The Road Not Taken

Discussion in 'Off Topic' started by Fire Slinger, Sep 21, 2000.

  1. Almindhra Magic's Bitch

  2. Spiderman CPA Man in Tights, Dopey Administrative Assistant

    I'll have to wait until I can get on from home before I can hear them. No speakers on work computers... :(
  3. Baskil CPA Member

    Terence, This Is Stupid Stuff
    by Alfred E. Housman

    "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 tine 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 pleasand 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 semed 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.

    There was a king reigned in the East:
    There, when kings will sit to feast,
    They get their fill before they think
    With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.
    He gathered all that springs to birth
    From the many-venomed earth;
    First a little, thence to more,
    He sampled all her killing store;
    An east, smiling, seasoned sound,
    Sate the king when healths went round.

    They put arsenic in his meat
    And stared aghast to watch him eat;
    They poured strychnine in his cup
    And shook to see him drink it up:
    They shook, they stared as white's their shirt:
    Them it was their poison hurt.
    ---I Tell the tale that I heard old
    Mithridates, he died old.


    Cargoes
    by John Masefield
    Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir
    Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,
    With a cargo of ivory,
    And apes and peacocks,
    Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

    Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,
    Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,
    With a cargo of diamonds,
    Emeralds, amethysts,
    Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.

    Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack
    Butting through the Channel in mad March days,
    With a cargo of Tyne coal,
    Road-rail, pig-lead,
    Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.
  4. Baskil CPA Member

    O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell
    by John Keats


    O SOLITUDE! if I must with thee dwell,
    Let it not be among the jumbled heap
    Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,—
    Nature’s observatory—whence the dell,
    Its flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell,
    May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
    ’Mongst boughs pavillion’d, where the deer’s swift leap
    Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.
    But though I’ll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
    Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
    Whose words are images of thoughts refin’d,
    Is my soul’s pleasure; and it sure must be
    Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
    When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
  5. arachiron New Member

    My Star
    Robert Browning

    All that I know
    Of a certain star
    Is, it can throw
    (Like the angled spar)
    Now a dart of red,
    Now a dart of blue;
    Till my friends have said
    They would fain see, too
    My star that dartles the red and the blue!
    Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs the furled:
    They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it.
    What matter to me if their star is a world?
    Mine has opened up to me; therefore I love it.


    (Vega rules!)
  6. Baskil CPA Member

    Quick question, are people reading these?
    With election day coming up...

    Next to of course God America
    by e.e. cummings

    "next to of course god america i
    love you land of the pilgrims' and so forth oh
    say can you see by the dawn's early my
    country 'tis of centuries come and go
    and are no more what of it we should worry
    in every language even deafanddumb
    thy sons acclaim your glorious name by gorry
    by jingo by gee by gosh by gum
    why talk of beauty what could be more beaut-
    iful than these heroic happy dead
    who rushed like lions to the roaring slaughter
    they did not stop to think they died instead
    then shall the voice of liberty be mute?"

    He spoke. And drank rapidly a glass of water
  7. Spiderman CPA Man in Tights, Dopey Administrative Assistant

    I "read" the thread (i.e. see that there has been new posts) but pretty much skim the poetry (reasons why are either on the first page or in another poetry thread).
  8. Ransac CPA Trash Man

    My personal favortie:

    Trick or treat
    Smell my feet
    Give me something
    Good to eat
    If you don't
    I don't care
    I'll pull down your
    Underwear

    *sniff* Brings back many fond memories.


    Ransac, reaching for a hanky
  9. Fire Slinger Vetern CPA Member Pyromananic

    Dream within a Dream
    by Edgar Allen Poe

    Take this kiss upon the brow!
    And, in parting from you now,
    Thus much let me avow-
    You are not wrong, who deem
    That my days have been a dream;
    Yet if hope has flown away
    In a night, or in a day,
    In a vision, or in none,
    Is it therefore the less gone?
    All that we see or seem
    Is but a dream within a dream.

    I stand amid the roar
    Of a surf-tormented shore,
    And I hold within my hand
    Grains of the golden sand-
    How few! yet how they creep
    Through my fingers to the deep,
    While I weep- while I weep!
    O God! can I not grasp
    Them with a tighter clasp?
    O God! can I not save
    One from the pitiless wave?
    Is all that we see or seem
    But a dream within a dream?
  10. Fire Slinger Vetern CPA Member Pyromananic

    Surpised Nobody has posted this one yet

    The Raven
    by Edgar Allen Poe

    Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
    Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
    As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
    "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-

    Only this, and nothing more."

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
    And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
    For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-

    Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
    Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
    "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
    Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-

    This it is, and nothing more."

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
    "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
    That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-

    Darkness there, and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
    fearing,
    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
    This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-

    Merely this, and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
    Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
    Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
    Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-

    'Tis the wind and nothing more."

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
    flutter,
    In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
    he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
    Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-

    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

    Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
    By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
    "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no
    craven,
    Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
    Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"

    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
    Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
    Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

    With such name as "Nevermore."

    But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
    That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
    Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown
    before-
    On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."

    Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
    "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
    Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

    Of 'Never- nevermore'."

    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
    Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and
    door;
    Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
    What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore

    Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
    To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
    But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,

    She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
    Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he
    hath sent thee
    Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
    Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"

    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or
    devil!-
    Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
    On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
    Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"

    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or
    devil!
    By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
    Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."

    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    "Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked,
    upstarting-
    "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
    Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
    door!"

    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
    On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
    And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
    floor;
    And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

    Shall be lifted- nevermore!
  11. terzarima New Member

    Wow, that's a classic, but you got to love the simpsons adaptation of it in the original tree house of terror

    Anyway I have some cool news. I am a semi-finalist in poetry.com's contest, isn't that cool "Death of an Eternal" could win me 1000 bucks cool eh?

    Anyway I have a cool death poem, about, well death in general

    Death, be not proud, though some have callèd thee
    Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
    For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
    Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
    From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
    Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow;
    And soonest our best men with thee do go,
    Rest of their bones and souls’ delivery.
    Thou’st slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
    And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
    And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
    And better then thy stroke. Why swell’st thou then?
    One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
    And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die.
    John Donne
  12. arachiron New Member

    Have you read the book he wrote in companion to that for his dead son?
  13. terzarima New Member

    No unfortunatly not, I have read 5 of his sonnets though, most of them, like this one are dark and disturbing
  14. arachiron New Member

    Hmm, I didn't know he wrote more poetry. The book was actually pretty good--about brain cancer.

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