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Post a favorite poem!
Carl-E:
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
Redball:
Well, death has been a part of my life in the last couple of years, so my first thought was that I would read and parse, read and parse. Then I came on this analysis, so perhaps I'll just read and re-read. Thanks for posting, and I should check this thread more often.
jwhouk:
I waited patiently for the Lord
He inclined and heard my cry
He lift me up out of the pit
Out of the mire and clay
I will sing, sing a new song
I will sing, sing a new song
How long to sing this song?
How long to sing this song?
How long...how long...how long...
How long...to sing this song
He set my feet upon a rock
And made my footsteps firm
Many will see
Many will see and hear
I will sing, sing a new song
I will sing, sing a new song
How long to sing this song?
How long to sing this song?
How long...how long...how long...
How long...to sing this song...
Carl-E:
--- Quote from: Redball on 24 Feb 2013, 16:26 ---Well, death has been a part of my life in the last couple of years, so my first thought was that I would read and parse, read and parse. Then I came on this analysis, so perhaps I'll just read and re-read. Thanks for posting, and I should check this thread more often.
--- End quote ---
I fell in love with this sonnet in high school - I guess I was a bit proto-goth. It becomes more my favorite as the years pass.
And I saw that analysis once. Quite scholarly and well done, but there's reason I dislike poetic analysis. I prefer letting the poem speak for itself.
Confession time; a few years ago, living away from home, I started something with a girl half my age. It never went anywhere, but I couldn't get sonnet 73 out of my head...
Stupid me.
Redball:
My own confession: During the first dozen of 40-plus years with Clara, I had sex with three women on four occasions. I had some feelings for just one of them. Except for their timing, the acts didn't bother me as much as that I propositioned several other women later on. Lucky for me, they all declined. The timing? They were at vulnerable points in the marriage; the birth of our daughter in the beginning, and Clara's first episode with cancer later on. And now I think I'm done, Viagra-proof ED. Maybe I'll find out if I ever acquire a girl friend.
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