FleshLight
Diamond Member
Wordsworth, Keats, Dickinson, Donne, and Pope = fail english ap test
-
We’re currently investigating an issue related to the forum theme and styling that is impacting page layout and visual formatting. The problem has been identified, and we are actively working on a resolution. There is no impact to user data or functionality, this is strictly a front-end display issue. We’ll post an update once the fix has been deployed. Thanks for your patience while we get this sorted.
Does anyone still read poetry?
Page 2 - Seeking answers? Join the AnandTech community: where nearly half-a-million members share solutions and discuss the latest tech.
SacrosanctFiend
Diamond Member
Someone else who knows the pseudonym! Bonus points if you can tell me the book.
HomeBrewerDude
Lifer
i was actually thinking about starting a poem a week thread or something. good post, Chratinc.
One of my favorites....
"The Tuft of Flowers"
-Robert Frost
I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.
The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the leveled scene.
I looked for him behind an isle of trees; 5
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.
But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been--alone,
"As all must be," I said within my heart,
"Whether they work together or apart." 10
But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a bewildered butterfly,
Seeking with memories grown dim o'er night
Some resting flower of yesterday's delight.
And once I marked his flight go round and round, 15
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.
And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.
I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry; 20
But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,
A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.
The mower in the dew had loved them thus, 25
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,
Nor yet to draw one though of ours to him,
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.
The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn, 30
That made me hear the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,
And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;
But glad with him, I worked as with his aid, 35
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;
And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.
"Men work together," I told him from the heart,
"Whether they work together or apart." 40
One of my favorites....
"The Tuft of Flowers"
-Robert Frost
I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.
The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the leveled scene.
I looked for him behind an isle of trees; 5
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.
But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been--alone,
"As all must be," I said within my heart,
"Whether they work together or apart." 10
But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a bewildered butterfly,
Seeking with memories grown dim o'er night
Some resting flower of yesterday's delight.
And once I marked his flight go round and round, 15
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.
And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.
I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry; 20
But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,
A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.
The mower in the dew had loved them thus, 25
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,
Nor yet to draw one though of ours to him,
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.
The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn, 30
That made me hear the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,
And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;
But glad with him, I worked as with his aid, 35
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;
And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.
"Men work together," I told him from the heart,
"Whether they work together or apart." 40
AreaCode707
Lifer
I'd post "The Eve of St. Agnes" but the length of the poem would kill the thread. WONDERFUL piece.
CarlKillerMiller
Diamond Member
I'm not too sure at all, but I'm going to venture a guess and say "Seven Gothic Tales"
I'm something of a student of literature.
SacrosanctFiend
Diamond Member
Correct. I'm impressed.
Shawn
Lifer
My Love
Your skin glows like the kiwi, blossoms soft as the rose in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your piano voice and leaps like a kitty at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great dove wing.
I am comforted by your sweater that I carry into the twilight of carbeams and hold next to my leg.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of water.
As my breast falls from my blouse, it reminds me of your computer.
In the quiet, I listen for the last siren of the day.
My heated arm leaps to my tank top. I wait in the moonlight for your secret glasses so that we may run as one, arm to arm, in search of the magnificient blue and mystical ice of love.
Your skin glows like the kiwi, blossoms soft as the rose in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your piano voice and leaps like a kitty at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great dove wing.
I am comforted by your sweater that I carry into the twilight of carbeams and hold next to my leg.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of water.
As my breast falls from my blouse, it reminds me of your computer.
In the quiet, I listen for the last siren of the day.
My heated arm leaps to my tank top. I wait in the moonlight for your secret glasses so that we may run as one, arm to arm, in search of the magnificient blue and mystical ice of love.
CarlKillerMiller
Diamond Member
What are you, boy? 12? 13?
HomeBrewerDude
Lifer
speaking of vogon, i can't wait for hitchhikers to hit the theater
apparently, even post-graduation, I'm a legend at my college English department, so I get the occasional e-mail or IM from undergrads looking for a good critique on their poems.
I read old poems on a fairly regular basis... sometimes, one of my old writing professors or a writing friend will recomend poems for me to read, and I'll check 'em out, but I don't go out of my way looking for new poetry. IMO, poetry has gone downhill since Alexander Pope held court.
I read old poems on a fairly regular basis... sometimes, one of my old writing professors or a writing friend will recomend poems for me to read, and I'll check 'em out, but I don't go out of my way looking for new poetry. IMO, poetry has gone downhill since Alexander Pope held court.
TRENDING THREADS
-
Discussion Zen 5 Speculation (EPYC Turin and Strix Point/Granite Ridge - Ryzen 9000)- Started by DisEnchantment
- Replies: 25K
-
Discussion Intel Meteor, Arrow, Lunar & Panther Lakes + WCL Discussion Threads
- Started by Tigerick
- Replies: 25K
-
-
-
