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Category: Community
Forum: Chat Room
Thread: Inspirations |
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Thread Status: Active Total posts in this thread: 44
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Former Member
Cruncher Joined: May 22, 2018 Post Count: 0 Status: Offline |
Sonnet 138: When my love swears that she is made of truth
When my love swears that she is made of truth I do believe her, though I know she lies, That she might think me some untutored youth, Unlearnèd in the world's false subtleties. Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, Although she knows my days are past the best, Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue; On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed. But wherefore says she not she is unjust? And wherefore say not I that I am old? O, love's best habit is in seeming trust, And age in love, loves not to have years told. Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, And in our faults by lies we flattered be. William Shakespeare |
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Former Member
Cruncher Joined: May 22, 2018 Post Count: 0 Status: Offline |
And the days are not full enough
And the days are not full enough And the nights are not full enough And life slips by like a field mouse Not shaking the grass Ezra Pound |
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Former Member
Cruncher Joined: May 22, 2018 Post Count: 0 Status: Offline |
Afternoon on a Hill
I will be the gladdest thing Under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers And not pick one. I will look at cliffs and clouds With quiet eyes, Watch the wind bow down the grass, And the grass rise. And when lights begin to show Up from the town, I will mark which must be mine, And then start down! Edna St. Vincent Millay |
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Former Member
Cruncher Joined: May 22, 2018 Post Count: 0 Status: Offline |
The Tiger
William Blake Tiger Tiger. 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 seize the fire? And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat. What dread hand? & what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp. Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears And watered heaven with their tears: Did he smile His work to see? Did he who made the lamb make thee? Tiger Tiger burning bright, In the forests of the night: What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? |
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