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Joined: Oct 2004
Posts: 1,111
Parakeet
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OP
Parakeet
Joined: Oct 2004
Posts: 1,111 |
Mine is "Ulysses" by Alfred Lord Tennyson.
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Joined: Apr 2006
Posts: 614
Gecko
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Gecko
Joined: Apr 2006
Posts: 614 |
She walks in Beauty, Like the night Through cloudless climes And starry skies
And all that's best Of dark and light Meets in her aspect And her eyes.
I may have a word or two off; that's just off the top of my head.
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Joined: Apr 2006
Posts: 129
Jellyfish
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Jellyfish
Joined: Apr 2006
Posts: 129 |
[color:"green"] THE ROAD NOT TAKEN
Robert 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; 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, 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. 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. [/color]
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Joined: Oct 2004
Posts: 1,111
Parakeet
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OP
Parakeet
Joined: Oct 2004
Posts: 1,111 |
Kubla Khan by Coleridge
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree...
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Joined: Jul 2006
Posts: 4
Newbie
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Newbie
Joined: Jul 2006
Posts: 4 |
My favorite is "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot. I remember doing a comparative essay of this poem and Thomas Mann's "Death in Venice". Both offer so much imagery, especially "ragged claws scuttling" along the ocean floor.
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Joined: Jun 2005
Posts: 53
Amoeba
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Amoeba
Joined: Jun 2005
Posts: 53 |
I have many favorites poems. One of them is "Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening," by Robert Frost. I prefer poems by American poets. Robert Frost lived, for a time, in my home state of New Hampshire, although he also lived in Vermont, so they claim him, too. Emily Dickinson, who lived in nearby Massachusetts is another all time favorite poet. Pat, www.quiltersmuse.com
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Joined: Jul 2006
Posts: 28
Newbie
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Newbie
Joined: Jul 2006
Posts: 28 |
my favorite of all time poem is "annabellee" by edger allan poe. thanks candy
If you are always trying to be someone else how can you be yourself? So try and be yourself more everyday that way you will never lose who you are.
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Joined: Jan 2006
Posts: 339
Shark
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Shark
Joined: Jan 2006
Posts: 339 |
Annabellee is a favorite of mine as well, also The Road Not Taken. Others are If by Rudyard Kipling and Remember by Christina Rossetti.
My 2 all-time faves though are As I Walked Out One Evening and Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden.
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Joined: Feb 2005
Posts: 128
Jellyfish
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Jellyfish
Joined: Feb 2005
Posts: 128 |
I would have to say "Nothing Gold Can Stay -- Robert Frost" and the poem "Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep."
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Joined: Jun 2006
Posts: 954
BellaOnline Editor Parakeet
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BellaOnline Editor Parakeet
Joined: Jun 2006
Posts: 954 |
My favorite is Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would Not take the Garbage Out by Shel Silverstein.
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Joined: Aug 2006
Posts: 18
Newbie
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Newbie
Joined: Aug 2006
Posts: 18 |
Wild Geese by Mary Oliver = and also The Journey - same author!
Wild Geese
You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting-- over and over announcing your place in the family of things.
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Joined: Jan 2005
Posts: 91
Amoeba
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Amoeba
Joined: Jan 2005
Posts: 91 |
Mine would have to be "I'm Nobody" by Emily Dickinson. It is an emblem of my growing up in an abusive home and feelings of loneliness that it brought.
I�m nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there�s a pair of us�don�t tell! They�d banish us, you know. �� How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog!
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Joined: Jun 2006
Posts: 46
BellaOnline Editor Newbie
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BellaOnline Editor Newbie
Joined: Jun 2006
Posts: 46 |
Love After Love ~ Derek Walcott
The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes, peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.
Melissa Demiguel French Culture Editor"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris...then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." Ernest Hemingway
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Joined: Aug 2006
Posts: 1,513
Chipmunk
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Chipmunk
Joined: Aug 2006
Posts: 1,513 |
The little toy dog is covered with dust, But sturdy and staunch he stands; The little toy soldier is red with rust, And his musket moulds in his hands. Time was when the little toy dog was new, And the soldier was passing fair; And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue Kissed them and put them there. "Now don't you go till I come," he said, "And don't you make any noise!" So, toddling off to his trundle bed, He dreamt of the pretty toys; And, as he was dreaming, an angel song Awakened our Little Boy Blue� Oh! the years are many, the years are long, But the little toy friends are true! Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, Each in the same old place, Awaiting the touch of a little hand, The smile of a little face; And they wonder, as waiting the long years through In the dust of that little chair, What has become of our Little Boy Blue, Since he kissed them and put them there.
Eugene Field
Jan Goldfield
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