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!

I do Quattro,

but then, that's no surprise really is it?

Love sullen art too, TN, as you would expect. Do not go gentle is spectacularly beautiful though.

That is a beautiful poem Quattro.

Some of you seem to know your stuff re poetry. I heard a poem years ago and I think it was by Vita Sackville-West about not trying people if you love them. I've never found it again. Any ideas? Probably I half heard the end of it and got the wrong end of the stick.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light!!!!!!

love it.

That should be 'not trying to change people if you love them'

Sorry Tiny don't know it.

I also love, Politics, by W B Yeats.

So do I!!!

lol @ quattro

Also Among School Children? Do you like that?

Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters

A series of poems written beyond the grave by the residents of a mythical Illinois Town
I tracked it down and got a copy in Chicago.

It is simply beautiful. It's touching, bitter, funny, tragic and thought provoking.

It was worth finding

I actually feel really excited on this thread.

[feel a little silly telling you that ]

Oh Dinosaur I love The Lake Isle of Innisfree. But my fave Yeats are Leda and the Swan and He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven:
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

I had to read that at a wedding quite recently. Was a relief. Was very worried I was going to have to go galumphing up the aisle in a dress of the bride's choice ...

Here's a stanza from my favourite Yeats ... Among School Children

Her present image floats into the mind -
Did Quattrocento finger fashion it
Hollow of cheek as though it drank the wind
And took a mess of shadows for its meat?
And I though never of Ledaean kind
Had pretty plumage once - enough of that,
Better to smile on all that smile, and show
There is a comfortable kind of old scarecrow.

and now, I understand a little more about you

I also love Patrick Kavanagh

Raglan Rd..

My mil grew up in the shadow of Ben Bulben

and Lisadell house was a stones throw away from her childhood home.

A lovely poem that was read at my daughter's Christening...

All The Things You Are Not Yet by Helen Dunmore
for tess

Tonight there's a crowd in my head:
all the things you are not yet.
You are words without paper, pages
sighing in summer forests, gardens
where builders stub out their rubble
and plastic oozes its sweat.
All the things you are, you are not yet.

Not yet the lonely window in midwinter
with the whine of tea on an empty stomach,
not yet the heating you can't afford and must wait for,
tamping a coin in on each hour.
Not the gorgeous shush of restaurant doors
and their interiors, always so much smaller.
Not the smell of the newsprint, the blur
on your fingertips ? your fame. Not yet

the love you will have for Winter Pearmains
and Chanel No 5 ? and then your being unable
to buy both washing-machine and computer
when your baby's due to be born,
and my voice saying, "I'll get you one"
and you frowning, frowning
at walls and surfaces which are not mine ?
all this, not yet. Give me your hand,

that small one without a mark of work on it,
the one that's strange to the washing-up bowl
and doesn't know Fairy Liquid for whiskey.
Not yet the moment of your arrival in taxis
at daring destinations, or your being alone at stations
with the skirts of your fashionable clothes flapping
and no money for the telephone.

Not yet the moment when I can give you nothing
so well-folded it fits in an envelope ?
a dull letter you won't reread.
Not yet the moment of your assimilation
in that river flowing westward: rivers of clothes,
of dreams, an accent unlike my own
saying to someone I don't know: darling...

am a bit of a poetry buffoon but this thread is getting me hooked.

Am loving the love poetry - the one lower down about sails -ahhh!

More love poetry please cultured ones!