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Favourite Poem/Saying/Quote?
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doctor evil wrote: »At the moment it would have to be William Wordsworth 'Daffodils' due to it being Spring;
I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
May I say first of all that for someone with a name like Doctor Evil, you have surprisingly wholesome literary tastes
I have about a zillion favourite poems/passages from books/quotations, so I don't think I could begin to make a choice.
Keeping on the theme of spring-y, happy poetry, I like Walt Whitman's Leaves of grass and e. e. cummings a lot.
Too lazy to find and past from internet now but : thank you god for most this amazing day...
is good summer poetry!0 -
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Esmereldina wrote: »May I say first of all that for someone with a name like Doctor Evil, you have surprisingly wholesome literary tastes
I have about a zillion favourite poems/passages from books/quotations, so I don't think I could begin to make a choice.
Keeping on the theme of spring-y, happy poetry, I like Walt Whitman's Leaves of grass and e. e. cummings a lot.
Too lazy to find and past from internet now but : thank you god for most this amazing day...
is good summer poetry!
Why thank you.
I'm not very familiar with Whitman. What would be the 'best' of his poetry?
http://www.bartleby.com/142/index1.html
I came across him reading the trilogy of short stories called Specimen Days by 'Michael Cunningham.
Its a very good book and kept me indulged. Whitman is a common thread throughout the tales.0 -
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Moderators, Science, Health & Environment Moderators, Social & Fun Moderators, Society & Culture Moderators Posts: 60,096 Mod ✭✭✭✭
Join Date:Posts: 59270
My favourite poem.The Listeners - Walter de la Mare. It was on the Junior Cert course back in 1996. One of my all time favourites.
"The Listeners" is Walter de la Mare's most famous poem. It narrates (in third person) the story of a mysterious man coming to a house in the night on horseback, and subsequently failing, to deliver a message and fulfill a promise. Nobody is there but the "Listeners" (named in the title), who seem to be merely spectral. It is apparent that "The Listeners" hear his knocking and request for assistance, however they choose to ignore it. Some people think that the poem represents missed opportunity on the part of the traveler. The house meant something to him, so he returned to it, but he came back too late and there was nothing left but shadows and memories. Alternatively he may have promised to deliver a message from an acquaintance : "'Tell them I came, and no one answered,/ That I kept my word,' he said"
‘IS there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champ’d the grasses
Of the forest’s ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller’s head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Lean’d over and look’d into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplex’d and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirr’d and shaken
By the lonely Traveller’s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
’Neath the starr’d and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:—
’Tell them I came, and no one answer’d,
’That I kept my word,’ he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.
True friendship is like sound health; the value of it is seldom known until it be lost. - CharlesCaleb Colton
Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive. - Anäis Nin0 -
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