Favourite poems - identify the writer and add your own?

[Swizzler]

(as I can't remember my Shakespeare )

What seas what shores what grey rocks and what islands
What water lapping the bow
And scent of pine and the woodthrush singing through the fog
What images return
O my daughter

janitor - T.S. Eliot, Journey of the Magi

Not Matthew Arnold, but not too far off.

MMJ _ TS Eliot - Journey of the magi

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction

When I am sad and weary
When I think all hope has gone,
When I walk along High Holborn
I think of you with nothing on

Berolina: Plath. Kathy: Tennyson.

Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold
Her early leaf's a flower
But only so an hour

Then leaf subsides to leaf
So Eden sank to grief
So dawn gives way to day
Nothing gold can stay.

Kathy - Tennyson, of course.
My entry: 'My name is Ozimandias, King of Kings: Look on my Works, ye Mighty and despair'

Welliemum - correct

Robert Frost.

Callmemadam - Shelley.

Glitterkitty - Celia, Celia - Adrian Mitchell

Bloody love Adrian Mitchell, btw

CMMadam............ I love that poem..

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things.
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away

The day he moved out was terrible
That morning, she went through hell
His absence wasn't a problem
But the corkscrew had gone as well.

This is easy..............come on ladies...

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction

mine are too easy! Loved sherlocks. hmmm...

...and later he caught a bus and she a train
And all there was between them then was rain.

Timothy Winters comes to school
With eyes as wide as a football-pool,
Ears like bombs and teeth like splinters:
A blitz of a boy is Timothy Winters.

When teacher talks he won't hear a word
And he shoots down dead the arithmetic-bird,
He licks the pattern off his plate
And he's not even heard of the Welfare State.

Timothy Winters has bloody feet
And he lives in a house on Suez Street,
He sleeps in a sack on the kithen floor
And they say there aren't boys like him anymore.

At Morning Prayers the Master helves
for children less fortunate than ourselves,
And the loudest response in the room is when
Timothy Winters roars "Amen!"

So come one angel, come on ten
Timothy Winters says "Amen
Amen amen amen amen."
Timothy Winters, Lord. Amen

Rather than words comes the thought of high windows
The sun-comprehending glass
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless