/lit/ - Literature

>are is your

Out. Now.

>>623085

Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo,
Aureli pathice et cinaede Furi,
qui me ex versiculis meis putastis,
quod sunt molliculi, parum pudicum.
Nam castum esse decet pium poetam
ipsum, versiculos nihil necessest(necesse est);
qui tum denique habent salem ac leporem,
si sunt molliculi ac parum pudici
et quod pruriat incitare possunt,
non dico pueris, sed his pilosis
qui duros nequeunt movere lumbos.
Vos, quod milia multa basiorum
legistis, male me marem putatis?
Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo.

Rime of the Ancient Mariner

>>623094
Spanish poetry... Now I've seen everything.

May be too popular for /lit/'s tastes, but I never read much poetry anyway so

I'll just leave this here

>>623104

bitch don't know bout my Borges

>>623104

Nigga, is you retarded?

>>623104
Latin.

i roll with prufrock bitch

>>623116
>>623118
coolface.jpg
>>623104
Hmm... Well done for being an idiot.

Porphyria's Lover
and
Der Erlkönig

Dulce Et Decorum Est

by Wilfred Owen.

>>623104

>>623104
Nigga you went full retarded!

What, no love for the divine comedy?

Maria by Russell Tyrone Jones

>>623131
>>623133
see
>>623122

/r/ing sauce on OP's pic

Catullus 11.

Howl

shooting for the homo-trifecta:

Harold Norse
"To a Hustler"

anyone lived in a pretty how town,

e.e. cummings

Robert Frost - Nothing gold can stay

Natures first green is gold,
her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaves a flower
but only so an hour,
then leaf subsides to leaf,
so Eden sank to grief.
So dawn goes down today.
Nothing gold can stay.

Lady Lazarus

I have a rendezvous with death.

>>623192
you said cummings

>>623125

HOLY SHIT ME TOO

Percy Bysshe Shelly's 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 shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked 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.

The busy trade of life is over now,
The intricate toil which was so hard for bread,
The strife each day renewed 'neath this poor brow
By this frail hand to be interpreted,
The zeal, the forethought, the heart's wounds that bled,
The anger roused, the stark blow answering blow,
All that was centred in that aching head
Of black necessity for weal or woe.
--Its use, its purpose what? Nay, less than none,
More blindly naught than even the dull clay
Left on this bed, its corporal union done,
Which we must shovel to its grave today.
O soul of Man, thou pilgrim of distress
Lost in Time's void! Thou wind of nothingness!

>>624137

Stars, I have seen them fall,
But when they drop and die
No star is lost at all
From all the star-sown sky.
The toil of all that be
Helps not the primal fault;
It rains into the sea
And still the sea is salt.

>>624177
What poem is that?

>>624185
It's a nameless poem from: A. E. Housman More Poems.

A Fart

I walk.
I rip.
I duck.
I slip
...away.
Far away.

I lie down.
I shiver.
I roll over.
I quiver
...with delight.
Yes, delight.

I sit.
I squeal.
I rise.
I feel
...wet.
So wet.

I stand.
I flush.
I look around.
I blush
...the door is open.
So open.

>>623161

looks like a flattering shot of a chick who was at Murdoch uni a few years ago (ausfag)