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message 1: by ❀ Susan (new)

❀ Susan G (susanayearofbooksblogcom) | 3562 comments Mod
As suggested in the Poetry section.


message 2: by Mary (new)

Mary | 313 comments Lyrics of Earth by Archibald Lampman to start the ball rolling. Not necessarily my favourite but a short one from Canada's history. no copyright issues I hope since this is from before 1900.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archiba...

The wikipedia site gives some background information.

THE BIRD AND THE HOUR
The sun looks over a little hill
And floods the valley with gold —
A torrent of gold;
And the hither field is green and still; Beyond it a cloud outrolled,
Is glowing molten and bright;
And soon the hill, and the valley and all, With a quiet fall,
Shall be gathered into the night.
And yet a moment more,
Out of the silent wood,
As if from the closing door
Of another world and another lovelier mood, Hear’st thou the hermit pour —
So sweet! so magical! —
His golden music, ghostly beautiful.


message 3: by Gillian (last edited Jul 28, 2016 12:57PM) (new)

Gillian | 229 comments That's beautiful!

His work is considered public domain and you can download ebooks of three of his books, Lyrics of Earth, Alcyone and Among the Millet and Other Poems, at Project Gutenberg if anyone is interested.
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/auth...


message 4: by Natasha (new)

Natasha Penney | 539 comments That poem is lovely! Thanks for sharing!


message 5: by Mary (new)

Mary | 313 comments https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of...

is a list of Canadian post. Not sure how complete it is.


message 6: by Magdelanye (new)

Magdelanye | 411 comments honestly, I tried to like this poem, but the truth is, its just not my kind of style.
I figured that if I want to keep things meaningful, I'd best fess up, because I really do appreciate the effort put in to achieve this space.
I'm confused too about copy rite. if credit is given and its for discussion purposes only, what's the issue?


message 7: by Mary (new)

Mary | 313 comments Here is a poem I have always admired:

The Second Coming

BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

Turning and turning in the widening gyre   
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The 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 vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert   
A 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.   
The 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, its hour come round at last,   
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Source: The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats (1989)


message 8: by Mary (new)

Mary | 313 comments And Another favourite:

Funeral Blues
By W. H. Auden
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.



Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.



He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.



The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes


message 9: by Magdelanye (new)

Magdelanye | 411 comments it was a sheepish day back when I discovered that it was not Joni Mitchell who wrote the lYeats
and I love the Auden. I've seen bits quoted, never read the whole poem Thanks!.


message 10: by Mary (new)

Mary | 313 comments Another poem used by a modern day musician.

The Lady of Shallot (1842)
By Lord Alfred Tennyson

Part the First.

            On either side the river lie
            Long fields of barley and of rye,
            That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
            And thro' the field the road runs by
                 To many-tower'd Camelot;
            The yellow-leaved waterlily
            The green-sheathed daffodilly
            Tremble in the water chilly
                 Round about Shalott.

            Willows whiten, aspens shiver.
            The sunbeam showers break and quiver
            In the stream that runneth ever
            By the island in the river
                 Flowing down to Camelot.
            Four gray walls, and four gray towers
            Overlook a space of flowers,
            And the silent isle imbowers
                 The Lady of Shalott.

            Underneath the bearded barley,
            The reaper, reaping late and early,
            Hears her ever chanting cheerly,
            Like an angel, singing clearly,
                 O'er the stream of Camelot.
            Piling the sheaves in furrows airy,
            Beneath the moon, the reaper weary
            Listening whispers, ' 'Tis the fairy,
                 Lady of Shalott.'

            The little isle is all inrail'd
            With a rose-fence, and overtrail'd
            With roses: by the marge unhail'd
            The shallop flitteth silken sail'd,
                 Skimming down to Camelot.
            A pearl garland winds her head:
            She leaneth on a velvet bed,
            Full royally apparelled,
                 The Lady of Shalott.

Part the Second.

            No time hath she to sport and play:
            A charmed web she weaves alway.
            A curse is on her, if she stay
            Her weaving, either night or day,
                 To look down to Camelot.
            She knows not what the curse may be;
            Therefore she weaveth steadily,
            Therefore no other care hath she,
                 The Lady of Shalott.

            She lives with little joy or fear.
            Over the water, running near,
            The sheepbell tinkles in her ear.
            Before her hangs a mirror clear,
                 Reflecting tower'd Camelot.
            And as the mazy web she whirls,
            She sees the surly village churls,
            And the red cloaks of market girls
                 Pass onward from Shalott.

            Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
            An abbot on an ambling pad,
            Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
            Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
                 Goes by to tower'd Camelot:
            And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
            The knights come riding two and two:
            She hath no loyal knight and true,
                 The Lady of Shalott.

            But in her web she still delights
            To weave the mirror's magic sights,
            For often thro' the silent nights
            A funeral, with plumes and lights
                 And music, came from Camelot:
            Or when the moon was overhead
            Came two young lovers lately wed;
            `I am half sick of shadows,' said
                 The Lady of Shalott.

Part the Third

            A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
            He rode between the barley-sheaves,
            The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
            And flam'd upon the brazen greaves
                 Of bold Sir Lancelot.
            A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
            To a lady in his shield,
            That sparkled on the yellow field,
                 Beside remote Shalott.

            The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
            Like to some branch of stars we see
            Hung in the golden Galaxy.
            The bridle bells rang merrily
                 As he rode down from Camelot:
            And from his blazon'd baldric slung
            A mighty silver bugle hung,
            And as he rode his arm our rung,
                 Beside remote Shalott.

            All in the blue unclouded weather
            Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
            The helmet and the helmet-feather
            Burn'd like one burning flame together,
                 As he rode down from Camelot.
            As often thro' the purple night,
            Below the starry clusters bright,
            Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
                 Moves over green Shalott.

            His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
            On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
            From underneath his helmet flow'd
            His coal-black curls as on he rode,
                 As he rode down from Camelot.
            From the bank and from the river
            He flash'd into the crystal mirror,
            'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:'
                 Sang Sir Lancelot.

            She left the web, she left the loom
            She made three paces thro' the room
            She saw the water-flower bloom,
            She saw the helmet and the plume,
                 She look'd down to Camelot.
            Out flew the web and floated wide;
            The mirror crack'd from side to side;
            'The curse is come upon me,' cried
                 The Lady of Shalott.

Part the Fourth.

            In the stormy east-wind straining,
            The pale yellow woods were waning,
            The broad stream in his banks complaining,
            Heavily the low sky raining
                 Over tower'd Camelot;
            Outside the isle a shallow boat
            Beneath a willow lay afloat,
            Below the carven stern she wrote,
                 The Lady of Shalott.

            A cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight,
            All raimented in snowy white
            That loosely flew (her zone in sight
            Clasp'd with one blinding diamond bright)
                 Her wide eyes fix'd on Camelot,
            Though the squally east-wind keenly
            Blew, with folded arms serenely
            By the water stood the queenly
                 Lady of Shalott.

            With a steady stony glance—
            Like some bold seer in a trance,
            Beholding all his own mischance,
            Mute, with a glassy countenance—
                 She look'd down to Camelot.
            It was the closing of the day:
            She loos'd the chain, and down she lay;
            The broad stream bore her far away,
                 The Lady of Shalott.

            As when to sailors while they roam,
            By creeks and outfalls far from home,
            Rising and dropping with the foam,
            From dying swans wild warblings come,
                 Blown shoreward; so to Camelot
            Still as the boathead wound along
            The willowy hills and fields among,
            They heard her chanting her deathsong,
                 The Lady of Shalott.

            A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy,
            She chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
            Till her eyes were darken'd wholly,
            And her smooth face sharpen'd slowly,
                 Turn'd to tower'd Camelot:
            For ere she reach'd upon the tide
            The first house by the water-side,
            Singing in her song she died,
                 The Lady of Shalott.

            Under tower and balcony,
            By garden wall and gallery,
            A pale, pale corpse she floated by,
            Deadcold, between the houses high,
                 Dead into tower'd Camelot.
            Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
            To the planked wharfage came:
            Below the stern they read her name,
                 The Lady of Shalott.

            They cross'd themselves, their stars they blest,
            Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.
            There lay a parchment on her breast,
            That puzzled more than all the rest,
                 The wellfed wits at Camelot.
            'The web was woven curiously,
            The charm is broken utterly,
            Draw near and fear not,—this is I,
                 The Lady of Shalott.'


message 11: by Gillian (new)

Gillian | 229 comments I love The Lady of Shalott! It's one of my favourite poems.


message 12: by Mary (new)

Mary | 313 comments In a Station of the Metro
Ezra Pound, 1885 - 1972

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


message 13: by Emmkay (new)

Emmkay | 252 comments That's wonderful, Mary Anne - so evocative!


message 14: by Allison ༻hikes the bookwoods༺ (last edited Sep 27, 2016 10:39AM) (new)

Allison ༻hikes the bookwoods༺ (allisonhikesthebookwoods) | 1642 comments A poem for those who struggle between science and art, left-brain and right-brain in this increasingly "explained" world.

When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer
by Walt Whitman


When I heard the learn’d astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.


message 15: by Mary (new)

Mary | 313 comments ✰ Allison ✰ wrote: "A poem for those who struggle between science and art, left-brain and right-brain in this increasingly "explained" world.

When I DetailsHeard the Learn’d Astronomer
by Walt Whitman

When I heard..."


thanks.. Walt is always interesting. I love his philosophy of life.


message 16: by Emmkay (new)

Emmkay | 252 comments ✰ Allison ✰ wrote: "A poem for those who struggle between science and art, left-brain and right-brain in this increasingly "explained" world.

When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer
by Walt Whitman

When I heard the le..."


I love that one! In high school I had to memorize "The World is Too Much with Us," and I'm glad I did - it still runs through my head at appropriate times. Maybe I should learn this one by heart too...


message 17: by Magdelanye (new)

Magdelanye | 411 comments wonderful poem
I'd forgotten it
nice to see enmkay back here


message 18: by Emmkay (new)

Emmkay | 252 comments Thanks, @Magdelanye! Slightly jet-lagged from a long trip, but unbowed :-).


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