417-222: Literary Appreciation   Poems for Discussion:   1.                                      All Lovely Things        ...
417-222: Literary Appreciation                                                           Edna St. Vincent Millay          ...
417-222: Literary Appreciation   5.                                           Hope                                 Hope is...
417-222: Literary Appreciation   7.                            The Man He Killed                                 Had he an...
417-222: Literary Appreciation   8.                                     Funeral Blues                             Stop all...
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Poems for discussion53

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Poems for discussion53

  1. 1. 417-222: Literary Appreciation Poems for Discussion: 1. All Lovely Things All lovely things will have an ending, All lovely things will fade and die, And youth, thats now so bravely spending, Will beg a penny by and by. Fine ladies soon are all forgotten, And goldenrod is dust when dead, The sweetest flesh and flowers are rotten And cobwebs tent the brightest head. Come back, true love! Sweet youth, return!— But time goes on, and will, unheeding, Though hands will reach, and eyes will yearn, And the wild days set true hearts bleeding. Come back, true love! Sweet youth, remain!— But goldenrod and daisies wither, And over them blows autumn rain, They pass, they pass, and know not whither. Conrad Aiken (1889-1973) 2. Pity Me Not Because the Light of Day Pity me not because the light of day At close of day no longer walks the sky; Pity me not for beauties passed away From field and thicket as the year goes by; Pity me not the waning of the moon, Nor that the ebbing tide goes out to sea, Nor that a mans desire is hushed so soon, And you no longer look with love on me. This have I known always: Love is no more Than the wide blossom which the wind assails, Than the great tide that treads the shifting shore, Strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales: Pity me that the heart is slow to learn What the swift mind beholds at ever turn. 1
  2. 2. 417-222: Literary Appreciation Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950) 3. The Lake Isle of Innisfree I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnights all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnets wings. I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray, I hear it in the deep hearts core. William Butler Yeats. 1865–1939) 4. Sigh No More Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never. Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into hey nonny, nonny. Sigh no more ditties, sing no more Of dumps so dull and heavy. The fraud of men was ever so Since summer first was leafy. Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into hey, nonny, nonny. William Shakespeare (1564-1616) 2
  3. 3. 417-222: Literary Appreciation 5. Hope Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune--without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. Ive heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me. Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) 6. The Chimney Sweeper (Songs of Experience) A little black thing among the snow; Crying weep, weep, in notes of woe! Where are thy father and mother! say! They are both gone up to the church to pray. Because I was happy upon the heath, And smiled among the winters snow; They clothed me in the clothes of death, And taught me to sing the notes of woe. And because I am happy, and dance and sing, They think they have done me no injury, And are gone to praise God and his Priest and King Who make up a heaven of our misery. William Blake (1757-1827) 3
  4. 4. 417-222: Literary Appreciation 7. The Man He Killed Had he and I but met By some old ancient inn, We should have set us down to wet Right many a nipperkin! But ranged as infantry, And staring face to face, I shot at him as he at me, And killed him in his place. I shot him dead because— Because he was my foe, Just so: my foe of course he was; Thats clear enough; although He thought hed list, perhaps, Off-hand like—just as I— Was out of work—had sold his traps— No other reason why. Yes; quaint and curious war is! You shoot a fellow down Youd treat, if met where any bar is, Or help to half a crown. Thomas Hardy (1840-1928) 4
  5. 5. 417-222: Literary Appreciation 8. Funeral Blues Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead. Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods; For nothing now can ever come to any good. W.H. Auden (1907-1973) 5

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