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/lit/ - Literature

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1340577 No.1340577 [Reply] [Original]

What's your favorite poem /lit/?

Pic related.

>> No.1340591

The Ballad of Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde. If you haven't read it, it's definitely worth the 15-20 minutes it takes.

>> No.1340592

Wheelbarrows are red, work safe boards are blue.

OP is a faggot and so are you.

>> No.1340600

It's going to come off as cliche, but A Leaf Falls on Loneliness by Cummings. I can't reproduce the spacing here, so I won't post it.

>> No.1340603

Not in cruelty
Not in wrath
The REAPER came today
An ANGEL visited
this gray path
And took the cube away

>> No.1340612

At the moment it's A Formal Application by Donald Baker.

>> No.1340613

Annabel Lee.

>> No.1340619

>>1340613
love that one.

mine:
Lo! 'tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly-
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Woe!

That motley drama-oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!-it writhes!-with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the angels sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.

Out-out are the lights-out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.


- EDGAR ALLAN POE -

>> No.1340631
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1340631

Ich am of Irlaunde,
Ant of the holy londe
Of Irlande.

Gode sire, pray ich the,
For of saynte charité,
Com ant daunce wyth me
In Irlaunde.

>> No.1340633

Ozymandias

>> No.1340635

I feel like a pseudo-hipster for choosing a couplet but "In a Station of the Metro" by Ezra Pound. I just love how the words sound, as well how easily an image is invoked, even for someone like myself who's never been in a subway station in their life.

>The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
>Petals on a wet, black bough.

>> No.1340661

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.

>> No.1340667

"This Be the Verse" by Phillip Larkin

>> No.1340668

>>1340661

Mm, that's a good one. Robert Frost has a few good ones but none of my favorites.