OT: What are you favorite poems?


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Thread Number: 13840
OT: What are you favorite poems?

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Post# 237915 9/22/2007 at 22:23 (6,057 days old) by washabear (Maryland)
Checkrate/Likes Just wondering what you would name as your favorite poems. Two of mine are "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" by Wallace Stevens and "Daddy" by Sylvia Plath. What are yours? Thanks.

Post# 237919 , Reply# 1 9/22/2007 at 22:46 (6,057 days old) by frigilux (The Minnesota Prairie)
Checkrate/Likes I'm in a silly mood, so here's my poem-of-the-moment. THE PANTHER.....by Ogden Nash The panther is like a leopard, Except it hasn't been peppered. Should you behold a panther crouch, Prepare to say ouch. Better yet, if called by a panther, Don't anther.

Post# 237926 , Reply# 2 9/22/2007 at 23:22 (6,057 days old) by selectomatic ()
Checkrate/Likes *It all depends on my mood.* �sweet spring is your time is my time is our time for springtime is lovetime and viva sweet love� (all the merry little birds are flying in the floating in the very spirits singing in are winging in the blossoming) lovers go and lovers come awandering, awondering but any two are perfectly alone there�s nobody else alive. (such a sky and such a sun I never knew (and neither did you) and everybody never breathed quite so many kinds of yes) not a tree can count his leaves each herself by opening but shining who by thousands mean only one amazing thing (secretly adoring shyly tiny winging darting floating merry in the blossoming always joyful selves are singing) �sweet spring is your time is my time is our time for springtime is lovetime and viva sweet love� -E E Cummings It seems vainglorious and proud Of Atom-man to boast so loud His prowess homicidal, When one remembers how for years, With their rude stones and humble spears, Our sires, at wiping out their peers, Were almost never idle. Despite his under-fissioned art The Hittite made a splendid start Toward smiting lesser nations; While Tamerlane, it's widely known, Without a bomb to call his own Destroyed whole populations. Nor did the ancient Persian need Uranium to kill his Mede, The Viking earl, his foeman. The Greeks got excellent results With swords and engined catapults. A chariot served the Roman. Mere cannon garnered quite a yield On Waterloo's tempestuous field. At Hastings and at Flodden Stout countrymen, with just a bow And arrow, laid their thousands low, And Gettysburg was sodden. Though doubtless now our shrewd machines Can blow the world to smithereens More tidily and so on, Let's give our ancestors their due, Their ways were coarse, their weapons few, But ah! how wondrously they slew With what they had to go on. -Phyllis McGinley Of course, there are others. As I said, it all depends on my mood. -kevin

Post# 237960 , Reply# 3 9/23/2007 at 07:18 (6,057 days old) by 63getelevision ()
Checkrate/Likes *i like my body when it's with your* e.e. cummings CLICK HERE TO GO TO 63getelevision's LINK

Post# 237971 , Reply# 4 9/23/2007 at 08:21 (6,057 days old) by jasonl (Cookeville, TN)
Checkrate/Likes 'Twas Brillo, and the G.E. Stoves, Did Procter-Gamble in the Glade; All Pillsbury were the Taystee loaves And in a Minute Maid. "Beware the Station-Break, my son, The voice that lulls, the ads that vex! Beware the Doctors Claim, and shun That horror called Brand-X!" He took his Q-Tip'd swab in hand; Long time the Tension Headache fought-- So Dristan he by a Mercury, And Bayer-break'd in thought. And as in Bufferin Gulf he stood The Station-Break, with Rise of Tame, Came Wisking through the Pride-hazed wood, And Creme-Rinsed as it came! Buy one! Buy two! We're almost through! The Q-Tip'd Dash went Spic and Span! He Tide Air-Wick, and with Bisquick Went Aero-Waxing Ban. "And hast thou Dreft the Station-Break? Ajax the Breck, Excedrin boy! Oh, Fab wash day, Cashmere Bouquet!" He Handi-Wrapped in Joy. 'Twas Brillo, and the G.E. Stoves Did Procter-Gamble in the Glade; All Pillsbury were the Taystee loaves, And in a Minute Maid.

Post# 237992 , Reply# 5 9/23/2007 at 09:39 (6,057 days old) by 63getelevision ()
Checkrate/Likes Jason, Jason, Jason!! The Mad Magazine parody of "Jabberwocky"! I have that in a "Best of" compilation!

Post# 237996 , Reply# 6 9/23/2007 at 09:48 (6,057 days old) by nurdlinger (Tucson AZ)
Checkrate/Likes *Look On My Works, Ye Mighty, and Despair...* Have not read a poem since high school (40 years ago) when was forced to. Back then, I liked one named "Ozymandias". Since then, song lyrics have sufficed.

Post# 238006 , Reply# 7 9/23/2007 at 10:04 (6,057 days old) by dalangdon (Seattle, WA)
Checkrate/Likes My Mom loves poetry, and as kids we were encouraged to read it and recite it, which sounds hopelessly Victorian, but was actually quite cool. Some of my favorites (right off the top of my head) are: Rose Hartwick Thorpe "Curfew Must Not Ring Tonight" Robert Frost "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" Robert Herrick "Gather ye rosebuds" ....And anything by Dorothy Parker, of course :-)

Post# 238016 , Reply# 8 9/23/2007 at 10:49 (6,057 days old) by nurdlinger (Tucson AZ)
Checkrate/Likes *"Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening"* When I was a senior in high school, we read and memorized this poem. Our English teacher, who was one of only four standout teachers in my history, told us that we would use some innovative method that would allow us to remember it forever. I still do remember it, but after all these years I think the innovation was planting the idea that we could not forget it which allowed that to happen. I was very bored in high school and this man, whose name was Conrad Vachon, tried mightily to convert some of my potential into action. He was no more successful than anyone else, but he earned an elevated place in my memory for it. After he died a few years ago, I learned that he had been a gay man. In Michigan in the 60's in a catholic school, he must have had a very difficult time of it.

Post# 238045 , Reply# 9 9/23/2007 at 13:10 (6,056 days old) by frigilux (The Minnesota Prairie)
Checkrate/Likes One of my favorite newer poems is by a Minneapolis-based poet named Emmanuel Ortiz. It's called "A Moment Of Silence Before I Start This Poem." I didn't want to type it out, so here's a link. It's a powerful and thought-provoking piece. Hope you enjoy it. CLICK HERE TO GO TO frigilux's LINK

Post# 238070 , Reply# 10 9/23/2007 at 16:08 (6,056 days old) by andrewinorlando ()
Checkrate/Likes *Favorite Poem?* Most of my life, my favorite was always Joyce Kilmer's The House With Nobody In It, but lately, since I'm the crazy dog lover that I am, and since my little girl was basically rescued from a puppy mill by my ex-husband, this little number has become one of my all time favorites. It was written by a wonderful woman by the name of Arlene Pace who worked as a foster for an animal rescue for many years and is dedicated to all the wonderful folks in rescue. The Lonely Dog Once I was a lonely dog, Just looking for a home. I had no place to go, No one to call my own. I wandered up and down the streets, in rain in heat and snow. I ate whatever I could find, I was always on the go. My skin would itch, my feet were sore, My body ached with pain. And no one stopped to give a pat, Or to gently say my name. I never saw a loving glance, I was always on the run. For people thought that hurting me was really lots of fun. And then one day I heard a voice, So gentle, kind and sweet, And arms so soft reached down to me, And took me off my feet. "No one again will hurt you Was whispered in my ear." "You'll have a home to call your own where you will know no fear." "You will be dry, you will be warm, you'll have enough to eat." "And rest assured that when you sleep, your dreams will all be sweet." I was afraid I must admit, I've lived so long in fear. I can't remember when I let A human come so near. And as she tended to my wounds And bathed and brushed my fur She told me about the rescue group And what it meant to her. She said, "We are a circle, A line that never ends." "And in the center there is you protected by new friends." "And all around you are the ones that check the pounds, And those that share their home after you've been found." "And all the other folk are searching near and far. "To find the perfect home for you, where you can be a star." She said, "There is a family, that's waiting patiently, and pretty soon we'll find them, just you wait and see." "And then they'll join our circle they'll help to make it grow, so there'll be room for more like you, who have no place to go." I waited very patiently, The days they came and went. Today's the day I thought, my family will be sent. Then just when I began to think It wasn't meant to be, there were people standing there just gazing down at me. I knew them in a heartbeat, I could tell they felt it too. They said, "We have been waiting for a special dog like you." Now every night I say a prayer to all the gods that be. "Thank you for the life I live and all you've given me. But most of all protect the dogs in the pound and on the street. And send a Rescue Person to lift them off their feet."

Post# 238091 , Reply# 11 9/23/2007 at 18:13 (6,056 days old) by jamman_98 (Columbia, SC)
Checkrate/Likes *Even though we don't have snow in the south* 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 is 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've always liked this poem. Jamman_98 Joe

Post# 238093 , Reply# 12 9/23/2007 at 18:17 (6,056 days old) by washabear (Maryland)
Checkrate/Likes I have enjoyed all your comments and examples. Great stuff. Thanks for sharing.

Post# 238096 , Reply# 13 9/23/2007 at 18:36 (6,056 days old) by selectomatic ()
Checkrate/Likes *Another favorite that seems appropriate here.* Housewife's Lament One day I was walking, I heard a complaining And saw an old woman the picture of gloom She gazed at the mud on her doorstep ('twas raining) And this was her song as she wielded her broom Oh, life is a toil and love is a trouble Beauty will fade and riches will flee Pleasures they dwindle and prices they double And nothing is as I would wish it to be. There's too much of worriment goes to a bonnet There's too much of ironing goes to a shirt There's nothing that pays for the time you waste on it There's nothing that last us but trouble and dirt. Oh, life is a toil and love is a trouble Beauty will fade and riches will flee Pleasures they dwindle and prices they double And nothing is as I would wish it to be. In March it is mud, it is slush in December The midsummer breezes are loaded with dust In fall the leaves litter, in muddy September The wallpaper rots and the candlesticks rust There are worms on the cherries and slugs on the roses And ants in the sugar and mice in the pies The rubbish of spiders no mortal supposes And ravaging roaches and damaging flies Oh, life is a toil and love is a trouble Beauty will fade and riches will flee Pleasures they dwindle and prices they double And nothing is as I would wish it to be. Last night in my dreams I was stationed forever On a far little rock in the midst of the sea My one chance of life was a ceaseless endeavor To sweep off the waves as they swept over me Alas! 'Twas no dream; ahead I behold it I see I am helpless my fate to avert She lay down her broom, her apron she folded She lay down and died and was buried in dirt. -kevin

Post# 238097 , Reply# 14 9/23/2007 at 18:42 (6,056 days old) by 63getelevision ()
Checkrate/Likes The last three poems were very moving. Thanks for posting them.

Post# 238186 , Reply# 15 9/24/2007 at 09:02 (6,056 days old) by mattywashboy (Perth, Western Australia)
Checkrate/Likes do not stand at my grave and cry by mary frye geez u guys are lucky, i even read it for you ! check it out, i love this poem, makes me think :-) Matt CLICK HERE TO GO TO mattywashboy's LINK

Post# 238193 , Reply# 16 9/24/2007 at 09:49 (6,056 days old) by veg-o-matic (Baltimore, Hon!)
Checkrate/Likes *Can't remember the whole thing* But it starts There once was a man from Nantucket...;) veg

Post# 238195 , Reply# 17 9/24/2007 at 09:57 (6,056 days old) by rp2813 (Sannazay)
Checkrate/Likes *Favorite . . . NOT!* Do a word association with anyone who went to St. Leo's School and had the great misfortune of being in the 7th grade under the command of Sister Mary Katherine Patrice, say "poem" and without any hesitation every last one of them will reply, "Paul Revere's Ride." Anyone who misbehaved in Sister Katherine's class was first ordered to write their name on the blackboard and then stay after school and memorize a stanza of "Paul Revere's Ride" before they could go home. For all who made it through, the 7th grade was known as "the year of Paul Revere." I was fairly well behaved in school but this crazed nun had one seriously short fuse. It was easy to set her off, and I was among those who in the course of a school year made it all the way through Paul's ride and moved on to "The Wreck of the Hesperus." Who knows how many students that absolute witch of a nun managed to totally turn off to the art of poetry. I get chills just hearing or even reciting in my head, Listen my children and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere . . . I speak for many permanently damaged boomers when I state that I'm comforted to know she's probably rotted away long ago, never to terrorize another child again.

Post# 238197 , Reply# 18 9/24/2007 at 10:07 (6,056 days old) by petek (Ontari ari ari O )
Checkrate/Likes I never cared for poetry throughout school. Probably the fact of having to memorize by force did me in and I don't really remember any other than a few lines of Abu Ben Adam may his tribe increase, awoke one night from a deep dream of peace. And saw ....... And also, By the shores of Gitchigoomey, by the shining great sea waters. Stood the wigwam of blah blah from Hiawatha

Post# 238214 , Reply# 19 9/24/2007 at 11:35 (6,056 days old) by nurdlinger (Tucson AZ)
Checkrate/Likes *Nuns & Poetry* We had to memorize "The Highwayman" and perform it on command with feeling. "...and the highwayman came riding, riding, riding (riding riding riding riding riding) up to the old inn door." This one's name was Sr. Mary Benilda. (In the pre-VCII days before they got to use their own names.) I have checked on the internet and she is indeed rotting away.

Post# 238224 , Reply# 20 9/24/2007 at 13:02 (6,055 days old) by rp2813 (Sannazay)
Checkrate/Likes Tom, you must know I agree with you 100%. Nuns did more harm than good associating poetry with punishment. I have hated poetry ever since 7th grade, as you might imagine. I enjoy the English language and appreciate the expertise that is employed in writing good poetry, but the scar tissue from punishment has erased any interest in poetry for me. Personally, I don't think there's a more ridiculous form of writing than haiku and I believe I have a lot of company, considering the ridicule that haiku regularly receives in one form or another. And re: VCII, you'd think with names changing from Sister Mary Imelda to Sister Cecilia, or from Sister Mary Agnita to Sister Leslie that these deranged women would come off as a bit more human, but they didn't. If anything, it skewed things more as their regular names seemed less formidable but their actions remained just as fierce. I mean, who, after years of cowering from principal Sister Mary Agnes Loretta, could ever take a principal named Sister Muriel seriously? Still, it was always in your best interest to do so. The only one who skates here is Sister Mary Francis Ellen from 4th grade, who became Sister Lorraine. She was the coolest with either name, and the only nun instructor I ever had who didn't act like one. I was in her class on 11/22/63 listening to a radio program on a historical figure, when the program was interrupted with the most serious news bulletin I had ever heard up until I was commuting to work the morning of 9/11/01. She ran down to Agnes Lorretta's office as soon as she heard the news, since nobody else in the school had any sort of radio or TV going so we were first to hear. When she returned she had us all bow our heads and pray, and the radio remained on for the better part of that day. Just another experience in a St. Leo's classroom that gives me chills to this day. But I digress. Back to poetry, everyone!

Post# 238235 , Reply# 21 9/24/2007 at 14:38 (6,055 days old) by nurdlinger (Tucson AZ)
Checkrate/Likes *One More Digression* This Sr. Benilda performed the impossible feat of causing my mother to question her own belief that nuns were always right. In the 8th grade I participated in the Detroit Metro Science Fair with a posterboard presentation of the various types of internal combustion engine. (including Wankel which was pretty new at the time). Mine was pretty noncompetitive in Cobo Hall, but it was the most elaborate thing I had ever planned and executed at that time. For some reason, we had to haul the entries down to the school and I think we got a grade for them. I got a less-impressive grade than my mother thought I deserved so she went to talk to Sr. Benilda. What the nun told my mother was that my project was way to good to have been done by a j**koff like myself, and someone else must have done it for me. Since my mother had witnessed me working on it for hours and hours at home in the basement, she knew the nun was full of shit. She, however, could not overcome her own upbringing to share that with the nun back then, or with me until I was about 50 years old. She too was a victim of a Catholic school education. (and Polish parents, to whom elder respect is mighty important)

Post# 238239 , Reply# 22 9/24/2007 at 16:00 (6,055 days old) by rp2813 (Sannazay)
Checkrate/Likes *And so . . .* Is it any wonder that those of us who survived Catholic school (and associated poetry torture treatments) appreciate the likes of Kathy Griffin and the rest of the comics who make such an exacting mockery of that entire operation? They have only touched a tiny tip of the iceberg uncovering abuses by priests, when the emotional damage caused by legions of rogue nuns was doled out to up to 50 kids at once for 9 months at at time! The mathematics of that equation is quite staggering. I hated our science fairs, by the way, and it's too bad the rotting Sister Benilda held such belligerent power over your mom. My dad told off our ex-military monsignor once and likely wouldn't have hesitated to go straight to him again if I had been victimized by such a wrong-headed point of view as Benilda's. By the way, one short poem (the best kind IMO) that manages to capture a visual so well with so few words is "The Red Wheelbarrow" by William Carlos Williams: So much depends Upon a red wheelbarrow Glazed with rain water Beside the white chickens And with that, maybe I've brought this thread back onto the track from which I so rudely derailed it. I'll spare everyone the Act of Contrition since, thankfully, I can only remember bits and pieces of it. Ralph

Post# 238240 , Reply# 23 9/24/2007 at 16:03 (6,055 days old) by perc-o-prince (Southboro, Mass)
Checkrate/Likes *Stood the wigwam of blah blah* Nikomas. Daughter of the moon, Nikomis... The only reason I know that much is from seeing it on Lucy!!!! Chuck

Post# 238241 , Reply# 24 9/24/2007 at 16:03 (6,055 days old) by perc-o-prince (Southboro, Mass)
Checkrate/Likes Nikomas, Nikomis... whatever! :-) Chuck

Post# 238242 , Reply# 25 9/24/2007 at 16:16 (6,055 days old) by perc-o-prince (Southboro, Mass)
Checkrate/Likes Now when I'm very good, and do as I am told, I'm Mama's little angel and Daddy says I'm good as gold. And when I'm naughty and answer back and sass, I'm Mama's little devil, and Daddy says I've got the brass. Oh I wish that you could tell me Cos I'm much too young to know..... Can't find/remember the rest! :-) Chuck

Post# 238247 , Reply# 26 9/24/2007 at 16:32 (6,055 days old) by washabear (Maryland)
Checkrate/Likes That's from "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane"! I love it! Also, "The Red Wheelbarrow" is another one of my favorites. Thanks!

Post# 238256 , Reply# 27 9/24/2007 at 17:19 (6,055 days old) by nurdlinger (Tucson AZ)
Checkrate/Likes *The wigwam belongs to Nokomis* Katharine Hepburn recited this poem in a movie called "Desk Set". Also did "Curfew Shall Not Ring Tonight" in the same flick. This is how I enjoy poetry, performed by someone with an exceptional voice. (IMHO)

Post# 238274 , Reply# 28 9/24/2007 at 18:59 (6,055 days old) by alr2903 (TN)
Checkrate/Likes My candle burns at both ends It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends - It gives a lovely light. Edna St. Vincent Millay

Post# 238284 , Reply# 29 9/24/2007 at 19:49 (6,055 days old) by mickeyd (Hamburg NY)
Checkrate/Likes *It's long but it's a DOOZY, and worth the time it ta* And it's by the KING--Walt Whitman--one of the first openly gay men in America CLICK HERE TO GO TO mickeyd's LINK

Post# 238291 , Reply# 30 9/24/2007 at 20:26 (6,055 days old) by perc-o-prince (Southboro, Mass)
Checkrate/Likes *That's from "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane"!* Such a great movie! "I've written a letter to daddy...." Chuck

Post# 238293 , Reply# 31 9/24/2007 at 20:44 (6,055 days old) by hoover1060 ()
Checkrate/Likes *mine, written by me in 2006* Wait for the guy who calls you beautiful instead of hot, who calls you back when you hang up on him, who stays awake just to watch you sleep. Wait for the guy who kisses your forehead, who wants to show you off to the world when you're wearing sweats, who holds your hand in front of his friends. Wait for the guy who is constantly reminding you of how much he cares about you and how lucky he is to have you. Wait for the guy who turns to his friends and says,".....that's him."

Post# 238337 , Reply# 32 9/25/2007 at 04:12 (6,055 days old) by danemodsandy (The Bramford, Apt. 7-E)
Checkrate/Likes *Yes! Dorothy Parker* Here's my favourite of hers, which appeals to my more-than-warped sense of humour: 'Resume' Razors pain you; Rivers are damp; Acids stain you; And drugs cause cramp; Guns aren't lawful; Nooses give; Gas smells awful; You might as well live.

Post# 239378 , Reply# 33 9/29/2007 at 16:29 (6,050 days old) by abcomatic (Bradford, Illinois)
Checkrate/Likes *From 'Trigger Rodgers"* I woke up in the morning and looked upon the wall; the cooties and the bedbugs were having a game of ball. The score was six to nothing and the cooties were ahead; the bedbugs knocked a home-run and I fell out of bed. OH my grandmother loved that one. Gary

Post# 239385 , Reply# 34 9/29/2007 at 16:53 (6,050 days old) by abcomatic (Bradford, Illinois)
Checkrate/Likes *Jamman and Perc-O-Prince* Jamman: Stopping . . . Evening was put to words by Randall Thompson in a song cycle of Frost's poems called Frostiana. Love that music Perc. On the Shores of... is from the Song of Hiawatha by Longfellow. I had my English students once take a poem that they liked and act it out in class. WHAT A HUGE MISTAKE that one was. Four boys acted out most of the poem that is pages long. By the shores of Ketcegume (sp)by the bright sea shining waters, stood the wigwam of Nakomus, daughter of the moon,Nakoums. They stood in front of the entire class and acted that out. They did a great job using their hands with the shores, the water, wigwam;however, daughter of the moon came out, as they took their hands and cupped them, imitating breasts and in unison, turned around and mooned the entire class. "We were not amused!" (actually I really was). How I ever managed not to get into trouble with the principal, schoolboard etc. and hold a job at Bradford CUSD1 for 30 years is a mystery to me. lol Gary

Post# 239446 , Reply# 35 9/29/2007 at 20:28 (6,050 days old) by pturo (Syracuse, New York)
Checkrate/Likes I think my favorite poem was/is: The woods are loveley dark and deep but I have miles to go before I sleep and promises that I must keep Sort of the story of my life. I would love to live in the woods, have always loved the Adirondacks, but we always had to go back to the city and school in the early fall. To me, the poem taught me a lesson to credit the beauty of nature despite the sometimes drudgery and duty of life. The magnificence of nature is much bigger than we are and our problems, and it is there for us as anytime we want to recognize it as the organic motherland that will always welcome us home. Phil

Post# 239448 , Reply# 36 9/29/2007 at 20:31 (6,050 days old) by washabear (Maryland)
Checkrate/Likes Here's another one of my favorites, by Margaret Atwood: YOU FIT INTO ME You fit into me like a hook into an eye A fish hook An open eye

Post# 1027981 , Reply# 37 3/25/2019 at 15:52 (1,855 days old) by DaveAMKrayoGuy (Oak Park, MI)
Checkrate/Likes *My own that I just thought of:* �Roses are sweet, garbage is yucky... If this is a good poem, I will be so lucky...� � Dave

Post# 1028000 , Reply# 38 3/25/2019 at 20:36 (1,855 days old) by askolover (South of Nash Vegas, TN)
Checkrate/Likes *Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost* Sounds like he's talking about Santa Claus

Post# 1028001 , Reply# 39 3/25/2019 at 20:38 (1,855 days old) by askolover (South of Nash Vegas, TN)
Checkrate/Likes *Life by Nan Terrell Reed* THEY TOLD ME that Life could be just what I made it— Life could be fashioned and worn like a gown; I, the designer; mine the decision Whether to wear it with bonnet or crown. And so I selected the prettiest pattern— Life should be made of the rosiest hue— Something unique, and a bit out of fashion, One that perhaps would be chosen by few. But other folks came and they leaned o'er my shoulder; Somebody questioned the ultimate cost; Somebody tangled the thread I was using; One day I found that my scissors were lost. And somebody claimed the material faded; Somebody said I'd be tired ere 'twas worn; Somebody's fingers, too pointed and spiteful, Snatched at the cloth, and I saw it was torn. Oh! somebody tried to do all the sewing, Wanting always to advise or condone. Here is my life, the product of many; Where is that gown I could fashion—alone?

Post# 1028002 , Reply# 40 3/25/2019 at 20:44 (1,855 days old) by askolover (South of Nash Vegas, TN)

Checkrate/Likes

Sonnet 18 by William Shakespear

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow’st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

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