Favourite Pomes
- Xamonas Chegwé
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- Joined: Thu Feb 26, 2009 3:23 pm
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Favourite Pomes
Anybody else like pomes?
Here's one of my all time favourites - the last line knocks me out every time I read it.
Ted Hughes - Lovesong
He loved her and she loved him.
His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she sucked
She wanted him complete inside her
Safe and sure forever and ever
Their little cries fluttered into the curtains
Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
He gripped her hard so that life
Should not drag her from that moment
He wanted all future to cease
He wanted to topple with his arms round her
Off that moment's brink and into nothing
Or everlasting or whatever there was
Her embrace was an immense press
To print him into her bones
His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry
His words were occupying armies
Her laughs were an assassin's attempts
His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
His whispers were whips and jackboots
Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
And their deep cries crawled over the floors
Like an animal dragging a great trap
His promises were the surgeon's gag
Her promises took the top off his skull
She would get a brooch made of it
His vows pulled out all her sinews
He showed her how to make a love-knot
Her vows put his eyes in formalin
At the back of her secret drawer
Their screams stuck in the wall
Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop
In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage
In the morning they wore each other's face
Here's one of my all time favourites - the last line knocks me out every time I read it.
Ted Hughes - Lovesong
He loved her and she loved him.
His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she sucked
She wanted him complete inside her
Safe and sure forever and ever
Their little cries fluttered into the curtains
Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
He gripped her hard so that life
Should not drag her from that moment
He wanted all future to cease
He wanted to topple with his arms round her
Off that moment's brink and into nothing
Or everlasting or whatever there was
Her embrace was an immense press
To print him into her bones
His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry
His words were occupying armies
Her laughs were an assassin's attempts
His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
His whispers were whips and jackboots
Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
And their deep cries crawled over the floors
Like an animal dragging a great trap
His promises were the surgeon's gag
Her promises took the top off his skull
She would get a brooch made of it
His vows pulled out all her sinews
He showed her how to make a love-knot
Her vows put his eyes in formalin
At the back of her secret drawer
Their screams stuck in the wall
Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop
In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage
In the morning they wore each other's face
A book is a version of the world. If you do not like it, ignore it; or offer your own version in return.
Salman Rushdie
You talk to God, you're religious. God talks to you, you're psychotic.
House MD
Who needs a meaning anyway, I'd settle anyday for a very fine view.
Sandy Denny
This is the wrong forum for bluffing
Paco
Yes, yes. But first I need to show you this venomous fish!
Calilasseia
I think we should do whatever Pawiz wants.
Twoflower
Bella squats momentarily then waddles on still peeing, like a horse
Millefleur
Salman Rushdie
You talk to God, you're religious. God talks to you, you're psychotic.
House MD
Who needs a meaning anyway, I'd settle anyday for a very fine view.
Sandy Denny
This is the wrong forum for bluffing
Paco
Yes, yes. But first I need to show you this venomous fish!
Calilasseia
I think we should do whatever Pawiz wants.
Twoflower
Bella squats momentarily then waddles on still peeing, like a horse
Millefleur
Re: Favourite Pomes
Pomes?
"The fact is that far more crime and child abuse has been committed by zealots in the name of God, Jesus and Mohammed than has ever been committed in the name of Satan. Many people don't like that statement but few can argue with it."
- Gawdzilla Sama
- Stabsobermaschinist
- Posts: 151265
- Joined: Thu Feb 26, 2009 12:24 am
- About me: My posts are related to the thread in the same way Gliese 651b is related to your mother's underwear drawer.
- Location: Sitting next to Ayaan in Domus Draconis, and communicating via PMs.
- Contact:
Re: Favourite Pomes
(Brits.)born-again-atheist wrote:Pomes?
Re: Favourite Pomes
That's pommy, you bloody yank.
"The fact is that far more crime and child abuse has been committed by zealots in the name of God, Jesus and Mohammed than has ever been committed in the name of Satan. Many people don't like that statement but few can argue with it."
- Xamonas Chegwé
- Bouncer
- Posts: 50939
- Joined: Thu Feb 26, 2009 3:23 pm
- About me: I have prehensile eyebrows.
I speak 9 languages fluently, one of which other people can also speak.
When backed into a corner, I fit perfectly - having a right-angled arse. - Location: Nottingham UK
- Contact:
Re: Favourite Pomes
Yeah. Words and shit what poets write.born-again-atheist wrote:Pomes?
A book is a version of the world. If you do not like it, ignore it; or offer your own version in return.
Salman Rushdie
You talk to God, you're religious. God talks to you, you're psychotic.
House MD
Who needs a meaning anyway, I'd settle anyday for a very fine view.
Sandy Denny
This is the wrong forum for bluffing
Paco
Yes, yes. But first I need to show you this venomous fish!
Calilasseia
I think we should do whatever Pawiz wants.
Twoflower
Bella squats momentarily then waddles on still peeing, like a horse
Millefleur
Salman Rushdie
You talk to God, you're religious. God talks to you, you're psychotic.
House MD
Who needs a meaning anyway, I'd settle anyday for a very fine view.
Sandy Denny
This is the wrong forum for bluffing
Paco
Yes, yes. But first I need to show you this venomous fish!
Calilasseia
I think we should do whatever Pawiz wants.
Twoflower
Bella squats momentarily then waddles on still peeing, like a horse
Millefleur
Re: Favourite Pomes
I think you mean 'Poems'
"The fact is that far more crime and child abuse has been committed by zealots in the name of God, Jesus and Mohammed than has ever been committed in the name of Satan. Many people don't like that statement but few can argue with it."
- Kristie
- Elastigirl
- Posts: 25108
- Joined: Thu Feb 26, 2009 3:14 pm
- About me: From there to here, and here to there, funny things are everywhere!
- Location: Probably at Target
- Contact:
Re: Favourite Pomes
You freaking foreigners. It's poems!Xamonas Chegwé wrote:Yeah. Words and shit what poets write.born-again-atheist wrote:Pomes?
We danced.
- Gawdzilla Sama
- Stabsobermaschinist
- Posts: 151265
- Joined: Thu Feb 26, 2009 12:24 am
- About me: My posts are related to the thread in the same way Gliese 651b is related to your mother's underwear drawer.
- Location: Sitting next to Ayaan in Domus Draconis, and communicating via PMs.
- Contact:
Re: Favourite Pomes
Pommy comes from Pome.born-again-atheist wrote:
That's pommy, you bloody yank.
- Xamonas Chegwé
- Bouncer
- Posts: 50939
- Joined: Thu Feb 26, 2009 3:23 pm
- About me: I have prehensile eyebrows.
I speak 9 languages fluently, one of which other people can also speak.
When backed into a corner, I fit perfectly - having a right-angled arse. - Location: Nottingham UK
- Contact:
Re: Favourite Pomes
Yeah. 'S what I said - pomes!born-again-atheist wrote:I think you mean 'Poems'
A book is a version of the world. If you do not like it, ignore it; or offer your own version in return.
Salman Rushdie
You talk to God, you're religious. God talks to you, you're psychotic.
House MD
Who needs a meaning anyway, I'd settle anyday for a very fine view.
Sandy Denny
This is the wrong forum for bluffing
Paco
Yes, yes. But first I need to show you this venomous fish!
Calilasseia
I think we should do whatever Pawiz wants.
Twoflower
Bella squats momentarily then waddles on still peeing, like a horse
Millefleur
Salman Rushdie
You talk to God, you're religious. God talks to you, you're psychotic.
House MD
Who needs a meaning anyway, I'd settle anyday for a very fine view.
Sandy Denny
This is the wrong forum for bluffing
Paco
Yes, yes. But first I need to show you this venomous fish!
Calilasseia
I think we should do whatever Pawiz wants.
Twoflower
Bella squats momentarily then waddles on still peeing, like a horse
Millefleur
Re: Favourite Pomes
Gawdzilla wrote:Pommy comes from Pome.born-again-atheist wrote:
That's pommy, you bloody yank.
Well, I had always imagined it was 'Pom'
That's how it's spelt down here anyway.
"The fact is that far more crime and child abuse has been committed by zealots in the name of God, Jesus and Mohammed than has ever been committed in the name of Satan. Many people don't like that statement but few can argue with it."
Re: Favourite Pomes
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
"...anyone who says it’s “just the Internet” can . And then when they come back, they can again." - Tigger
- Kristie
- Elastigirl
- Posts: 25108
- Joined: Thu Feb 26, 2009 3:14 pm
- About me: From there to here, and here to there, funny things are everywhere!
- Location: Probably at Target
- Contact:
Re: Favourite Pomes
Oh, love this one. We had to memorize it in highschool. I still remember most of it.Geoff wrote:Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
We danced.
- Xamonas Chegwé
- Bouncer
- Posts: 50939
- Joined: Thu Feb 26, 2009 3:23 pm
- About me: I have prehensile eyebrows.
I speak 9 languages fluently, one of which other people can also speak.
When backed into a corner, I fit perfectly - having a right-angled arse. - Location: Nottingham UK
- Contact:
Re: Favourite Pomes
A classic.FIO wrote:Oh, love this one. We had to memorize it in highschool. I still remember most of it.Geoff wrote:Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Another pome by EAP that I love is this one - especially the sick twist at the end.
Annabel Lee - Edgar Allan Poe
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived 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 see 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 side of the sea.
A book is a version of the world. If you do not like it, ignore it; or offer your own version in return.
Salman Rushdie
You talk to God, you're religious. God talks to you, you're psychotic.
House MD
Who needs a meaning anyway, I'd settle anyday for a very fine view.
Sandy Denny
This is the wrong forum for bluffing
Paco
Yes, yes. But first I need to show you this venomous fish!
Calilasseia
I think we should do whatever Pawiz wants.
Twoflower
Bella squats momentarily then waddles on still peeing, like a horse
Millefleur
Salman Rushdie
You talk to God, you're religious. God talks to you, you're psychotic.
House MD
Who needs a meaning anyway, I'd settle anyday for a very fine view.
Sandy Denny
This is the wrong forum for bluffing
Paco
Yes, yes. But first I need to show you this venomous fish!
Calilasseia
I think we should do whatever Pawiz wants.
Twoflower
Bella squats momentarily then waddles on still peeing, like a horse
Millefleur
- Gawdzilla Sama
- Stabsobermaschinist
- Posts: 151265
- Joined: Thu Feb 26, 2009 12:24 am
- About me: My posts are related to the thread in the same way Gliese 651b is related to your mother's underwear drawer.
- Location: Sitting next to Ayaan in Domus Draconis, and communicating via PMs.
- Contact:
Re: Favourite Pomes
OZYMANDIAS
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Percy Bysshe Shelley,
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Percy Bysshe Shelley,
- JacksSmirkingRevenge
- Grand Wazoo
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Re: Favourite Pomes
I think my favourite pomes are pears.
I like them not too crisp and nice and sweet and juicy.
I like them not too crisp and nice and sweet and juicy.
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