Favorite Poems?

Lucid Lounge
41

Ismália
Alphonsus de Guimaraens

Quando Ismália enlouqueceu,
Pôs-se na torre a sonhar…
Viu uma lua no céu,
Viu outra lua no mar.

No sonho em que se perdeu,
Banhou-se toda em luar…
Queria subir ao céu,
Queria descer ao mar…

E, no desvario seu,
Na torre pôs-se a cantar…
Estava perto do céu,
Estava longe do mar…

E como um anjo pendeu
As asas para voar…
Queria a lua do céu,
Queria a lua do mar…

As asas que Deus lhe deu
Ruflaram de par em par…
Sua alma subiu ao céu,
Seu corpo desceu ao mar…

~ * ~

Ismália
Alphonsus de Guimaraens
(as translated to english by yours truly)

When her good senses started to die,
She went dreamy uptower in glee…
She saw one big great moon at the sky,
She saw one big great moon in the sea.

As in dreams ever higher she flied,
And in moonlight she bathed, jubilee…
She desired to rise to the sky,
And she wished to go down to the sea…

Reason was to her now but a sigh,
In her tower she started to sing…
She was ever so close to the sky,
And however away from the sea…

But so as she could finally fly
Oh, an angel of God gave her wings…
She desired the moon in the sky,
And she wanted the moon in the sea…

So with her pair of wings, godly prize,
She flapped up, she was finally free…
Her poor soul went straight up to the skies,
As her body fell down to the seas…

42

DOVER BEACH -

“AH, LOVE, LET US BE TRUE TO ONE ANOTHER
FOR THE WORLD WHICH SEEMS TO LIE BEFORE US LIKE A LAND OF DREAMS
SO VARIOUS, SO BEAUTIFUL, SO NEW
HATH REALLY NEITHER LIFE, NOR LOVE, NOR CERTITUDE, NOR PEACE, NOR HELP FOR PAIN
AND WE ARE HERE AS ON A DARKLING PLAIN
SWEPT WITH CONFUSED ALARMS OF STRUGGLE AND FLIGHT
WHILE IGNORANT ARMIES CLASH BY NIGHT”

43

Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

You all must know this poem? :tongue:

44

This is a really funny one … but true :tongue:

[center]Heaps of Stuff by Pam Ayres

How I wish that I was tidy
How I wish that I was neat
How I wish I was methodical
Like others down our street.
I tried to stem the rising tide
I tried to hold it back
But I have been the victim
Of a heap of stuff attack.

Yes, heaps of stuff come creeping,
They clutter up the hall.
And heaps of stuff are softly
Climbing halfway up the wall.
At each end of the staircase
Is a giant heap, a stack;
One to carry up the stairs
And one to carry back.

In a heap of stuff invasion
They settle everywhere -
They grovel on the lino
They tower on the chair.
You’re searching for a jacket,
“Is it in here?” you shout,
And, opening the cupboard door,
A heap of stuff falls out.

But heaps are many-faceted
And heaps are multi-faced
And what a heap is made of
Will depend on where it’s placed.
Now if it’s in the passage
It is mostly boots and shoes
And if it’s on the sofa
It is magazines and news.

If it’s in the shed
It’s broken propagating frames
And if it’s in the bathroom
Well, it’s best to say no names,
And if it’s in the bedroom -
Your own and not the guest’s -
The heap of stuff is mostly made
Of socks and shirts and vests.

For a heap is indestructible,
It’s something you can’t fight.
If you split it up by day
It joins back up at night.
So cunningly positioned
as from room to room you trek,
Increasing all the chances
That you trip and break your neck.

But step into my parlour
Now I’ve forced the door ajar;
I’ll excavate an easy chair -
Just cling there where you are.
And together we’ll survey it
Till our eyes they feast enough
On the tidiest home in England
Underneath the heaps of stuff.

.[/center]

45

I love it, both for its message and the irony that old Shakey stole this straight outta the Bible. :3 (And my signature quote is probably a rip off of this sonnet hahaha)

Sonnet 59: If there be nothing new, but that which is
William Shakespeare

If there be nothing new, but that which is
Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled,
Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss
The second burden of a former child!
O, that record could with a backward look,
Even of five hundred courses of the sun,
Show me your image in some antique book,
Since mind at first in character was done!
That I might see what the old world could say
To this composed wonder of your frame;
Whether we are mended, or whether better they,
Or whether revolution be the same.
O, sure I am, the wits of former days
To subjects worse have given admiring praise.

46

[center]IF
By Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing their and blaming it on you,
I 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 imposters 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 tolls:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it in 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 walk 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![/center]

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 desert … 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 collosal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

47

Oh I just LOVE Ozymandias! An acquaintance recited it in a contest and he did such a fantastic job that I hear his voice every time I read it!

48

I wanted to share a poem that means a lot of things to me.

It was written by Lewis Carroll and published at the end of Through the Looking Glass which, in my opinion, is one of the most beautiful books ever written.

Hope you like it. :peek:

Life is but a dream
by Lewis Carroll

A BOAT, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July–

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear–

Long has paled that sunny sky;
Echoes fade and memories die;
Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die;

Ever drifting down the stream–
Lingering in the golden gleam–
Life, what is it but a dream?