To be or not to be
That is the question;
whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
the slings and arrows of misfortune
fie, fie
to sleep, perchance to dream;
to sleep, to sleep; ay, that is the rub
what may come when we shuffle off this mortal coil
>>7880269
to see a world in a grain of sand
and a heaven in a wild flower
hold infinity in the palm of your hand
and eternity in an hour
>>7880269
Of man's first disobedience
and of the fruit
From that forbidden Tree
Whose mortal taste brought death in the world
and all our woe.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.
>>7880269
How all occasions do inform against me and spur my dull revenge. What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed. A beast! No more. Sure he that hath given us such large discourse, looking both before and after, gave us not that capability and godlike reason to fust in us unused.
>>7880319
and I can't post the rest because the system thinks it's spam, but I can do the whole thing.
Suddenly
Dawn in gold sandals
Just going to paraphrase
Man's final will is to work; to create; to grow; to make Manself of man and to falter; to miss a step on the stairway of creation and civilization; the bombs dropping and the throats being slit are progress, every bomb is progress because we're still slipping and trying
Habe nun ach Philosophie, Juristerei und Medizin
Und leiter auch Theologie, durchaus studieret
mit hesseim Bemuhn, da steh ich nun
ich armer Tor, und bin so klug als vie zuvor
Heisse Magister, heisse Doktor gar
Und siehe schon and die ziehen Jahr
Heraus herab und kwer und Krumm
Meine Schuler an der Nase herum
Und siehe das wir nicht wissen konnen!
Das will mir schier das Herz verbrennen
Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
And the droughte of March hath perced to the roote
And bathed every veine in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flowr
And Zephyrus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heath
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
In the ram his half cours has yronne
And smale foweles maken melodye
That sleepen all the night with open eye
That's as far as I got
Shall I compare thee to a svmmer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate
Rovgh winds do shake the darling bvds of May
But none shake it to reciprocate
Conscience does make cowards of us all
But the summer will remain eternal in you
This I give to thee, and thus
Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have's mine own,
Which is most faint.
Now, tis true, I must be here confined by you,
Or sent to Naples.
Let me not, since I have my dukedom got,
And pardoned the deceiver dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands.
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails
Which was to please.
Now I want spirits to enforce,
Art to enchant,
And my ending is despair
Unless I be relieved by prayer
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults.
As from your crimes would pardoned be,
Let your indulgence set me free.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
my name is Ozymandius, King of Kings,
Look on my words ye mighty,
and despair.
Riverrun, past eve and adams, from swerve of shore to bend of bay
>>7880269
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Work Without Hope by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Evening Song by Sherwood Anderson
poem
About this Poem
This poem first appeared in Housman’s self-published collection A Shropshire Lad. The book didn’t become popular until the second Boer War, when Housman’s depictions of early death and the poems’ nostalgia for country life struck a chord with his English audience.
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To An Athlete Dying Young
A. E. Housman, 1859 - 1936
The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.
To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.
Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay,
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.
Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:
Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.
So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.
And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl’s.
This poem is in the public domain.
And this prayer I make,
Knowing Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her: 'tis her privilege
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy; for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life
Can e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our chearful faith that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk,
And let the misty mountain winds be free
To blow against thee; and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies, O! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations! Nor perchance,
If I shall be where I no more can hear
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of past existence, wilt thou then forget
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together, and that I, so long
A worshiper of Nature, hither came,
Unwearied in that service; rather say,
With warmer love—O! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves, and for thy sake!
hope I didn't fuck that up
>>7880857
Knowing that Nature*
just noticed that the meter demanded it. oops.
Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows
What are those blue remembered hills
Whose spires and farms are those
This is the land of lost content
I see it shining plain
Those happy highways where I went
And cannot come again
>>7880912
this is the one poem i have memorized so far
But soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
who is already sick and pale with grief,
that thou her maid art far more fair than she:
be not her maid, since she is envious;
her vestal livery is but sick and green
and none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
Modern English translation: "Ayy gurl wanna fug :DD"
Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.
shit, i can't do the rest of the first part...thought i knew it
>>7880269
Sous la Pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
et nos amours, faut-il qu'ils m'en souviennent
La joie venait tojours après la peine
Vienne la nuit, sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont, je demeure
Le vase où meurt cette verveine
D'un coup d'éventail fut fêlé ;
Le coup dut effleurer à peine :
Aucun bruit ne l'a révélé.
Mais la légère meurtrissure,
Mordant le cristal chaque jour,
D'une marche invisible et sûre
En a fait lentement le tour.
Son eau fraîche a fui goutte à goutte,
Le suc des fleurs s'est épuisé ;
Personne encore ne s'en doute ;
N'y touchez pas, il est brisé.
Souvent aussi la main qu'on aime,
Effleurant le coeur, le meurtrit ;
Puis le coeur se fend de lui-même,
La fleur de son amour périt ;
Toujours intact aux yeux du monde,
Il sent croître et pleurer tout bas
Sa blessure fine et profonde ;
Il est brisé, n'y touchez pas.
O Rose thou art sick
the invisible worm
that flies through the night
in the howling storm
has found out thy bed
of crimson joy
and his dark secret love
does thy life destroy
How do you guys memorize?
>>7880269
how do you actually memorize poems and such
A young man stands in his bedroom. It just so happens that today, the 13th of April, is this young man's birthday. Though it was 13 years ago he was given life, it is only today that he'll be given a name!
What will the name of this young man be?
> Enter name.
...
tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
creeps in this petty pace from day to day
until the last syllable of recorded time
and all our yesterdays have led fools down
the path to dusty death. out, out brief candle
life is but a walking shadow. a poor player
that struts and frets his hour upon the stage
it is a tale told by an idiot full of sound and fury
signifying nothing
Ronsard --
Pour avoir trop aimé votre bande inégale
Muses qui défiez (ce dites-vous) les temps
J'ai les yeux tous battus, la face toute pâle,
Le chef grison et chauve et si n'ai que trente ans.
Muse --
Au nocher qui sans cesse erre sur la marine
Le teint noir appartient. Le soldat n'est point beau
Sans être tout poudreux. Qui courbe la poitrine
Sur nos registres est laid s'il n'a pâle la peau
Ronsard --
Mais quelle récompense aurai-je de tant suivre
Vos danses nuits et jours, un laurier sur le front
Mais cependant les ans, auxquels je dusse vivre
En plaisir et en jeu, comme poudre s'en vont ?
Muses --
Vous aurez en vivant une fameuse gloire
Et quand vous serez mort, votre nom fleurira
L'âge de siècle en siècle aura de vous mémoire
Pendant que votre corps au tombeau pourrira
Ronsard --
Ô le gentil foyer, que chaut-il à Homère
Si son renom fleurit ou s'il ne fleurit pas ?
I don't remember the rest.
Another one :
Comme le champ semé en verdure foisonne
De verdure se hausse en tuyau verdissant
Du tuyau se hérisse en épi jaunissant
D'épi jauni en grain que le chaud assaisonne
Et comme en la saison le rustique moissonne
Les ondoyants cheveux du sillons blondissant
Les met d'ordre en javelle et du blé florissant,
Sur le champ dépouillé mille gerbes façonne.
Ainsi de peu à peu cru l'empire romain
Tant qu'il fût dépouillé par la barbare main
Qui ne laissa de lui que ces marques antiques
Que chacun va pillant, comme on voit le glaneur,
Cheminant pas à pas recueillir les reliques
De ce qui va tombant après le moissonneur
Pretty sure I fucked up though
i owe the discovery of uqbar to the conjunction of a mirror and an encyclopedia
#mindblown
>>7881352
From the same masterpiece, and the only poem of any kind I have memorized:
Prong of flesh bereft of home
find solace twixt a cleft of foam
Of apocalypse your thoughts eclipse
a painted pair of parted lips
that dare through kiss to stir the air
that teases tufts of orange hair
And though faces flush in lovers' fits
hands snug in plush as glove befits
my heart leaps up when i behold
a rainbow in the sky
so it was when my life began
so it is now i am a man
so be it when i shall grow old
or let me die!
the chid is the father of the man
and so i could wish my days to be
bound each to each by natural piety
an old pond ne
frog jumps IN!
~sound of water desu~
Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows: What are those blue remembered hills, What spires, what farms are those?
That is the land of lost content, I see it shining plain, The happy highways where I went And cannot come again
O to struggle against great odds, to meet enemies undaunted!
To be entirely alone with them,
to find how much one can stand!
To look strife, torture, prison,
popular odium, face to face!
To mount the scaffold,
to advance to the muzzles of guns
with perfect nonchalance!
To be indeed a God!
O captain my captain our fearful trip is done
Where on the deck my captain lies
fallen cold and dead
>>7880912
*morality intensifies*
The trees are coming into leaf
like something almost being said
the recent buds relax and spread
their greenness is a kind of grief
is it that they are born again
and we grow old? no they die too
their yearly trick of looking new
is written down in rings of grain
yet still the unresting castles thresh
in fullgrown thickness every May
last year is dead they seem to say
begin afresh, afresh, afresh
oh my love, my darling
you've left me here alone
I'll walk the streets of london
which once seemed all our own
the vast suburban churches
together we have found
the ones that smelt of gaslight
the ones in incense drowned
I'll use them now for praying in
and not for walking round
No longer will the hckney empire
find us in its stalls
when on the lamplit crooner,
the thankful curtain falls
and soft electric lamplight
reveals the gilded walls
>>7880269
Quoth the Raven:
"Swiggity swooty,
Comin' for that booty."
She should have died hereafter,
There would have been time for such a word.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
Creeps in its petty pace from day to day,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
Their way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
per mi se va ne la cittá dolente
per me se va ne l'etterno dolore
When I was one and twenty,
I heard a wise man say:
"Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your soul away.
Give pearls away and rubies,
But keep your fancy free."
But I was one and twenty,
No use to talk to me.
When I was one and twenty,
I heard him say again:
"The heart out of the bosom
Is never given in vain,
'Tis paid with sighs aplenty
And sold for endless rue."
Now I am two and twenty,
And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.
>>7880269
nah
Me to play. Old stancher! Can there be misery loftier than mine? No doubt. Formerly. But now. My father? My mother? My... dog? Oh I'm willing to believe they suffer as muxh as such creatures can suffer, but does that mean their sufferings equal mine? No doubt. No, all is a...bsolute, the bigger a man is the fuller he is. And the emptier. Clov! No, alone. What dreams! Those forests! Enough, it's time it ended already, in the refuge too. It's time it ended, and yet I hesitate to... To end. Yes, there it is. It's time it ended and yet I hesitate to end.
Something like that. I can't be bothered to put all the stage instructions. I'm sure it's not entirely accurate either.
>>7880841
I giggled heartily.
昨夜扁舟雨一蓑
满江风浪夜如何
今朝试卷孤蓬看
江山依旧绿树多
Out of the night that covers me
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud;
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloodied, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade;
And yet, the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how straight the gait,
How charged with punishment the scroll;
I am the master of my fate.
I am the captain of my soul.
Memorized this when I ran cross country in high school. I would mentally go over it whenever I felt like slowing down. Makes you take pride in the pain, yknow?
April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
>>7882079
Let us go then, you and I
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon the table
Let us go through certain half deserted streets
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster shells
Streets that follow like tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an oeverwhelming question
Oh, do not ask "What is it?"
Let us go and make out visit
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michaelangelo
>>7882049
Actually won a poetry recitation competition with this one.
a screathing jumps across the sky
>>7880269
It matters not how strait the gate
How charged with punishments the scroll
I am the master of my fate
I am the captain of my soul
>>7881754
UNTIL THE LAST SYLLABLE OF RECORDED TIME*
>>7880269
OR TO TAKE ARMS AGAINST A SEA OF TROUBLES
AND BY OPPOSING, END THEM. TO DIE--TO SLEEP--
NO MORE. AND BY A SLEEP WE SAY TO END
THE HEARTACHE AND THE THOUSAND NATURAL SHOCKS
THAT FLESH IS HEIR TO. TIS A CONSUMMATION
DEVOUTLY TO BE WISHED. TO DIE--TO SLEEP;
TO SLEEP--PERCHANCE TO DREAM: AY, THERE'S THE RUB.
FOR IN THAT SLEEP OF DEATH WHAT STANDS MAY COME
WHEN WE HAVE SHUFFLED OF THIS MORTAL COIL
MUST GIVE US PAUSE.***
Etc.
>>7882318
FUCK I always forget that line
>>7880912
Ah comme la neige a neigé
Ma vitre est un jardin de givre.
Ah comme la neige a neigé
Qu'est-ce que le spasme de vivre
À la douleur que j'ai, que j'ai
Tous les étangs gisent gelés
Mon âme est noire. Où-vis je? Où vais-je?
Tous ses espoirs gisent gelés
Je suis la nouvelle Norvège
D'où les blonds ciels s'en sont allés
Pleurez, oiseaux de février
Au sinistre frisson des choses
Pleurez, oiseaux de février
Pleurez mes pleurs, pleurez mes roses
Aux branches du genévrier
Ah comme la neige a neigé
Ma vitre est un jardin de givre.
Ah comme la neige a neigé
Qu’est-ce que le spasme de vivre
À tout l’ennui que j’ai, que j’ai
