THESE ARE SOME OF MY FAVOURITE POEMS


GOOD NIGHT BY ROSE FYLEMAN

The rabbits play no more,
The little birds are weary,
The buttercups are folded up -
Good night, good night, my dearie.

The children in the country,
The children in the city,
Go to their beds with nodding heads -
Good night, good night, my pretty.


IRONY BY JAMES O'BARR

The tides of sin draw tighter and brighter,
The hours become heavier and weighted,
And the shadows smile, dark and wild.
This is when hope and desire collapse.
The arc of the dream descends into despair,
When innocent lovers dance
Like angels on fire.
This is when the night comes down,
A hammer on an anvil,
And the only absolution accepted
Is a legacy of brutality.
A single note rings on and on and on.


LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD BY CHARLES PERAULT

Little girls this seems to say
Never stop upon your way
Never trust a stranger friend
No one knows how it will end
As you are pretty, so be wise
Wolves may lurk in every guise
Now, as then, 'tis simple truth
Sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth


Pains of love
Be sweeter far
Than all other
Pleasures are
~John Dryden


SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS BY LORD BYRON

Sun of the sleepless, melancholy star!
Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far,
that show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel,
how like thou art to joy remember'd well!
So gleams the past, the light of other days,
which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays;
a night-beam Sorrow watcheth to behold,
distinct but distant - clear, but oh how cold!


THE UNQUIET GRAVE BY ANONYMOUS

"The wind doth blow today, my love,
And a few small drops of rain;
I never had but one true-love,
In cold grave she was lain.
"I'll do as much for my true-love
As any young man may;
I'll sit and mourn all at her grave
For a twelvemonth and a day."
The twelvemonth and a day being up,
The dead began to speak:
"Oh who sits weeping on my grave,
And will not let me sleep?"
"'Tis I, my love, sits on your grave,
And will not let you sleep;
For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips,
And that is all I seek."
"You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips;
But my breath smells earthly strong;
If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips,
Your time will not be long.
"'Tis down in yonder garden green,
Love, where we used to walk,
The finest flower that e'er was seen
Is withered to a stalk.
"The stalk is withered dry, my love,
So will our hearts decay;
So make yourself content, my love,
Til God calls you away."


from COME INTO THE GARDEN BY TENNYSON

Come into the garden
For the bat, Night, has flown
Come into the garden
I am here at the gate alone
And the woodbine spices have wafted abroad
And the musk of the roses blown


THE TYGER BY WILLIAM BLAKE

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies,
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? and what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil ? whatdread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?


SUDDEN LIGHT BY DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI

I have been here before,
But when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
The sweet keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.
You have been mine before,
How long ago I may not know:
But just when at that swallow's soar
Your neck turned so,
Some veil did fall - I knew it all of yore.
Has this been thus before?
And shall not thus time's eddying flight
Still with our lives our love restore
In death's despite,
And day and night yield one delight once more?


from THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER BY COLLERIDGE

Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Night-mare Life-in-death was she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold.


ANNABEL LEE BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea
That a maiden there live whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love,
I and my Annabel Lee-
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling -my darling- my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea-
In her tomb by the sounding sea.


RIVER BOAT SCENE from "WILLY WONKA & THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY"

There's no earthly way of knowing,
Which direction we are going,
There's no knowing where we're rowing,
Or which way the river's flowing,
Is it raining? Is it snowing? Is a hurricane a blowing?
There's not a speck of light a showing,
So the danger must be growing,
Are the fires of hell a glowing?
Is the grisly reaper mowing?
Yes, the danger must be growing,
For the rowers keep on rowing,
and they're certainly not showing,
Any signs that they are slowing.
STOP THE BOAT!


THE SONG OF MEHITABEL BY DON MARQUIS

this is the song of mehitabel
the song of mehitabel
of mehitabel the alley cat
the song of mehitabel
as i wrote you before boss
mehitabel is a believer
in the phythagorean
theory of the transmigration
of the soul and she claims
hat formerly her spirit
was incarnated in the body
of cleopatra
that was a long time ago
and one must not be
surprised if mehitabel
has forgotten some of her
more regal manners

i have my ups and downs
but wotthehell wotthehell
yesterday sceptres and crowns
fried oysters and velvet gowns
and today i herd with bums
but wotthehell wotthehell
i wake the world from sleep
as i caper and sing and leap
when i sing my wild free tune
wotthehell wotthehell
under the blear eyed moon
i am pelted with cast off shoon
but wotthehell wotthehell

do you think that i would change
my present freedom to range
for a castle or a moated grange
wotthehell wotthehell
cage me and i d go frantic
my life is so romantic
capricious and corybantic
and i m toujours gai toujours gai

i know that i am bound
for a journey down the sound
in the midst of a refuse mound
but wotthehell wotthehell
oh i should worry and fret
death and i will coquette
there s a dance in the old dame yet
toujours gai toujours gai

I once was an innocent kit
wotthehell wotthehell
with a ribbon my neck to fit
and bells tied onto it
o wotthehell wotthehell
but a maltese cat came by
with a come hither look in his eye
and a song that soared to the sky
and wotthehell wotthehell
and i followed adown the street
the pad of his rhythmical feet
o permit me again to repeat
wotthehell wotthehell

my youth i shall never forget
but there s nothing i really regret
wotthehell wotthehell
there s a dance in the old dame yet
toujours gai toujours gai

the things that i had not ought to
i do because i ve gotto
wotthehell wotthehell
and i end with my favorite motto
toujours gai toujours gai

boss sometimes i think
that our friend mehitabel
is a trifle too gay


This poem was written for me :-)

UNTITLED BY RAINE

Where others wading shallow shied
She knew the waters deep to be
To deep to fancy at low tide
And keep to sunlit reverie

*To know the heart from either side*,
she said, *I'll pierce the dark*
*And let no light decay my deeds
and treaties with the night*

Where others stay aloft
she dives
For she is goth
she is divine


THE HIGHWAY MAN BY ALFRED NOYES

THE RAVEN BY EDGAR ALLAN POE


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