Post a poem you know by heart. No copy pasting

I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's only me, and I walk alone

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Haha, that's nice :)

I wonder how to translate into English and keep the same rhythm and rhyme

How about this? -

The window's open, here I sit
The boredom on me weighing;
I wish I were a pair of dogs
Coz then I could be playing.

With rue my heart is laden
For golden friends I had
For many a rose-lipt maiden
And many a light-foot lad

By brooks too broad for leaping
the light-foot boys are laid
the rose-lipt girls are sleeping
In fields where roses fade.

I don't know a single one in full

one fish
two fish
red fish
blue fish

Right, that's enough Houseman, the miserable sod.

Time for something completely different.

"Jaguar"
(Ted Hughes)

The apes yawn and adore their fleas in the sun.
The parrots shriek as if they were on fire, or strut
Like cheap tarts to attract the stroller with the nut.
Fatigued with indolence, tiger and lion

Lie still as the sun. The boa-constrictor's coil
Is a fossil. Cage after cage seems empty, or
Stinks of sleepers from the breathing straw.
It might be painted on a nursery wall.

But who runs like the rest past these arrives
At a cage where the crowds stands, stares, mesmerized
As a child at a dream, at a jaguar hurrying enraged

Through prison darkness after the drills of his eyes
On a short fierce fuse. Not in boredom -

The eye satisfied to be blind in fire,
By the bang of blood in the brain deaf the ear -
He spins at the bars but there's no cage to him
More than to the visionary his cell:

His stride is wildernesses of freedom.
The worlds rolls under the long thrust of his heel.
Over the cage floor the horizons come.

You know that by heart and typed it all out?

Some say that gleams of a remoter world
Visit the soul in sleep, that death is slumber,
And that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumber
Of those who wake and live.—I look on high;
Has some unknown omnipotence unfurl'd
The veil of life and death? or do I lie
In dream, and does the mightier world of sleep
Spread far around and inaccessibly
Its circles? For the very spirit fails,
Driven like a homeless cloud from steep to steep
That vanishes among the viewless gales!

Right, back to miserable again.

You think Houseman is miserable?

Stand aside Houseman you rank amateur.

"Ape Experiment Room"
(Philip Larkin)

Buried among white rooms
Whose lights in clusters gleam
Like suddenly-caused pain
And behind the rows of mesh

And uneasy shifting resumes
As sterilizers steam
And the routine begins again
Of putting questions to flesh

That no-one would think to ask
But a PhD with a beard
And a nympho wife who - but,
As I was saying, there is found

The bushy, T-shaped mask
And, below, the smaller, eared
Head like a grave nut,
And the arms folded round.

Yes, I know hundreds of pages of poetry by heart.

>tfw know hundreds of pages of modern rap and rocks songs by heart, but only a handful of poems
>tfw you will never know what it's like to furnish ones mind with beauty

OK, this is somewhat cheating since it's just one stanza of a long poem (the Rubaiyat of Omar K., Fitzgerald). It's still pretty good though.

The moving finger writes, and having writ
Moves on: nor all thy piety nor wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it.

Hehe, good old Mr Hitchens.

Song lyrics are easy to remember coz a) you're in an emotionally receptive state and b) You listen over and over and overandover again. Repetition FTW :)

That's a great translation user! I have at some point wondered how it could be translated, I guess many options are possible since the first two lines don't really matter.

Fucked it up but this is what I remember from Satan's first speech:

If thou beest he; but O how fall'n,
how chang'd from him that in the happy realms
Of light cloth'd with transcendent brightness didst
Outshine myriads though bright. And if he
Whom mutual league, united thoughts, equal
Hope and hazard in this Glorious
Enterprize, join'd with Me once, now misery
hath join'd in Equal ruin.
Into what pit thou seest? From what heighth fall'n?
So much the stronger prov'd,
He with His thunder, til then who
Knew the force of those dire Arms? Yet not for
Those, nor my potent victor,
Else inflict do I repent or change, though
Chang'd in outward lustre, with fixt
mind and high disdain with sense of injur'd
Merit...

The Second Coming
W. B. Yeats

turning and turning in the widening gyre
the falcon cannot hear the falconer
things fall apart, the center cannot hold
mere anarchy is loosed upon the world
a blood dimmed tide is loosed and everywhere
the ceremony of innocence is drowned.
the best lack all conviction
while the worst are full of passionate intensity.

surely some revelation is at hand
surely the second coming is at hand
The Second Coming!
hardly are those words out when a cast image
out of spiritus mundi troubles my sight.
somewhere in sands of the desert is a dark shape
with lion body and the head of a man
a gaze blank and pitiless as the sun
is moving its slow thighs
while all about it reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
darkness drops again
but now i know that twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle
and what rough beast, it's hour come round at last
slouches towards Bethlehem to be born.

i fucked up.

line 12 is vast, not cast.
line 14, there is no is

my b senpai

Tyger tyger burning bright
in the forests of the night
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

punctuation and line breaks are off, but otherwise i'm impressed

The Earth turned to bring us closer
It turned in itself and in us
Until it brought us together in this dream

i like to recite it more than transcribe it.

Henry was a worthy kind
And Mary was his queen
He gave to her a snowdrop
Upon a stalk of green

Then all for his kindness
And all for his care
She gave him a new laid egg
In the garden there

Love can you sing?
I cannot sing

Or story-tell?
Not one I know

Then let us play as queen and king
As down the garden walks we go

la chambre est veuve
chacun pour soi
presence neuve
on paye au mois

le patron doute
payera-t-on
je tourne en route
comme un toton

le bruit des fiacres
mon voisin laid
qui fume un acre
tabac anglais

o la valliere
qui boit et rit
de mes prieres
table de nuit

et tous ensemble
dans cet hotel
savons la langue
comme a babel

fermons nos portes
a double tour
chacun apporte
son seul amour

je suis le ténébreux, le veuf, l'inconsolé,
le prince d'aquitaine à la tour abolie,
ma seule étoile est morte, et mon luth constellé,
porte le soleil noir de la mélancolie,

dans la nuit du tombé, toi qui m'a consolé,
rend moi le pausilippe et la mer d'Italie,
l'étoile qui plaisait tant à mon coeur désolé
et la treille où le pampre à la rose s'allie

suis -ja amour ou phébus, lusignan ou biron,
mon front est rouge encore du baiser de la reine
j'ai nagé dans la grotte où nage la sirène

et j'ai deux fois vainqueur traversé l'achéron,
modulant tour à tour sur la lire d'orphée
les soupirs de la sainte, et les cris de la fée

Grandfather sang it under the gallows
"Hear gentlemen, ladies and all of mankind:
Money is good, and a girl might be better,
but good strong blows are delights to the mind."
There standing in the cart,
He sang it from his heart.

"A woman I had, but she followed another.
Money I had, but it went in the night.
Strong drink I had, but it brought me to sorrow,
But a good strong cause and blows are delight."

Then all there caught up the tune
"On, on, my darling man" they cried.

"Money is good, and a girl might be better,
no matter what happens, or who takes the fall.
But a good strong cause.." and the rope gave a jerk there,
No more sang he, for his throat was too small.
But he kicked before he died. He did it out of pride.

one thot
two thot
red thot
blue thot
gravy so cold
bitch i think i need a flu shot

Wir ballern die Ghetto-Huren, ballern die Testokuren
Baller dann per Ballermann deiner Bande den Head voll Kugeln
Das ist JBG Teil 2, die zwei gehyptesten Rapper
Fegen jetzt wieder durch die Szene wie zwei Kreissägenblätter
Ey yo, die zwei sind wie Dynamit, reif für die Psychatrie
Guck uns schief an und du kriegst von 3000 Brüdern Hiebe
Dein Girl lässt ihr Kleid auf die Bühne fliegen, yeah
Ich hab ein Auge auf sie als wär sie 'ne Freimaurerpyramide
Wir schlagen dich zum Beat, JBG 2, Urbane Straßenpoesie, hart wie UFC
Deiner Bitch geht's finanziell nicht gut, ich sag ihr, komm in mein Bordell
Wenn du 'ne Stelle suchst und sie nimmt dankend an wie bei Alley oops
Ich bang dein Baby, sie erzählt ihr'n Ladys von mei'm Mordsständer
Und es zieht weite Kreise so wie Aliens in Kornfeldern
Ich hol den Basey und hau Dorf-Gangstern den Kopf zu Brei
Währenddessen sitzt Farid Bang auf 'ner Bank
Schaut amüsiert zu und isst Popcorn dabei
Und ich brauche sie nicht, doch bin down mit den Bitches, Sex in der Backstagehall mit den Chicks
Es ist der Mac mit mehr Frauengeschichten am Laufen als Desperate Housewives, Bitch
Wir sind mit Untergrund durch, es ist wie damals das Guckloch
In der Mädchenumkleide, yeah, die Jungs starten durch

les sanglots longs
des violons
de l'automne

blessent mon coeur
d'un langueur
monotone

tout suffocant,
et bleme, quand,
sonne l'heure,

je me souviens
des jours anciens
et je pleure

et je m'en vais
au vent mauvais
qui m'emporte

deçà, delà,
Pareil à la,
feuille morte

La dulce boca que a gustar convida
un humor entre perlas destilado,
y a no envidiar aquel licor sagrado
que a Júpiter ministra el garzón de Ida,

amantes, no toquéis, si queréis vida,
porque entre un labio y otro colorado
Amor está, de su veneno armado,
cual entre flor y flor sierpe escondida.

No os engañen las rosas, que a la Aurora
diréis que, aljofaradas y olorosas,
se le cayeron del purpúreo seno:

manzanas son de Tántalo, y no rosas,
que después huyen del que incitan ahora,
y solo del Amor queda el veneno.

Another syllabic one (every line has seven syllables). Best break-up poem ever.

"Breakfast"
(Thom Gunn)

For two years I looked forward
Only to breakfast. The night
Was not night, it was tempered
By hotel signs opposite.

Yet I must have dozed, for all
At once I could distinguish
Loaf and cup, monumental
On the sill's ginger varnish.

I do not mean that breakfast
Was a ritual - still less
A remedy - but that toast
And coffee served as markers.

Unsour pungency, hot and
Dark, Sank down my throat. Dry rough
Substance encountered the grind
Of my teeth. These were enough;

Were properties as it were
For a tenacity. I
Could now get up from the chair
And look for a job or try

Phoning my ex-wife. Without
Future I had to go on -
Without love, without hope, but
Without renunciation.

Virgil, Aeneid, Book 6, 1-18

Sic fatur lacrimans classiqu' immittit habenas
Et tand' Euboicis Cumar' adlabitur oris.
Obvertunt pelago proras tum dente tenaci
Ancora fundabat navis et litora curvae
Praetexunt puppes iuvenum manus emicat ardens
Litus in Hesperium; quaerit pars semina flammae
Abstrus' in venis silicis, pars densa ferarum
Tecta rapit silvas inventaque flumina monstrat.
At pius Aeneas arces quibus altus Apollo
Praesidet horrendaeque procul secreta Sibyllae
Antr' immane petit; magnam qui ment' animumque
Delius inspirat vates aperitque Futura
Iam subeunt Triviae Lucos atqu' aurea tecta.

nice German rap, thanks for sharing

Top kek famalam

I know that I shall meet my fate
somewhere up in the clouds above.
Those that I fight I do not hate;
those that I guard I do not love.
My country is Kilartan Cross,
My countrymen Kilartan's poor.
No change of (???fuck) could bring them loss
or leave them happier than before.
No cheering crowds.....fuuuuuuck
A lonely impulse of delight......uh drove to this torrent in the clouds ??????
I balanced all, put all to mind
The years to come seemed waste of breath
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

Il neigeait. On était vaincu par sa conquête
Pour la première fois l'aigle baissait la tête
Sombres jours ! l'empereur revenait lentement,
Laissant derrière lui brûler Moscou fumant
Il neigeait. L'âpre hiver fondait en avalanche.
Après la plaine blanche une autre plaine blanche
On ne connaissait plus les chefs ni le drapeau.
Hier la grande armée, et maintenant troupeau.
On ne distinguait plus les ailes ni le centre.
Il neigeait. Les blessés s'abritaient dans le ventre
Des chevaux morts ; au seuil des bivouacs désolés
On voyait des clairons à leur poste gelés,
Restés debout, en selle et muets, blancs de givre,
Collant leur bouche en pierre aux trompettes de cuivre

Only the beggining of «L’expiation» by Victor Hugo, the horrid tale of the defeat of Napoleon in Russia

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made,
And nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There the midnight is all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And the evening is full of linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day,
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore,
When I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

***

I rise in the dawn and I kneel and blow
Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow.
And then I must scrub and bake and sweep
Till the stars are beginning to blink and beep,
While the young lie long and dream in their beds
Of the matching of ribbons for bosom and head.
Their days go over in idleness,
And they sigh if the wind but lift up a tress;
While I must work because I am old,
And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.

***

Ó mar salgado, quanto de teu sal,
São lágrimas de Portugal!
Por te cruzar, quantas mães choraram?
Quantas filhos em vão rezaram?
Quantas noivas ficaram por casar
Para que fosses nosso, ó mar?

Valeu a pena? Tudo vale a pena
Se a alma não e pequena.
Quem quer passar alem do Bojador
Tem que passar além da dor.

Deus ao mar o perigo e o abismo Deus
Mas nele é que espelhou o céu.

***

Alma minha gentil, que te partiste
Tão cedo desta vida descontente,
Repousa lá no céu eternamente
E viva eu cá na terra sempre triste.

E, se no assento etéreo onde subiste
Memória desta vida se consente,
Não te esqueças daquele amor ardente
Que já nos olhos meus tão puro viste.

E, se vires que pode merecer-te
Algua cousa a dor que me ficou
Da mágoa, sem remédio, de perderte,

Roga a Deus, que teus anos encurtou,
Que tão cedo de cá me leve a ver-te
Quão cedo de meus olhos te levou.

I like this one so have a (You) and:

Hugo von Hoffmanstal - Die Beiden

Sie trug den Becher in der Hand
Ihr Kinn und Mund glich seinem Rand
So leicht und sicher war ihr Gang
Kein Tropfen aus den Becher sprang

So leicht und fest war seinem Hand
Er ritt an einem junge Pferde
Und mit nachlessiger gebarde
Erzwang er, dass er zitternd stand

Jedoch, wenn er aus ihrer Hand
Den leichten Becher nehmen sollte
So war es beiden allzu schwer
Denn beide bebten sie so sehr

Dass keine Hand die andere fand
Und dunkler Wein am Boden rollte

Roast it. I do not have umlauts or Esszett so do not count those errors. I get those right. I probably botched an article or two.

Beautiful

Quintessentially Hitchens

Whose woods these are I think I know
His house is in the village, though
He will not see me stopping there
To watch his woods fill up with snow

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the Year

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake
The only other sound's the sweeo
Of easy wind and down flake

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep

I ate all dante pizza twice just because it is so nice
Oh Angelina, waitress at the pizzaria
I eat soup and ministroni just to be with here alonei
Oh Angelina, waitress at the pizzaria

La rue assourdissante autour de moi hurlait
Longue, mince, en grand deuil, douleur majestueuse
Une femme passa, d'une main fastueuse
Soulevant, balançant, le feston et l'ourlet

Agile et noble avec sa jambe de statue
Moi, je buvais, crispé comme un extravagant,
Dans son œil, ciel livide, où germe l'ouragan,
La douleur qui fascine, le plaisir qui tue.

Un éclair... puis la nuit, fugitive beauté
Dont le regard m'a fait soudainement renaitre,
Ne te verrai-je plus que dans l'éternité ?

Ailleurs, bien loin d'ici, trop tard, jamais peut-être
Car j'ignore où tu fuis, tu ne sais où je vais,
Ô toi que j'eusse aimée, Ô toi qui le savais !

Not sure about punctuation

"I Vow to Thee, My Country," Sir Cecil Spring-Rice

I vow to thee my country, all earthly things above,
Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love,
The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test,
That lays upon the altar the dearest and the best,
The love that never falters, the love that pays the price,
The love that makes undaunted the final sacrifice.

And there's another country I've heard of long ago,
Most dear to them that love her, most great to them that know.
We may not count her armies, we may not see her king,
Her fortress is a faithful heart, her pride is suffering.
And soul by soul and silently her shining bounds increase,
And her ways are ways of gentleness, and all her paths are peace.

So we'll go no more a-roving,
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving
And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword wears out the sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe
And love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon.

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in english, really ?

Here I sit, broken hearted, went to shit but only farted.

I know Voluspa by heart in Icelandic but I am not typing that shit.

I have never seen a purple cow
And I never wish to see one
But I can tell you anyhow
I'd rather see than be one

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
a stately pleasure dome decree
Where Alph, the sacred river ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea

So twice five miles of fertile ground
with walls and towers where girdled round

[Xanadic Boogaloo 2: Caves, damsels and dulcimers]

Weave a circle round him thrice
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of paradise

>miserable

'Terence, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
It gives a chap the belly-ache.
The cow, the old cow, she is dead;
It sleeps well, the horned head:
We poor lads, 'tis our turn now
To hear such tunes as killed the cow.
Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme
Your friends to death before their time
Moping melancholy mad:
Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.'

Why, if 'tis dancing you would be,
There's brisker pipes than poetry.
Say, for what were hop-yards meant,
Or why was Burton built on Trent?
Oh many a peer of England brews
Livelier liquor than the Muse,
And malt does more than Milton can
To justify God's ways to man.
Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think:
Look into the pewter pot
To see the world as the world's not.
And faith, 'tis pleasant till 'tis past:
The mischief is that 'twill not last.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie God knows where,
And carried half way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a sterling lad;
And down in lovely muck I've lain,
Happy till I woke again.
Then I saw the morning sky:
Heigho, the tale was all a lie;
The world, it was the old world yet,
I was I, my things were wet,
And nothing now remained to do
But begin the game anew.

Therefore, since the world has still
Much good, but much less good than ill,
And while the sun and moon endure
Luck's a chance, but trouble's sure,
I'd face it as a wise man would,
And train for ill and not for good.
'Tis true, the stuff I bring for sale
Is not so brisk a brew as ale:
Out of a stem that scored the hand
I wrung it in a weary land.
But take it: if the smack is sour,
The better for the embittered hour;
It should do good to heart and head
When your soul is in my soul's stead;
And I will friend you, if I may,
In the dark and cloudy day.

The tiger
He destroyed his cage
Yes
YES
The Tiger is out

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De Profundis Clamavi, Charles Baudelaire

J'implore ta pitié, toi, l'unique que j'aime,
du fond de gouffre obscur où mon cour est tombé.
C'est un univers morne á l'horizon plombé,
où nagent dans la nuit l'horreur et le blasphème.

Un soleil sans chaleur plain au-dessus six mois,
et les six autres mois la nuit couvre la terre;
c'est un pays plus nu que la terre polaire,
ni bêtes, ni ruisseaux, ni verdure, ni bois!

Or il n'est pas au monde un horreur qui surpasse,
la froide cruauté de cet soleil de glace,
et cette inmmense nuit sembable au vieux chaos.

Je jalouse le sort de plus vils animaux,
qui peuvent se plonger dans an sommeil stupide,
tant, l'échaveau du temps lentement se dévide.

Excellent thread, these should become a staple. Historic. Will remember.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

As silent as a mirror is believed:
Reality plunges in silence by

I am not ready for repentance
nor to match regrets, for the moth
bends no more than the still
imploring flame; And tremorous
IN the white falling flakes.
Kisses are--- the only worth all granting.

It is to be learned-- this cleaving and this burning,
But only by he who
spends out himself again.

Twice and twice
(Again the smoking souvenir
Bleeding eidalon!) and yet again
until the bright logic is won.
Unwhispering as a mirror
is believed.

Then drop by caustic drop, a perfect cry
Shall string some constant harmony
Relentless caper for all those who step
The legend of their youth into the noon.

Like Brooms of Steel
The Snow and Wind
Had swept the Winter Street-
The House was hooked
The Sun sent out
Feign Deputies of Heat-
Where road the Bird
the Silence tied
His ample- plodding Steed-
The Apple in the Cellar snug
Was all the one that played.

This is actually a good idea. Most people aren't prepared to submit anything they don't remember perfectly (or else they cheat of course), but it's good to see which bits stick and which don't for other people.

>No change of ??? could bring them loss

I remember that is

"No likely end could bring them loss"

Then the next bit is something like

"No sense of duty bade me fight
No public men or cheering crowds
A lonely impulse of delight... etc"

but I'm not sure that's it exactly. Better go and look it up.

Rose are red
Violets are blue
Blah blah blah blah
I love you

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Fear no more the heat of the sun
Nor the furious winter's rages
Thou thy worldly task hast done
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages
Golden lads and girl all must,
As chimney sweepers, come to dust

Fear no more the frown of the great
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke
Care no more to clothe or eat
To thee the reed is as the oak
The scepter, learning, physic must
All follow this, and come to dust

Fear no more the lightning-flash
Nor the all dreaded thunder-stone
Fear not slander, censure rash
Thou art finished joy and moan
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to this and come to dust

May no exorcism harm thee
Nor no witchcraft charm thee
Ghost unlaid forebear thee
Nothing ill comr near thee
Quiet consummation have
And renowned be thy grave

I jammed out some post modernist shit
And - what do you know? - it became a hit
Without concern for meter? "Fine!"
Coherent themes? "Just do a line!"

When I am old, but not quite dead,
I'll spare the briefest thought
"Wow, think of all that's gone unread,
And all the garbage bought."

And when my heart has beat its last
I'll chuckle cruelly on the past
And lisp a wish (impotent cast):

"Faggots, faggots, on the web
Heed my passing! Listen!
Though it is sweet to live a pleb,
I hope you die patrician."

The best ode

My heart aches and a drowsy numbness pains
my sense as though of hemlock I had drunk
or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
one minute past and lethe-wards had sunk.
'Tis not through envy of thine happiness
but being to happy in thy happy lot
that thou, light-winged dryad of the trees,
in some melodious plot
of beechen green and shadows numberless
singest of summer with full throated ease.

O for a draught of vintage, that hath been
cooled an age long in the deep delved earth
tasting of flora and the country green,
of dance, provencal song and sunburnt mirth.
O for a beaker full of the warm south,
full of the true, the blushful hippocrene,
with beaded bubbles winking at the brim
and purple-stained mouth
that I might drink and leave the world unseen,
and with thee fade into the forest dim.

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
what thou amongst the trees hast never known
the weariness, the fever and the fret.
Here where men sit and hear each other groan,
where palsy shakes a few, sad, last, gray hairs
where youth grows pale and spectre-thin and dies,
where but to think is full of sorrow
and leaden-eyed despair
where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
and new love pine at them beyond tomorrow.

Away! Away! for I will fly to thee
not charioted by Bachus and his pards
but on the viewless wings of poesy,
though the dull brain perplexes and retards
Already with thee! tender is the night
and haply the queen-moon is on her throne
clust'red round by all her starry fays
But here is no light
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs
but in embalmed darkness guess each sweet
wherewith the seasonable month endows
the grass, the thicket and the fruit tree wild.
White hawthorne and the pastoral eglantine
fast fading violets, covered up in leaves
and mid-mays eldest child
The coming musk-rose full of dewy wine
the murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen, and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful death
called him soft names in many a mused rhyme
to take into the air my quiet breath.
Now more than ever it seems rich to die,
to cease upon the midnight with no pain,
while thou art pouring forth my soul abroad,
in such an ecstasy.
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain,
to thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou was not made for death, immortal bird,
no hungry generations tread the down,
the voice I hear this passing night was heard
in ancient days by emperor and clown.
Perhaps the selfsame song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home
she stood in tears amid the alien corn
the same that ofttimes hath
charmed magic casements opening on perilous seas
in fairy lands forlorn. (can't remember these lines)

Forlorn, the very word is like a bell
to toll me back from thee to my sole self.
Adieu! The fancy cannot cheat so well
as she is famed to do, deceiving elf
Adieu! Adieu! Thy plaintive anthem fades
past the near hill side and over the still stream
and now 'tis buried deep (can't really remember these lines, fades should rhyme with glades)
... Was it a vision or a waking dream?
Fled is that music, do I wake or sleep?

Full of mistakes and half remembered lines, I should refresh my memory on this.

Pain is either an evil to the body, so let the body give its evidence, or to the mind.
But the mind can ensure its own clear skies and calm voyage by not perceiving pain as an evil.

Every judgement, every impulse, desire and rejection comes from the mind, where no evil can penetrate.

The tiger
He destroyed his cage
Yes
YES
The tiger is out

When things go wrong and will not come right,
Though you do the best you can,
When life looks black as the hour of night,
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN

When money’s tight and hard to get,
And your horse has also-ran,
When all you have is a heap of debt
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN

When health is bad and your heart feels strange,
And your face is pale and wan,
When doctors say you need a change,
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN

When food is scarce and your larder bare
And no rashers grease your pan,
When hunger grows as your meals are rare –
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN

In time of trouble and lousey strife,
You have still got a darlint plan
You still can turn to a brighter life –
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

My love we will go, we will go I and you
And away in the woods we will scatter the dew,
And the salmon behold! And the ocell too.
My love we will hear, I and you we will hear
The calling afar of the doe and the dear
And the birds in the branches will cry for us clear
And death, oh my fair one, will never come near
In the calling afar of the fragrant woods

I think i left a part, i thought i knew it

The second YES always gets me

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam fortasse requiris?
Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.

If you don't read this with full ellisions, you're a pleb.

I shall arise and go now, and go to Inisfree.
And a small cabin I'll have there of clay and wattles made.
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow.
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings.
There midnight's all a glimmer and noon a purple glow
And evening filled with the linnets wings.

I shall arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore
And be I in the streets or on the pavements gray
I hear it in the deep hearts core.
pretty sure I fucked up a bit but oh well

For oft when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood
They flash upon my inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude
And then my heart with pleasure fills
And dances with the daffodils

There once was a man from Nantucket
whose dick was so long he could suck it
he said with a grin
as he wiped off his chin
"If my asshole were looser I'd fuck it"

Attached: gf-insecure.jpg (882x419, 68K)

I too enjoy watching Peter Hitchens DESTROY leftists on YouTube

youtube.com/watch?v=44t0uP1Wq9U

There once was a young man from Peru
He fell asleep in a canoe
While dreaming of Venus
He pulled out his penis
And woke up with handfuls of goo

The apparition of these faces in a crowd; Petals on a wet, black bough.

That is what makes it literature

Most don't appreciate supple capitalization

O, wet pet!

Meriggiare pallido e assorto
preso un rovente muro d'orto.
Ascoltare fra i pruni e gli sterpi
schiocchi di merli, frusci di serpi.
Nelle crepe del suolo o sulla vecchia
spiar le file di rosse formiche
che ora si rompono e ora si intrecciano
a sommo di minuscole biche.
Osservare tra i frondi il palpitare
lontano di scaglie di mare
mentre si levano tremuli schricchi
di cicale tra i calvi picchi
E andando nel sole che abbaglia
sentire con triste meraviglia
com'è tutta la vita e il suo travaglio
in questo seguitare una muraglia
che ha incima cocci aguzzi di bottiglia

Harold Bloom tried to make me memorize one but I've already forgotten it.

Never thought I'd see Housman posted here, would've used that as an example.

Instead:

I heard the old, old men say:
"Everything alters,
And one by one we drop away."
They had hands like claws, and their knees
Were twisted like the old thorn-trees
By the waters.
I heard the old, old men say,
"All that's beautiful drifts away
Like the waters."

'The Old Men Admiring Themselves In The Water' by W.B. Yeats

Algo se me ha quebrado esta mañana
de andar, de cara en cara, preguntando
por el que vive dentro.

Y habla y se queja y se me tuerce
hasta la lengua del zapato,
por tener que aguantar como los hombres
tanta pobreza, tanto oscuro
camino a la vejez; tantos remiendos,
nunca invisibles, en la piel del alma.

Yo no entiendo; yo quiero solamente,
y trabajo en mi oficio.
Yo pienso: hay que vivir; dificultosa
y todo, nuestra vida es nuestra.
Pero cuánta furia melancólica
hay en algunos días. Qué cansancio.

Cómo, entonces,
pensar en platos venturosos,
en cucharas calmadas, en ratones
de lujosísimos departamentos,
si entonces recordamos que los platos
aúllan de nostalgia, boquiabiertos,
y despiertan secas las cucharas,
y desfallecen de hambre los ratones
en humildes cocinas.

Y conste que no hablo
en símbolos; hablo llanamente
de meras cosas del espíritu.

Qué insufribles, a veces, las virtudes
de la buena memoria; yo me acuerdo
hasta dormido, y aunque jure y grite
que no quiero acordarme.

De andar buscando llego.
Nadie, que sepa yo, quedó esperándome.
Hoy no conozco a nadie, y sólo escribo
y pienso en esta vida que no es bella
ni mucho menos, como dicen
los que viven dichosos. Yo no entiendo.

Escribo amargo y fácil,
y en el día resollante y monótono
de no tener cabeza sobre el traje,
ni traje que no apriete,
ni mujer en que caerse muerto.

Cisza nieznana i surowa
Coś złowieszczego w niej narasta
Człowiek przed smutkiem się nie schowa
Kruki zlatują się do miasta.

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