Your Favourite Poem

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The Esk said:
Sorry mate ;)

Someone bought a fantastic book for my daughter's first Christmas, beautifully illustrated with lots of windows to open and sliding pictures etc. Around bedtime we all go into one of the kid's bedrooms and sit on the bed and read it. Magical monents :)
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Magical indeed. The one we have is wonderful too, although it came with a cd audio as well I refuse to play it as its best read out loud I feel. I will probably still be reading this to them down the phone when they've long left lol.
 

Home Thoughts From The Desert by Flora Thompson

In Hampshire now, the woods are brown,
The heath-sands tawny - gold with rain ;
The mist lies blue on Bratley Down ,
The firelight flecks the window pane -
In Hampshire now !

The wind comes screaming from the sea ,
The wild sea-horses champ and roar ,
And every oak on Dudman's Lea
Echoes the tumult of the shore -
In Hampshire now !

The 'Wight lies wrapt in cloud and mist ,
Scarce once a week they'll see it clear ,
And then it glows like amethyst -
And Oh, I would that I were there ,
In Hampshire now !

Amid the desert sand and heat ,
I hear the wheeling seabirds scream ,
Scent the good smoke of burning peat ,
Then wake and find it but a dream -
Ah, Hampshire dear !
 
Winter solstice today so will be bringing in the yule log to keep us warm over winter's shortest day. Wassail! wassail! all over the town. Here's one of my favourite poems to mark the occasion.



In the bleak midwinter
1830–1894 Christina Rossetti


In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.
 
It came upon the midnight clear
By Edmund Sears.
Merry Christmas to all.


It came upon the midnight clear,
that glorious song of old,
from angels bending near the earth
to touch their harps of gold:
"Peace on the earth, good will to men,
from heaven's all-gracious King."
The world in solemn stillness lay,
to hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they come
with peaceful wings unfurled,
and still their heavenly music floats
o'er all the weary world;
above its sad and lowly plains,
they bend on hovering wing,
and ever o'er its Babel sounds
the blessed angels sing.

And ye, beneath life's crushing load,
whose forms are bending low,
who toil along the climbing way
with painful steps and slow,
look now! for glad and golden hours
come swiftly on the wing.
O rest beside the weary road,
and hear the angels sing!

For lo! the days are hastening on,
by prophet seen of old,
when with the ever-circling years
shall come the time foretold
when peace shall over all the earth
its ancient splendors fling,
and the whole world send back the song
which now the angels sing.
 

Christmas: 1924
THOMAS HARDY

“Peace upon earth!” was said. We sing it,
And pay a million priests to bring it.
After two thousand years of mass
We've got as far as poison gas.
 
Not going to try to translate a full poem but a line from Miguel Hernandez. Victim of the Civil war he wrote a tribute to his friend and fellow poet Ramon Sitges when he died 'Elegia'. This line really made a big impact on me for it's simplicity and power.

I feel your absence more than my own presence.
 
A Carol From Flanders
Frederick Nivenhttp://www.worldwars.ca/Stories/Redeemed-Italy.html



In Flanders on the Christmas morn
The trenched foemen lay,
The German and the Briton born--
And it was Christmas Day.

The red sun rose on fields accurst,
The grey fog fled away;
But neither cared to fire the first,
For it was Christmas Day.

They called from each to each across
The hideous disarray
(For terrible had been their loss):
O, this is Christmas Day!

Their rifles all they set aside,
One impulse to obey;
'Twas just the men on either side,
Just men--and Christmas Day.

They dug the graves for all their dead
And over them did pray;
And Englishman and German said:
How strange a Christmas Day!

Between the trenches then they met,
Shook hands, and e'en did play
At games on which their hearts are set
On happy Christmas Day.

Not all the Emperors and Kings,
Financiers, and they
Who rule us could prevent these things
For it was Christmas Day.

O ye who read this truthful rime
From Flanders, kneel and say:
God speed the time when every day
Shall be as Christmas Day.
 
Donald Twain said:
Winter solstice today so will be bringing in the yule log to keep us warm over winter's shortest day. Wassail! wassail! all over the town. Here's one of my favourite poems to mark the occasion.



In the bleak midwinter
1830–1894 Christina Rossetti


In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.
Click to expand...

The first song I remember learning in infants. Brings a tear to my eye. Think it was only the first verse mind but still. It was infants after all ffs.
 
Beer by George Arnold

Here,
With my beer
I sit,
While golden moments flit:
Alas!
They pass
Unheeded by:
And, as they fly,
I,
Being dry,
Sit, idly sipping here
My beer.

O, finer far
Than fame, or riches, are
The graceful smoke-wreaths of this free cigar!
Why
Should I
Weep, wail, or sigh?
What if luck has passed me by?
What if my hopes are dead,—
My pleasures fled?
Have I not still
My fill
Of right good cheer,—
Cigars and beer?

Go, whining youth,
Forsooth!
Go, weep and wail,
Sigh and grow pale,
Weave melancholy rhymes
On the old times,
Whose joys like shadowy ghosts appear,—
But leave me to my beer!
Gold is dross,—
Love is loss,—
So, if I gulp my sorrows down,
Or see them drown
In foamy draughts of old nut-brown,
Then do I wear the crown,
Without the cross!
 

I don't know who wrote this, but I came across on the toilet wall at EMI Records Head Office, Manchester Sqr, W1 in 1970 and I've never forgotten it.

Stop me if you've heard it before.

There was a young lady named Uckingham
Who stood on the bridge at Buckingham
Watching the stunts
Of the c unts in the punts
And the tricks of the pricks who were f ucking 'em.
 
DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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.
 
Omar Khayam

For Some We Loved

For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from His vintage rolling time hath pressed,
Have drunk the cup a round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest.

You Know My Friends

You know, my friends, with what a brave carouse
I made a second marriage in my house
Divorced old barren Reason from my bed
And took the daughter of Vine to spouse.
 

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