Favourite poems

[ipanemagirl]

Poem lyrics of Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
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's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy 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 LOVE this poem and the last line reminds me to go to bed!

There is a poet called Eavan Boland that has a poem called 'The Night Feed'. Would love to read it again. Any one heard of it? i can find references to it online but no the actual poem.

I have read some of her poetry and listened to her a couple of times on Rattlebag.

I'm not sure I have come across this particular poem though.

this is such a beautiful thread

there is always a poem for every occasion but the ones that conjour up your raw emotions are the ones you will always remember - its breath taking to share some of your very personal poems they are beautiful

its a poem bit lovely it called STOP ALL THE CLOCKS by w.h.auden, i heard it first on the film 4 weddings and a funeral it makes me cry everytime i hear it but sums up everything i felt when my grandma died [sorry if it depressing]

i love that poem also it makes me cry too

Here, I am posting it for you. It is lovely.

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 for ever: 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 woods:
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Adore Auden personally. There is another one of his that I want to post but maybe enough is enough ...

im crying xxx

Am absolutely howling now myself.

Here's another Auden. This I think is one of his MOST beautiful poems - a snippet from his memorial to WB Yeats.

In the nightmare of the dark
All the dogs of Europe bark,
And the living nations wait,
Each sequestered in its hate;

Intellectual disgrace
Stares from every human face,
And the seas of pity lie
Locked and frozen in each eye.

Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night,
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice;

With the farming of a verse
Make a vineyard of the curse,
Sing of human unsuccess
In a rapture of distress;

In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountain start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.

london bridge ...is a poem my dh likes but i not sure who it by

thats lovely [im still crying]

not sure if this counts as poetry as its part of a song (so don't banish me from here please!) but words were very poignant to me when i lost my dad and i will always remember them

I needed a break when your book about dreams was taken,
I needed to pray or see a priest that day,
I needed to leave this trade and just heave it away.
But I cleaned up my place like you so I could see things straight.

I never cared about God when life was sailin' in the calm,
So I said I'd get my head down and I'd deal with the ache in my heart,
And for that if God exists I'd reckon he'd pay me regard,
Mum says me and you are the same from the start.

I guess than you did leave me something to remind me of you,
Everytime I interrupt someone like you used to,
When I do something like you you'll be on my mind or through,
'Cause I forgot you left me behind to remind me of you.

The ROad Not Taken
FROST
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth; 5

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same, 10

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back. 15

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I?
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

this was read at my leaving assembly for year 11 and is one of my all time favourites

On His Work in the English Tongue, by Seamus Heaney.

Which he wrote in memory of Ted Hughes.

[I can't do links etc. So I'll type out the first verse, because I love it.]

Post-this, post-that, post-the-other, yet in the end
Not past a thing.Not understanding or telling or forgiveness.
But often past oneself
Pounded like a shore by the roller griefs
In language that can still knock language sideways.

i love Heaney too tnog especially like mid term break, think someone has already posted that though

He also seems such a genuinely kind and lovely man.

More of his type in the world is what we need

What I love most about this thread, is the way in which you feel slightly elevated by reading the words within these poems. Even on a computer screen their potency leaps out at you and touches something deep within.

< yes, I am an utter ponce >

But it isn't poncey, it's actually more real than anything else isn't it

Real emotion.

well said tnog

Love the Frost adn teh Auden, love this thread
Must read some Heaney.
I did Wordsworth for eng A level and didn't really appreciate him but always loved this:

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear

The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky,
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!

The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

Owen Shears is young, cute and has a lovely voice - he's on the poetry archive reading his "Not yet my mother" which is a boy looking at a photograph of his mother when she was young - lovely poem.
Lovely Poet!

Another Wordsworth from my 'o'level days, haven't had much time for poetry since then

ETHEREAL Minstrel! Pilgrim of the sky!
Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound?
Or while the wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music still!

To the last point of vision, and beyond
Mount, daring warbler!?that love-prompted strain
('Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond)
Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain:
Yet mightst thou seem, proud privilege! to sing
All independent of the leafy Spring.

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood;
A privacy of glorious light is thine,
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine;
Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam?
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!