Duno how often it has been already posted...

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate;
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
–William Shakespeare - Sonnet 18

Think it's about time this got bumped .


"It was not part of their blood,
It came to them very late,
With long arrears to make good,
When the Saxon began to hate.

They were not easily moved,
They were icy -- willing to wait
Till every count should be proved,
Ere the Saxon began to hate.

Their voices were even and low.
Their eyes were level and straight.
There was neither sign nor show
When the Saxon began to hate.

It was not preached to the crowd.
It was not taught by the state.
No man spoke it aloud
When the Saxon began to hate.

It was not suddently bred.
It will not swiftly abate.
Through the chilled years ahead,
When Time shall count from the date
That the Saxon began to hate."



Rudyard Kipling - THE WRATH OF THE AWAKENED SAXON

"The thief left it behind:
the moon
at my window."

-Ryokan

Robinson Jeffers

From "The Stars Go Over The Lonely Ocean"

"Keep clear of the dupes that talk democracy
And the dogs that talk revolution,
Drunk with talk, liars and believers.
I believe in my tusks.
Long live freedom and damn the ideologies,"
Said the gamey black-maned boar
Tusking the turf on Mal Paso Mountain.

From "Emilia"

The night is warm, the rain will come to-night.
There is no wind but many clouds; all day
The sun threw doubtful beams, and milky white
Through mist on the blue bosom of the bay;
No dew is fallen at all; the air is light;
The ocean's tones are clear but far away.
O come, rain, come, sweet rain, fall softly and bring
To me and to my little flowers the spring!

The hill-slopes are all gray and wait for you
To weave them lustrous robes of living green.
The trees grow faint with drinking the thin dew;
Leaves wrinkle, meagre limbs are bare between.
The sky is tired of being always blue.
The ways are deep with dust: O wash them clean!
And all my blossoms though well tended cry
Wistfully for the waters of the sky!

Sounds a bit more like a lion-eaten poet's last words.

"Tatta hito-ban to
uchihajimeta wa
sakujitsu nari"

"Saying `just one game'
they began to play . . .
That was yesterday."

-no idea
(about Go board game, but any avid gamer knows the feeling..)

English? Here it comes:

"Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven" by William Butler Yeats.

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

I remember this topic, a 15 month necro that is well worth it

Who knows how many colors there are in a rainbow?
Who knows how much color it takes us to fly?
Who knows where?
Who knows why?

Can anybody tell me why we all have dreams?
Has anyone ever, had one come true?
Are fantasies real?
Do they happen to you?

Day after day, hours go by
Desires rip through my head.
Beautiful shivers and pieces of fun
They'll all come true when my time has past.

"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave 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. "



Dylan Thomas - Do not go gentle into that good night

When Crow was white he decided the sun was too white.
He decided it glared much too whitely.
He decided to attack it and defeat it.

He got his strength up flush and in full glitter.
He clawed and fluffed his rage up.
He aimed his beak direct at the sun's centre.

He laughed himself to the centre of himself

And attacked.

At his battle cry trees grew suddenly old,
Shadows flattened.

But the sun brightened—
It brightened, and Crow returned charred black.

He opened his mouth but what came out was charred black.

"Up there," he managed,
"Where white is black and black is white, I won."

Ted Hughes - Crow's Fall

I love this poem, reminds me of how pride often comes before the fall.

WB Yeats

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

The Sick Rose
By William Blake

O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.





Glad to see The Listeners has been mentioned already too.

Equilibrium much? :)

J.R.R. Tolkien

I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold,
and leaves of gold there grew:
Of wind I sang, a wind there came
and in the branches blew.
Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon,
the foam was on the Sea,
And by the strand of Ilmarin
there grew a golden Tree.
Beneath the stars of Ever-eve
in Eldamar it shone,
In Eldamar beside the walls
of Elven Tirion.
There long the golden leaves have grown
upon the branching years,
While here beyond the Sundering Seas
now fall the Elven-tears.
O Lorien! The Winter comes,
the bare and leafless Day;
The leaves are falling in the stream,
the River flows away.
O Lorien! Too long I have dwelt
upon this Hither Shore
And in a fading crown have twined
the golden elanor.
But if of ships I now should sing,
what ship would come to me,
What ship would bear me ever back
across so wide a Sea?