#112928 - 09/30/03 08:50 AM
Re: Autumn Poetry Thread
|
Carpal Tunnel
Registered: 03/13/01
Posts: 4189
Loc: Rio Grande, Cape May County, N...
|
AUTUMN
Boris Pasternak
I have let my household disperse,
My dear ones have long been apart,
And a familiar loneliness
Fills all of nature and all my heart.
Here I am with you in the lodge.
No one walks thorugh the woods these days.
As in the old song, undergrowth
Has almost hidden the forest ways.
Forlornly, the timber walls
Look down on the two of us here.
We did not promise to leap obstacles,
We shall fall at last in the clear.
We shall sit down from one till three,
You with embroidery, I deep
In a book, and at dawn shall not see
When we kiss each other to sleep.
More richly and more recklessly,
Leaves, leaves, give tongue and whirl away,
Fill yesterday's cup of bitterness
With the sadness of today.
Impulse, enchantment, beauty!
Let's dissolve in September wind
And enter the rustle of autumn!
Be still, or go out of your mind!
As the coppice lets slip its leaves,
You let your dress slip rustling down
And throw yourself into my arms
In your silk-tasselled dressing gown.
You are my joy on the brink
Of disaster, when life becomes
A plague, and beauty is daring,
And draws us into each other's arms.
© 1947 by Boris Pasternak
|
|
Top
|
|
|
|
|
#112932 - 10/06/03 09:04 PM
To all of you, with love
|
Carpal Tunnel
Registered: 03/15/00
Posts: 11582
Loc: Louisville, Kentucky
|
GRATITUDE
I THANK thee, friend, for the beautiful thought
That in words well chosen thou gavest to me,
Deep in the life of my soul it has wrought
With its own rare essence to ever imbue me,
To gleam like a star over devious ways,
To bloom like a flower on the drearest days–
Better such gift from thee to me
Than gold of the hills or pearls of the sea.
For the luster of jewels and gold may depart,
And they have in them no life of the giver,
But this gracious gift from thy heart to my heart
Shall witness to me of thy love forever;
Yea, it shall always abide with me
As a part of my immortality;
For a beautiful thought is a thing divine,
So I thank thee, oh, friend, for this gift of thine.
Lucy Maud Montgomery
|
|
Top
|
|
|
|
|
#112935 - 10/08/03 12:52 PM
I'm in a mood, you know
|
Carpal Tunnel
Registered: 06/11/01
Posts: 2636
Loc: Caribbean
|
Elegy IX: The Autumnal
No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace
As I have seen in one autumnal face.
Young beauties force our love, and that's a rape,
This doth but counsel, yet you cannot scape.
If 'twere a shame to love, here 'twere no shame;
Affection here takes reverence's name.
Were her first years the golden age? That's true,
But now she's gold oft tried and ever new.
That was her torrid and inflaming time,
This is her tolerable tropic clime.
Fair eyes, who asks more heat than comes from hence,
He in a fever wishes pestilence.
Call not these wrinkles, graves; if graves they were,
They were Love's graves, for else he is no where.
Yet lies not Love dead here, but here doth sit
Vow'd to this trench, like an anachorit;
And here till hers, which must be his death, come,
He doth not dig a grave, but build a tomb.
Here dwells he; though he sojourn ev'rywhere
In progress, yet his standing house is here:
Here where still evening is, not noon nor night,
Where no voluptuousness, yet all delight.
In all her words, unto all hearers fit,
You may at revels, you at council, sit.
This is Love's timber, youth his underwood;
There he, as wine in June, enrages blood,
Which then comes seasonabliest when our taste
And appetite to other things is past.
Xerxes' strange Lydian love, the platan tree,
Was lov'd for age, none being so large as she,
Or else because, being young, nature did bless
Her youth with age's glory, barrenness.
If we love things long sought, age is a thing
Which we are fifty years in compassing;
If transitory things, which soon decay,
Age must be loveliest at the latest day.
But name not winter faces, whose skin's slack,
Lank as an unthrift's purse, but a soul's sack;
Whose eyes seek light within, for all here's shade;
Whose mouths are holes, rather worn out than made;
Whose every tooth to a several place is gone,
To vex their souls at resurrection:
Name not these living death's-heads unto me,
For these, not ancient, but antique be.
I hate extremes, yet I had rather stay
With tombs than cradles, to wear out a day.
Since such love's natural lation is, may still
My love descend, and journey down the hill,
Not panting after growing beauties. So,
I shall ebb on with them who homeward go.
John Donne
|
|
Top
|
|
|
|
|
#112936 - 10/08/03 01:33 PM
Re: I'm in a mood, you know
|
Carpal Tunnel
Registered: 06/11/01
Posts: 2636
Loc: Caribbean
|
To Autumn
O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stainčd
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may'st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
`The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust'ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather'd clouds strew flowers round her head.
`The spirits of the air live on the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.'
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat;
Then rose, girded himself, and o'er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.
William Blake
|
|
Top
|
|
|
|
|
8453 Members
16 Forums
13692 Topics
210099 Posts
Max Online: 3341 @ 12/09/11 02:15 PM
|
|
|
0 registered (),
47
Guests and
2
Spiders online. |
|
Key:
Admin,
Global Mod,
Mod
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
1
|
|
2
|
3
|
4
|
5
|
6
|
7
|
8
|
|
9
|
10
|
11
|
12
|
13
|
14
|
15
|
|
16
|
17
|
18
|
19
|
20
|
21
|
22
|
|
23
|
24
|
25
|
26
|
27
|
28
|
29
|
|
30
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Search
Previous Topic
Index