I have been told to reason by the pulse,
And, when it quickens, alter the actions' pace
Till field and roof lie level and the same
So fast I move defying time, the quiet gentleman
Whose beard wags in Egyptian wind.
I have heard may years of telling,
And many years should see some change.
The ball I threw while playing in the park
Has not yet reached the ground.
----------------------------------------------------
'O Make Me a Mask' by Dylan Thomas (Poem #2)
My Preface:
My Preface:
I found this poem captivating because it dealt with facades. Day to day ‘code-switching’ , as it’s called, is the social behavior one adapts as they travel from different social groups to the next. For example, one wouldn’t cuss around with their grandma… but they might with their friends. “To shield the glistening brain and blunt the examiners” is a very significant line, in my opinion, because it describes the contrast between the ‘real self’, or the way you act in public, and the ‘ideal self’, or the way that you wish you could act all the time (natural behavioral state). Masks and personality traits seem to go hand in hand, and I believe this idea was captured in this poem by Dylan Thomas.
O make me a mask and a wall to shut from your spies
Of the sharp, enamelled eyes and the spectacled claws
Rape and rebellion in the nurseries of my face,
Gag of dumbstruck tree to block from bare enemies
The bayonet tongue in this undefended prayerpiece,
The present mouth, and the sweetly blown trumpet of lies,
Shaped in old armour and oak the countenance of a dunce
To shield the glistening brain and blunt the examiners,
And a tear-stained widower grief drooped from the lashes
To veil belladonna and let the dry eyes perceive
Others betray the lamenting lies of their losses
By the curve of the nude mouth or the laugh up the sleeve.
------------------------------
'Do not go gentle into that good night' by Dylan Thomas (Poem #3)
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
----------------------------------------------
'Shall gods be said to thump the clouds' by Dylan Thomas (Poem #4)
Shall gods be said to thump the clouds
When clouds are cursed by thunder,
Be said to weep when weather howls?
Shall rainbows be their tunics' colour?
When it is rain where are the gods?
Shall it be said they sprinkle water
From garden cans, or free the floods?
Shall it be said that, venuswise,
An old god's dugs are pressed and pricked,
The wet night scolds me like a nurse?
It shall be said that gods are stone.
Shall a dropped stone drum on the ground,
Flung gravel chime? Let the stones speak
With tongues that talk all tongues.
-------------------------------------------
Leroy: 'Good Time' Lyrics (Poem #5)
My Preface: Not only is this one of my favorite songs, but it is also a dog-eat-dog story about the social workings of California. Southern California has experienced significant immigration and Latin American prejudices, yet the region seems to accommodate many musically talented individuals and organizations. By writing a song that incorporates themes of your social life and competition among artists, “Leroy” is able to create a captivating song of the ‘party-hardy’ attitude of many of Southern California’s residents. Another important aspect of this poem is the fact that Leroy implies that people use other people to gain social status. For example in the line “All along you never loved me yeah” and “I hope that you’ve found what you’re after”. All in all, I found this song to be an interesting story, as well as a captivating musical piece.
My Preface: Not only is this one of my favorite songs, but it is also a dog-eat-dog story about the social workings of California. Southern California has experienced significant immigration and Latin American prejudices, yet the region seems to accommodate many musically talented individuals and organizations. By writing a song that incorporates themes of your social life and competition among artists, “Leroy” is able to create a captivating song of the ‘party-hardy’ attitude of many of Southern California’s residents. Another important aspect of this poem is the fact that Leroy implies that people use other people to gain social status. For example in the line “All along you never loved me yeah” and “I hope that you’ve found what you’re after”. All in all, I found this song to be an interesting story, as well as a captivating musical piece.
Rollercoasters
Holy roller
I got shot down
In Southern California
All along you never loved me, yeah
Till the day that you shut me off
And now that it's over
I hope that you've found what you're after, yeah
Are you having a good time
With your friends and your French wine?
So now I'm gonna warn ya
That there's only so much I can owe
Are you having a good time?
Yeah yeah yeah
You're like a movie star, yes
Driving in your fancy car
And there ain't nothing I can do about it
Spending money never mattered, no
Cos always daddy paid the damage, yeah
But now that you're living on the hills
I hope that you're social life doesn't get ya killed, aoohhhhhh
Are you having a good time
With your friends and your French wine?
So now I'm gonna warn ya
That there's only so much I can owe
Are you having a good time?
Yeah yeah yeah
Rollercoasters
Holy roller
I got shot down
In Southern California
All along you never loved me, yeah
Till the day that you shut me off
And now that it's over
I hope that you've found what you're after, now
And it ain't easy being on top, no no
And it ain't easy being on top, no no
(Ain't easy living in the hills, yeah)
And it ain't easy being on top, no no
(And you're up with the stars)
And it ain't easy being on top, no no
(With higher society)
And it ain't easy being on top, no no
(You're on top of the world, yeah)
---------------------------------------
Dave Matthews Band: 'Funny the way it is' (Poem #6)
Lying in the park on a beautiful day
Sunshine in the grass, and the children play
Siren’s passing, fire engine red
Someone’s house is burning down on a day like this
The evening comes and we’re hanging out
On the front step and a car rolls by with the windows rolled down
And that war song is playing, “why can’t we be friends?”
Someone is screaming and crying in the apartment upstairs
Funny the way it is, if you think about it
Somebody’s going hungry and someone else is eating out
Funny the way it is, not right or wrong
Somebody’s heart is broken and it becomes your favorite song
The way your mouth feels in your lovers kiss
Like a pretty bird on a breeze or water to a fish
A bomb blast brings a building crashing to the floor
You hear the laughter while the children play war
Funny the way it is, if you think about it
One kid walks 10 miles to school, another’s dropping out
Funny the way it is, not right or wrong
On a soldier’s last breath his baby’s being born
Standing on a bridge, watch the water passing under me
It must’ve been much harder when there was no bridge just water
Now the world is small, remember how it used to be
With mountains and oceans and winters and rivers and stars
Watch the sky, the jet planes, so far out of my reach
Is there someone up there looking down on me?
Boy chase a bird, so close but every time
He’ll never catch her, but he can’t stop trying
Funny the way it is, if you think about it
One kid walks 10 miles to school, another’s dropping out
Funny the way it is, not right or wrong
On a soldier’s last breath his baby’s being born
Funny the way it is, not right or wrong
Somebody’s broken heart becomes your favorite song
Funny the way it is, if you think about it
A kid walks 10 miles to school, another’s dropping out
Standing on a bridge, watch the water passing under me
It must’ve been much harder when there was no bridge just water
Now the world is small, remember how it used to be
With mountains and oceans and winters and rivers and stars
---------------------------------------------
'A Soldier' by Robert Frost (Poem # 7)
My Preface: In keeping with themes of mortality, I thought that this poem would be appropriate to post on the same page as works by Dylan Thomas. This poem truly seems to describe the gristly scene that surrounds all battlefields. The war-time emotions associated with such difficult and gruesome decisions really make for a captivating and exciting read. Obviously with horrific aspects, Robert Frost used interesting and selective imagery to portray a battle scene. For example, one line states “They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect”… this is a line full of imagery and associated emotions. Although I know nothing of war, I feel that I’ve experienced a little piece of the emotions that Frost was conveying.
My Preface: In keeping with themes of mortality, I thought that this poem would be appropriate to post on the same page as works by Dylan Thomas. This poem truly seems to describe the gristly scene that surrounds all battlefields. The war-time emotions associated with such difficult and gruesome decisions really make for a captivating and exciting read. Obviously with horrific aspects, Robert Frost used interesting and selective imagery to portray a battle scene. For example, one line states “They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect”… this is a line full of imagery and associated emotions. Although I know nothing of war, I feel that I’ve experienced a little piece of the emotions that Frost was conveying.
He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,
But still lies pointed as it plowed the dust.
If we who sight along it round the world,
See nothing worthy to have been its mark,
It is because like men we look too near,
Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere,
Our missiles always make too short an arc.
They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect
The curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
They make us cringe for metal-point on stone.
But this we know, the obstacle that checked
And tripped the body, shot the spirit on
Further than target ever showed or shone.
That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,
But still lies pointed as it plowed the dust.
If we who sight along it round the world,
See nothing worthy to have been its mark,
It is because like men we look too near,
Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere,
Our missiles always make too short an arc.
They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect
The curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
They make us cringe for metal-point on stone.
But this we know, the obstacle that checked
And tripped the body, shot the spirit on
Further than target ever showed or shone.
----------------------------------------------------
'Into my own' by Robert Frost (poem #8)
One of my wishes is that those dark trees,
So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,
Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom,
But stretched away unto the edge of doom.
I should not be withheld but that some day
Into their vastness I should steal away,
Fearless of ever finding open land,
Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.
I do not see why I should e'er turn back,
Or those should not set forth upon my track
To overtake me, who should miss me here
And long to know if still I held them dear.
They would not find me changed from him they knew--
Only more sure of all I thought was true.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
'An Old Man Winter's Night' by Robert Frost (Poem #9)
All out of doors looked darkly in at him
Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,
That gathers on the pane in empty rooms.
What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze
Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.
What kept him from remembering what it was
That brought him to that creaking room was age.
He stood with barrels round him -- at a loss.
And having scared the cellar under him
In clomping there, he scared it once again
In clomping off; -- and scared the outer night,
Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar
Of trees and crack of branches, common things,
But nothing so like beating on a box.
A light he was to no one but himself
Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what,
A quiet light, and then not even that.
He consigned to the moon, such as she was,
So late-arising, to the broken moon
As better than the sun in any case
For such a charge, his snow upon the roof,
His icicles along the wall to keep;
And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt
Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted,
And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept.
One aged man -- one man -- can't keep a house,
A farm, a countryside, or if he can,
It's thus he does it of a winter night.
Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,
That gathers on the pane in empty rooms.
What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze
Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.
What kept him from remembering what it was
That brought him to that creaking room was age.
He stood with barrels round him -- at a loss.
And having scared the cellar under him
In clomping there, he scared it once again
In clomping off; -- and scared the outer night,
Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar
Of trees and crack of branches, common things,
But nothing so like beating on a box.
A light he was to no one but himself
Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what,
A quiet light, and then not even that.
He consigned to the moon, such as she was,
So late-arising, to the broken moon
As better than the sun in any case
For such a charge, his snow upon the roof,
His icicles along the wall to keep;
And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt
Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted,
And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept.
One aged man -- one man -- can't keep a house,
A farm, a countryside, or if he can,
It's thus he does it of a winter night.
-------------------------------------------------
'Nothing Gold Can Stay' by Robert Frost (Poem #10)
Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leafs a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leafs a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
----------------------------------------------------
'Soleasi Nel Mio Cor' by Francesco Petrarch (Poem #11)
'Soleasi Nel Mio Cor' by Francesco Petrarch (Poem #11)
-------------------------------------------------------
'Qual Donna Attende A Gloriosa Fama' by Francesco Petrarch (Poem #12)
Doth any maiden seek the glorious fame
Of chastity, of strength, of courtesy?
Gaze in the eyes of that sweet enemy
Whom all the world doth as my lady name!
How honour grows, and pure devotion's flame,
How truth is joined with graceful dignity,
There thou may'st learn, and what the path may be
To that high heaven which doth her spirit claim;
There learn soft speech, beyond all poet's skill,
And softer silence, and those holy ways
Unutterable, untold by human heart.
But the infinite beauty that all eyes doth fill,
This none can copy! since its lovely rays
Are given by God's pure grace, and not by art.
Of chastity, of strength, of courtesy?
Gaze in the eyes of that sweet enemy
Whom all the world doth as my lady name!
How honour grows, and pure devotion's flame,
How truth is joined with graceful dignity,
There thou may'st learn, and what the path may be
To that high heaven which doth her spirit claim;
There learn soft speech, beyond all poet's skill,
And softer silence, and those holy ways
Unutterable, untold by human heart.
But the infinite beauty that all eyes doth fill,
This none can copy! since its lovely rays
Are given by God's pure grace, and not by art.
--------------------------------------------------
'Jabberwocky' by Lewis Carroll (Poem #13)
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
did gyre and gimble in the wabe.
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
did gyre and gimble in the wabe.
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
the frumious Bandersnatch!"
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
the frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the maxome foe he sought-
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood a while in thought.
Long time the maxome foe he sought-
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood a while in thought.
As in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came.
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came.
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack.
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack.
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"Has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Calloh! Callay!
He chortled in his joy.
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Calloh! Callay!
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
------------------------------------------
'Love and Sleep' by Algernon Swinburne (Poem #14)
Lying asleep between the strokes of night
I saw my love lean over my sad bed,
Pale as the duskiest lily's leaf or head,
Smooth-skinned and dark, with bare throat made to bite,
Too wan for blushing and too warm for white,
But perfect-coloured without white or red.
And her lips opened amorously, and said--
I wist not what, saving one word--Delight.
And all her face was honey to my mouth,
And all her body pasture to mine eyes;
The long lithe arms and hotter hands than fire,
The quivering flanks, hair smelling of the south,
The bright light feet, the splendid supple thighs
And glittering eyelids of my soul's desire.
I saw my love lean over my sad bed,
Pale as the duskiest lily's leaf or head,
Smooth-skinned and dark, with bare throat made to bite,
Too wan for blushing and too warm for white,
But perfect-coloured without white or red.
And her lips opened amorously, and said--
I wist not what, saving one word--Delight.
And all her face was honey to my mouth,
And all her body pasture to mine eyes;
The long lithe arms and hotter hands than fire,
The quivering flanks, hair smelling of the south,
The bright light feet, the splendid supple thighs
And glittering eyelids of my soul's desire.
------------------------------------------------------------
'For a Picture' by Algernon Swinburne(Poem #15)
My Preface: Even though I’m not one for sappy (all be it pointless) romance poetry, I find myself enthralled by the descriptive imagery and euphemistic expressions that lie within this poem. Using somewhat obscure and selective diction like “asp” and “hasp” to enhance the rhyme scheme of the poem, I found that I was actually interested in the events unfolding. “But may be ravenously unripped in hell?” seems to be a significant line because it directly contrasts with most of the other themes in the poem. Shifting away from romantic and nostalgic descriptions, this line provides a taste of war in an otherwise descriptive poem.
My Preface: Even though I’m not one for sappy (all be it pointless) romance poetry, I find myself enthralled by the descriptive imagery and euphemistic expressions that lie within this poem. Using somewhat obscure and selective diction like “asp” and “hasp” to enhance the rhyme scheme of the poem, I found that I was actually interested in the events unfolding. “But may be ravenously unripped in hell?” seems to be a significant line because it directly contrasts with most of the other themes in the poem. Shifting away from romantic and nostalgic descriptions, this line provides a taste of war in an otherwise descriptive poem.
That nose is out of drawing. With a gasp,
She pants upon the passionate lips that ache
With the red drain of her own mouth, and make
A monochord of colour. Like an asp,
One lithe lock wriggles in his rutilant grasp.
Her bosom is an oven of myrrh, to bake
Love's white warm shewbread to a browner cake.
The lock his fingers clench has burst its hasp.
The legs are absolutely abominable.
Ah! what keen overgust of wild-eyed woes
Flags in that bosom, flushes in that nose?
Nay! Death sets riddles for desire to spell,
Responsive. What red hem earth's passion sews,
But may be ravenously unripped in hell?
She pants upon the passionate lips that ache
With the red drain of her own mouth, and make
A monochord of colour. Like an asp,
One lithe lock wriggles in his rutilant grasp.
Her bosom is an oven of myrrh, to bake
Love's white warm shewbread to a browner cake.
The lock his fingers clench has burst its hasp.
The legs are absolutely abominable.
Ah! what keen overgust of wild-eyed woes
Flags in that bosom, flushes in that nose?
Nay! Death sets riddles for desire to spell,
Responsive. What red hem earth's passion sews,
But may be ravenously unripped in hell?
--------------------------------------------------------------
'A Spring View' by Tu Fu (Poem #16)
Though a country be sundered, hills and rivers endure;
And spring comes green again to trees and grasses
Where petals have been shed like tears
And lonely birds have sung their grief.
...After the war-fires of three months,
One message from home is worth a ton of gold.
...I stroke my white hair. It has grown too thin
To hold the hairpins any more.
And spring comes green again to trees and grasses
Where petals have been shed like tears
And lonely birds have sung their grief.
...After the war-fires of three months,
One message from home is worth a ton of gold.
...I stroke my white hair. It has grown too thin
To hold the hairpins any more.
--------------------------------------
'Grass' by Carl Sandburg (Poem #17)
Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work---
I am the grass; I cover all.
And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?
I am the grass.
Let me work.-----------------------------------------'I, Too, Sing America' by Langston Hughes(Poem #18)
I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.
Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed--
I, too, am America. --------------------------------'Fast rode the knight' by Stephen Crane (Poem #19)Fast rode the knight With spurs, hot and reeking, Ever waving an eager sword, "To save my lady!" Fast rode the knIght, And leaped from saddle to war. Men of steel flickered and gleamed Like riot of silver lights, And the gold of the knight's good banner Still waved on a castle wall. . . . . . A horse, Blowing, staggering, bloody thing, Forgotten at foot of castle wall. A horse Dead at foot of castle wall.
------------------------------ 'Hysteria' by T.S. Eliot (Poem #20)- As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved
- in her laughter and being part of it, until her
- teeth were only accidental stars with a talent
- for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps,
- inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally
- in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by
- the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter
- with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading
- a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty
- green iron table, saying: "If the lady and
- gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden,
- if the lady and gentleman wish to take their
- tea in the garden ..." I decided that if the
- shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of
- the fragments of the afternoon might be collected,
- and I concentrated my attention with careful
- subtlety to this end.
- ------------------------------
- 'Time' by Peggy Bertrand (Poem #21)
- Daybreaks now on horizon
Sun comes up and climbs the sky
Night falls the sun decends
Moon does shine brightly - -------------------------
- 'There is another sky' by Emily Dickinson (Poem #22)
- There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come! - -----------------------------------------------
- 'A Red, Red Rose' by Robert Burns(Poem #23)
- O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it ware ten thousand mile. - -----------------------------------
- 'A Poison Tree' by William Blake (Poem #24)
- I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I waterd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.
And into my garden stole.
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see,
My foe outstretchd beneath the tree. - -------------------------------------------
- 'Be glad your nose is on your face' by Jack Prelutsky(Poem #25)
- Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.
Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you'd be forced to smell your feet.
Your nose would be a source of dread
were it attached atop your head,
it soon would drive you to despair,
forever tickled by your hair.
Within your ear, your nose would be
an absolute catastrophe,
for when you were obliged to sneeze,
your brain would rattle from the breeze.
Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,
remains between your eyes and chin,
not pasted on some other place--
be glad your nose is on your face! - ---------------------------------------------------
