What is your favourite poem (s)

[Seraphy]

Slow Dancing with Billy
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
Helen

[Tip the Bottle]

Ode

We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Upon whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.

-- Arthur O'Shaughnessy


Thank you Willy Wonka for introducing me to this poem.

[Cnc_theft_auto]

I annotated this poem in my English class and quite liked it. It's basically saying is the tiger really a work of god, or is it a man made creature?

THE TYGER (from Songs Of Experience)

By William Blake

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

1794

[Zekes]

I know this poem since I was a kid. Actually its one of my favorite poems.

ALONE - Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

[Chotamunda10]

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
How are wonder what's you are
Up opw the word so i
like a dimond in the sky

[BookWorm617]

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
How are wonder what's you are
Up opw the word so i
like a dimond in the sky

That's not how it goes LOL!!

[Nabaa]

W.H Davies leisure what is this life if ,full of care we have no time to stand and stare no time to stand beneath the boughs and stare as long as sheep or cow no time to see , when woods we pass where squirrels hide thier nuts in grass notime to see , in broad daylight streams full of stars like skies at night no time to turn at beauty's glance and watch her feet, how they can dance no time to wait till her mouth can enrich that smile her eyes began apoor life this if, full of care we have no time to stand and stare

[Euphoriameantime]

Footsteps Of Angels
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


When the hours of Day are numbered,
And the voices of the Night
Wake the better soul, that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight;

Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful firelight
Dance upon the parlor wall;

Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door;
The beloved, the true-hearted,
Come to visit me once more;

He, the young and strong, who cherished
Noble longings for the strife,
By the roadside fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life!

They, the holy ones and weakly,
Who the cross of suffering bore,
Folded their pale hands so meekly,
Spake with us on earth no more!

And with them the Being Beauteous,
Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in heaven.

With a slow and noiseless footstep
Comes that messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays her gentle hand in mine.

And she sits and gazes at me
With those deep and tender eyes,
Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downward from the skies.

Uttered not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.

Oh, though oft depressed and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside,
If I but remember only
Such as these have lived and died!

[Maud Fitch]

Writers And Critics

We see them as blind goats, like that
knuckle-horned professional who
would nudge us over a precipice
in unwise approach. Goats!
whose approbation we seek, but
cannot secure – critics, bitter
critics, who gorge indelicately
on trash, depicting us as
among the capers...

‘Who said goats?’
the critics ask. It is in the
territory of precipices writers
muse. A goat is more practical
and sees the cliff-face as the
floor he stands on.

From “Selected Poem” by John Blight (1913-1995)

[Anndoir]

My Pretty Rose Tree
A flower was offered to me;
Such a flower as May never bore,
But I said,"I have a Pretty Rose-tree,"
And I passes the sweet flower o,er.

then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree,
To tend her by day and by night.
But my Rose turned away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.

[Cowboy14]

i like chinese and russian poetry , and offcourse american

[Bighuey]

Im not much into poetry, but I like The Fungi From Yuggoth by H.P. Lovecraft. I dont know anything about poetry and it is probably a terrible poem but it sounds other-worldly and takes me away from this one for a while. It just sounds good to me. Here is the only other poem I know.
Mary had a little bear
And that was very fine
And everywhere that Mary went
You could see her bear behind.

[Fran]

Im not much into poetry, but I like The Fungi From Yuggoth by H.P. Lovecraft. I dont know anything about poetry and it is probably a terrible poem but it sounds other-worldly and takes me away from this one for a while. It just sounds good to me. Here is the only other poem I know.
Mary had a little bear
And that was very fine
And everywhere that Mary went
You could see her bear behind.

Now that is sheer poetry ... thanks Bighuey for lifting my Sunday

[Bighuey]

I guess Im a poet and didnt know it.

[Arielen]

Though I speak with the tongues of angels,
If I have not love...
My words would resound with but a tinkling cymbal.
And though I have the gift of prophesy...
And understand all mysteries...
and all knowledge...
And though I have all faith
So that I could remove mountains,
If I have not love...
I am nothing.
Love is patient, full of goodness;
Love tolerates all things,
Aspires to all things,
Love never dies,
while the prophecies shall be done away,
tongues shall be silenced,
knowledge shall fade...
thus then shall linger only
faith, hope, and love...
but the greatest of these...
is love.