Classic English Poetry

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Nicholas Weeks
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Re: Classic English Poetry

Post by Nicholas Weeks » Tue Oct 10, 2017 5:48 pm

John Milton. 1608–1674

On His Blindness
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.
Distrust everyone in whom the impulse to punish is powerful!
Nietzsche

tingdzin
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Re: Classic English Poetry

Post by tingdzin » Wed Oct 11, 2017 7:47 am

I always wondered where that last line came from, but was too lazy to goog it.

tingdzin
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Joined: Fri Feb 15, 2013 7:19 am

Re: Classic English Poetry

Post by tingdzin » Tue Oct 31, 2017 7:07 am

"That Light whose smile kindles the Universe
That Beauty in which all things work and move
That Benediction, which the eclipsing Curse
of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love
Which through the web of being blindly wove
By man and beast and earth and air and sea,
Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of
The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me
Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.
Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart?
Thy hopes are gone before: from all things here
They have departed, thou shouldst now depart!"

Shelley

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Nicholas Weeks
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Re: Classic English Poetry

Post by Nicholas Weeks » Tue Oct 31, 2017 3:13 pm

tingdzin wrote:
Tue Oct 31, 2017 7:07 am
"That Light whose smile kindles the Universe
That Beauty in which all things work and move
That Benediction, which the eclipsing Curse
of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love
Which through the web of being blindly wove
By man and beast and earth and air and sea,
Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of
The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me
Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.
Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart?
Thy hopes are gone before: from all things here
They have departed, thou shouldst now depart!"

Shelley
His 650 line or so elegy on the death of his friend Keats. But you have a differing recension for the placement of the last 3 lines.

Here are a few more famous lines from Adonaïs:
The One remains, the many change and pass;
Heaven’s light forever shines, Earth’s shadows fly;
Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,
Stains the white radiance of Eternity,
Distrust everyone in whom the impulse to punish is powerful!
Nietzsche

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Nicholas Weeks
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Location: California

Re: Classic English Poetry

Post by Nicholas Weeks » Tue Oct 31, 2017 3:24 pm

More from "Adonaïs" ...
Dust to the dust! but the pure spirit shall flow
Back to the burning fountain whence it came,
A portion of the Eternal, which must glow
Through time and change, unquenchably the same,
Whilst thy cold embers choke the sordid hearth of shame.

Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep—
He hath awakened from the dream of life—
'Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep
With phantoms an unprofitable strife,
And in mad trance, strike with our spirit's knife
Invulnerable nothings.—We decay
Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief
Convulse us and consume us day by day,
And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.
Distrust everyone in whom the impulse to punish is powerful!
Nietzsche

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Nicholas Weeks
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Re: Classic English Poetry

Post by Nicholas Weeks » Tue Oct 31, 2017 3:47 pm

THE TIGER

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 and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And, when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and 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 water'd 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?
William Blake
Distrust everyone in whom the impulse to punish is powerful!
Nietzsche

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Nicholas Weeks
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Re: Classic English Poetry

Post by Nicholas Weeks » Wed Nov 08, 2017 11:30 pm

AMIENS (sings)

Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude.
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho, sing heigh-ho, unto the green holly.
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
Then heigh-ho, the holly.
This life is most jolly.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot.
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remembered not.
Heigh-ho, sing heigh-ho, unto the green holly.
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
Then heigh-ho, the holly.
This life is most jolly.
From As You Like It Act 2 scene 7
Distrust everyone in whom the impulse to punish is powerful!
Nietzsche

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