Post a poem you rate highly

[Anonymous No.18538039]

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

[Anonymous No.18538227]

>>18538039
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.[

[Anonymous No.18538236]

>>18538227
Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light

[Anonymous No.18538264]

r-p-o-p-h-e-s-s-a-g-r
who
a)s w(e loo)k
upnowgath
PPEGORHRASS
eringint(o-
aThe):l
eA
!p:
S a
(r
rIvInG .gRrEaPsPhOs)
to
rea(be)rran(com)gi(e)ngly
,grasshopper;

[Anonymous No.18538630]

>Leda and the Swan

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.
How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?
A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead. Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

[࿇ C Œ M G E N V S ࿇ !KNDY3cHnRY No.18538804]

[Anonymous No.18539130]

>>18538039
Moj, prijatelju mene više nema,
Al nisam samo zemlja, samo trava,
Jer knjiga ta, što držiš je u ruci,
Samo je dio mene koji spava.
I ko je čita u život je budi.
Probudi me, i bit ću tvoja java.

Ja nemam više proljeća i ljeta,
Jeseni nemam, niti zima.
Siroti mrtvac ja sam, koji u se
Ništa od svijeta ne može da prima.
I što od svijetlog osta mi života,
U zagrljaju ostalo je rima.

Pred smrću ja se skrih (koliko mogoh)
U stihove. U mraku sam ih kovo,
Al zatvoriš li za njih svoje srce,
Oni su samo sjen i mrtvo slovo.
Otvori ga, i ja ću u te prijeći
Ko bujna rijeka u korito novo.

Još koji časak htio bih da živim
U grudima ti. Sve svoje ljepote
Ja ću ti dati. Sve misli. Sve snove,
Sve što mi vrijeme nemilosno ote,
Sve zanose, sve ljubavi, sve nade,
Sve uspomene -- o mrtvi živote!

Povrati me u moje stare dane!
Ja hoću svjetla! Sunca koje zlati
Sve čeg se takne. Ja topline hoću
I obzorja, moj druže nepoznati.
I zanosa! i zvijezda kojih nema
U mojoj noći. Njih mi, dragi, vrati.

Ko oko svjetla leptirice noćne
Oko života tužaljke mi kruže.
Pomozi mi da dignem svoje vjeđe,
Da ruke mi se u čeznuću pruže.
Ja hoću biti mlad, ja hoću ljubit,
I biti ljubljen, moj neznani druže!

Sav život moj u tvojoj sad je ruci.
Probudi me! Proživjet ćemo oba
Sve moje stihom zadržane sate,
Sve sačuvane sne iz davnog doba.
Pred vratima života ja sam prosjak.
Čuj moje kucanje! Moj glas iz groba!

[Anonymous No.18539173]

>>18538039
you must have known
you were wrong
when your fingers
were dipped inside me
searching for honey that
would not come for you

[Anonymous No.18539364]

Room! room! make room for the bouncing Belly,
First father of sauce and deviser of jelly;
Prime master of arts and the giver of wit,
That found out the excellent engine, the spit,
The plough and the flail, the mill and the hopper,
The hutch and the boulter, the furnace and copper,
The oven, the bavin, the mawkin, the peel,
The hearth and the range, the dog and the wheel.
He, he first invented the hogshead and tun,
The gimlet and vice too, and taught 'em to run;
And since, with the funnel and hippocras bag,
He's made of himself that now he cries swag;
Which shows, though the pleasure be but of four inches,
Yet he is a weasel, the gullet that pinches
Of any delight, and not spares from his back
Whatever to make of the belly a sack.
Hail, hail, plump paunch! O the founder of taste,
For fresh meats or powdered, or pickle or paste!
Devourer of broiled, baked, roasted or sod!
And emptier of cups, be they even or odd!
All which have now made thee so wide i' the waist,
As scarce with no pudding thou art to be laced;
But eating and drinking until thou dost nod,
Thou break'st all thy girdles and break'st forth a god.

[Anonymous No.18539376]

>>18538804
Who is the translator?

[࿇ C Œ M G E N V S ࿇ !KNDY3cHnRY No.18539482]

>>18539376


ROBERTO HEREDIA CORREA.

[Frater Asemlen !XS8vrClKs2 No.18539513]

Milton’s sonnet 18

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold,
Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones;
Forget not: in thy book record their groans
Who were thy sheep and in their ancient fold
Slain by the bloody Piemontese that roll'd
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans
The vales redoubl'd to the hills, and they
To Heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow
O'er all th' Italian fields where still doth sway
The triple tyrant; that from these may grow
A hundred-fold, who having learnt thy way
Early may fly the Babylonian woe

Eternity by Robert E Howard.

I am older than the world:
Older than life.
The race of man is a babe in the cradle of Time.
I am Alpha and Omega.

The first and the last;
The circle without end.
I am a serpent with its tail in its mouth;
I am a triangle whose tips overlap a circle.

I am the older sister of Destiny.
Before man was, I was:
And after man has vanished from the Universe, I will be.
Time is a phantom, built by the mind of man;
There is no Time.
The thing that men call Time flies before my wind;
Time has beginning, duration, ending.
I am that which was, is and shall be;
Unceasing, Neverending, Eternal.
Number all the sands of all the shores of all the worlds
Of all the Universes.
And let each sand represent a million centuries;
And they all shall not be a single instant
Of Eternity.

For I am numberless and unnumbered,
Eternity had no beginning nor shall there be ending.
I am Alpha and Omega.
That which was, is and shall be;
Numberless and unnumbered.

[Anonymous No.18539518]

>>18539482
Thanks.

[Anonymous No.18539534]

TOUCH
by Thom Gunn

You are already
asleep. I lower
myself in next to
you, my skin slightly
numb with the restraint
of habits, the patina of
self, the black frost
of outsideness, so that even
unclothed, it is
a resilient chilly
hardness, a superficially
malleable, dead
rubbery texture.

You are a mound
of bedclothes, where the cat
in sleep braces
its paws against your
calf through the blankets,
and kneads each paw in turn.

Meanwhile and slowly
I feel a is it
my own warmth surfacing or
the ferment of your whole
body that in darkness beneath
the cover is stealing
bit by bit to break
down that chill.

You turn and
hold me tightly, do
you know who
I am or am I
your mother or
the nearest human being to
hold on to in a
dreamed pogrom.

What I, now loosened,
sink into is an old
big place, it is
there already, for
you are already
there, and the cat
got there before you, yet
it is hard to locate.
What is more, the place is
not found but seeps
from our touch in
continuous creation, dark
enclosing cocoon round
ourselves alone, dark
wide realm where we
walk with everyone.

[Anonymous No.18539541]

>>18538039
tu-m czy-m ta-m?
tam-tam TAM -
TU-M- -
tam-tam TAM tam-tam-tam TAM
TU-M TU-M
czy-m tam-tam? tam-tam? czy-m tam?
TAM-M? TU-M?
czyli-m tam? -jeżeli-m tam to i tu-m
TUM-TUM
a i tam a i tam - - -
oj-ja JJAJ tam a i tu-m-
to-m i tam i tum
TUM

[Anonymous No.18539646]

But when the days of golden dreams had perished,
And even Despair was powerless to destroy;
Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,
Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.

[Anonymous No.18540733]

Tanken som byggde en värld
lade den åter öde.
Stod där med tveeggat svärd,
seende på den döde.

”Skönt är ditt anlete än,
fastän du ligger slagen.
Människa, du var min vän.
Kära de är mig, dragen.

Vad var ditt ödes mål,
segern du ej fick vinna?
Drycken du drack ur min skål
speglade dig på sin hinna.

Gåtfull är människans bild,
själen i människodjuret,
smärtsamt från djuret skild.
Ädelt ditt huvud var buret.

Djupt drack du drycken jag bjöd.
men själv blev du kvar på dess yta.
Det som jag bjuder är död
för den som ej skenet kan bryta.”

[Anonymous No.18540743]

>>18538039
Strata of mountains, soils, rocks, giant trees,
Far-born, far-dying, living long, to leave, Eidólons everlasting.
Exaltè, rapt, extatic,
The visible but their womb of birth, 35
Of orbic tendencies to shape, and shape, and shape, The mighty Earth-Eidólon.
All space, all time,
(The stars, the terrible perturbations of the suns,
Swelling, collapsing, ending—serving their longer, shorter use,) Fill’d with Eidólons only.
The noiseless myriads! 40
The infinite oceans where the rivers empty!
The separate, countless free identities, like eyesight; The true realities, Eidólons.
Not this the World,
Nor these the Universes—they the Universes,
Purport and end—ever the permanent life of life, Eidólons, Eidólons. 45
Beyond thy lectures, learn’d professor,
Beyond thy telescope or spectroscope, observer keen—beyond all mathematics,
Beyond the doctor’s surgery, anatomy—beyond the chemist with his chemistry, The entities of entities, Eidólons.

[Anonymous No.18541146]

>Verhör des Guten

Tritt vor: Wir hören
Daß du ein guter Mann bist.
Du bist nicht käuflich, aber der Blitz
Der ins Haus einschlägt, ist auch
Nicht käuflich.
Was du einmal gesagt hast, dabei bleibst du.
Was hast du gesagt?
Du bist ehrlich, sagst deine Meinung?
Welche Meinung?
Du bist tapfer.
Gegen wen?
Du bist weise.
Für wen?
Du siehst nicht auf deinen Vorteil.
Auf wessen?
Du bist ein guter Freund.
Auch guter Leute?
So höre: Wir wissen
Du bist unser Feind. Deshalb wollen wir dich
Jetzt an eine Wand stellen. Aber in Anbetracht deiner Verdienste
Und guten Eigenschaften
An eine gute Wand und dich erschießen mit
Guten Kugeln guter Gewehre und dich begraben mit
Einer guten Schaufel in guter Erde.

>Interrogation of the Good

Step forward: we hear
That you are a good man.
You cannot be bought, but the lightning
Which strikes the house, also
Cannot be bought.
You hold to what you said.
But what did you say?
You are honest, you say your opinion.
Which opinion?
You are brave.
Against whom?
You are wise.
For whom?
You do not consider your personal advantages.
Whose advantages do you consider then?
You are a good friend.
Are you also a good friend of the good people?
Hear us then: we know.
You are our enemy. This is why we shall
Now put you in front of a wall. But in consideration of your merits and good qualities
We shall put you in front of a good wall and shoot you
With a good bullet from a good gun and bury you
With a good shovel in the good earth.

[Anonymous No.18542010]

Ha' we lost the goodliest fere o' all
For the priests and the gallows tree?
Aye lover he was of brawny men,
O' ships and the open sea.
When they came wi' a host to take Our Man
His smile was good to see,
"First let these go!" quo' our Goodly Fere,
"Or I'll see ye damned," says he.

Aye he sent us out through the crossed high spears
And the scorn of his laugh rang free,
"Why took ye not me when I walked about
Alone in the town?" says he.

Oh, we drunk his "Hale" in the good red wine
When we last made company,
No capon priest was the Goodly Fere
But a man o' men was he.

I ha' seen him drive a hundred men
Wi' a bundle o' cords swung free,
That they took the high and holy house
For their pawn and treasury.

They'll no' get him a' in a book I think
Though they write it cunningly;
No mouse of the scrolls was the Goodly Fere
But aye loved the open sea.

If they think they ha' snared our Goodly Fere
They are fools to the last degree.
"I'll go to the feast," quo' our Goodly Fere,
"Though I go to the gallows tree."

"Ye ha' seen me heal the lame and blind,
And wake the dead," says he,
"Ye shall see one thing to master all:
'Tis how a brave man dies on the tree."

A son of God was the Goodly Fere
That bade us his brothers be.
I ha' seen him cow a thousand men.
I have seen him upon the tree.

He cried no cry when they drave the nails
And the blood gushed hot and free,
The hounds of the crimson sky gave tongue
But never a cry cried he.

I ha' seen him cow a thousand men
On the hills o' Galilee,
They whined as he walked out calm between,
Wi' his eyes like the grey o' the sea,

Like the sea that brooks no voyaging
With the winds unleashed and free,
Like the sea that he cowed at Genseret
Wi' twey words spoke' suddently.

A master of men was the Goodly Fere,
A mate of the wind and sea,
If they think they ha' slain our Goodly Fere
They are fools eternally.

I ha' seen him eat o' the honey-comb
Sin' they nailed him to the tree

[Anonymous No.18542086]

This is what I remember:

Before the alphabet,

I was walking next to the river of this valley,

We sang songs to each other, while the sun

Wrote love notes on the water.

When I opened my mouth

a waterfall fell out, or a wolf howled

from a far away cave. When the ravens

laughed, we all laughed together.

Listening to my body,

I felt the stories in the heavy rains

touching the red dust of the deserts,

washing rocks and bones into the night.

Before the alphabet,

my voice was cerulean and never

alone like now, cramped

inside a language that splinters me.

Now, people only talk to other people,

but I still talk to the moon.

I use vehement phonetics, while the moon

stays eerily mute.

Stubborn, I sit in the grass, waiting.

Sometimes nostalgia looks like idleness.

A swallow breaks the silence

and without knowing why

I put my head on the ground.

[Anonymous No.18542103]

Control of the passes was, he saw, the key
To this new district, but who would get it?
He, the trained spy, had walked into the trap
For a bogus guide, seduced by the old tricks.
At Greenhearth was a fine site for a dam
And easy power, had they pushed the rail
Some stations nearer. They ignored his wires:
The bridges were unbuilt and trouble coming.

The street music seemed gracious now to one
For weeks up in the desert. Woken by water
Running away in the dark, he often had
Reproached the night for a companion
Dreamed of already. They would shoot, of course,
Parting easily two that were never joined.

[Anonymous No.18542132]

10/Tennyson

A farewell

Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,
Thy tribute wave deliver;
No more by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,
A rivulet, then a river;
Nowhere by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

But here will sigh thine alder-tree,
And here thine aspen shiver;
And here by thee will hum the bee,
For ever and for ever.

A thousand suns will stream on thee,
A thousand moons will quiver;
But not by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

[Anonymous No.18542170]

>>18538804
kek

[Anonymous No.18542223]

>>18542132
fuckinell leave it out tennyson

[Anonymous No.18542261]

A.E. Housman

On the idle hill of summer,
Sleepy with the flow of streams,
Far I hear the steady drummer
Drumming like a noise in dreams.

Far and near and low and louder
On the roads of earth go by,
Dear to friends and food for powder,
Soldiers marching, all to die.

East and west on fields forgotten
Bleach the bones of comrades slain,
Lovely lads and dead and rotten;
None that go return again.

Far the calling bugles hollo,
High the screaming fife replies,
Gay the files of scarlet follow:
Woman bore me, I will rise.

[Anonymous No.18542405]

>>18538039
Through a Glass Darkly,
Perhaps I stabbed our Savior
In His sacred helpless side.
Yet I've called His name in blessing
When in after times I died.

Through the travail of the ages
Midst the pomp and toil of war
Have I fought and strove and perished
Countless times upon this star.

I have sinned and I have suffered
Played the hero and the knave
Fought for belly, shame or country
And for each have found a grave.

So as through a glass and darkly
The age long strife I see
Where I fought in many guises,
Many names — but always me.

So forever in the future
Shall I battle as of yore,
Dying to be born a fighter
But to die again once more.
-George Patton

[Anonymous No.18543994]

I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved? Were we not weaned till then?
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers’ den?
’Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be.
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, ’twas but a dream of thee.

And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear;
For love, all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown,
Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;
Where can we find two better hemispheres,
Without sharp north, without declining west?
Whatever dies, was not mixed equally;
If our two loves be one, or, thou and I
Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.

[Anonymous No.18545187]

Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town to another due,
Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

[Anonymous No.18545211]

>>18542086
Who is it from?

[Anonymous No.18545249]

Out in the mindless void the daemon bore me,
Past the bright clusters of dimensioned space,
Till neither time nor matter stretched before me,
But only Chaos, without form or place.
Here the vast Lord of All in darkness muttered
Things he had dreamed but could not understand,
While near him shapeless bat-things flopped and fluttered
In idiot vortices that ray-streams fanned.

They danced insanely to the high, thin whining
Of a cracked flute clutched in a monstrous paw,
Whence flow the aimless waves whose chance combining
Gives each frail cosmos its eternal law.
“I am His Messenger,” the daemon said,
As in contempt he struck his Master’s head.

[Anonymous No.18545331]

>>18545211
oops.
"Estrangement", Teresa Williams, PSYCHOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVES, 58:249-250, 2015

[Anonymous No.18545344]

If I was just another dusty record on the shelf
Would you blow me off and play me like everybody else?
If I asked you to scratch my back, could you manage that?
Like it read well, check it Travie, I can handle that

Furthermore, I apologize for any skipping tracks
It's just the last girl that played me left a couple cracks
I used to, used to, used to, used to, now I'm over that
'Cause holding grudges over love is ancient artifacts

If I could only find a note to make you understand
I'd sing it softly in your ear and grab you by the hand
Just keep it stuck inside your head, like your favorite tune
And know my hearts a stereo that only plays for you

[Anonymous No.18546466]

>To His Coy Mistress

Had we but world enough and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love’s day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found;
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long-preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust;
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

[Anonymous No.18546826]

But how loving the welcome
of the Frisian wife
when floats offshore
the keel come home again!
She calls him within walls,
her own husband
-hull's at anchor-
washes salt-stains
from his stiff shirt,
brings out clothes
clean and fresh
for her lord on land again.
Love's need is met.

[Anonymous No.18546904]

My sister! my sweet sister! if a name
Dearer and purer were, it should be thine.
Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim
No tears, but tenderness to answer mine:
Go where I will, to me thou art the same
A lov'd regret which I would not resign.
There yet are two things in my destiny—
A world to roam through, and a home with thee.

[Anonymous No.18546918]

>>18538039
kek why was brother speare being such a prick to the uggo in question?

[Anonymous No.18546927]

>>18540733
I don't recognise that, anon. Who wrote it?

[Anonymous No.18546928]

>>18546927
Lagerkvist

[Anonymous No.18546931]

Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;

Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof

Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest

Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.
Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest,

Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.

All of the night was quite barred out except

An owl's cry, a most melancholy cry
Shaken out long and clear upon the hill,

No merry note, nor cause of merriment,

But one telling me plain what I escaped

And others could not, that night, as in I went.
And salted was my food, and my repose,

Salted and sobered, too, by the bird's voice

Speaking for all who lay under the stars,

Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice

[Anonymous No.18546941]

>>18546928
I should've picked up on that as I love his fiction. Thanks, anon.

[Anonymous No.18546971]

>>18546918
It's a parody of the generic love poems of his day (but with a genuinely sweet ending).

[Anonymous No.18547258]

Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
Et nos amours
Faut-il qu'il m'en souvienne
La joie venait toujours après la peine
Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

Les mains dans les mains restons face à face
Tandis que sous
Le pont de nos bras passe
Des éternels regards l'onde si lasse

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

L'amour s'en va comme cette eau courante
L'amour s'en va
Comme la vie est lente
Et comme l'Espérance est violente

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

Passent les jours et passent les semaines
Ni temps passé
Ni les amours reviennent
Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

[Anonymous No.18547517]

>>18538804
We don't speak peninsula-nigger here.

[Anonymous No.18548053]

The tiger
He destroyed his cage
Yes
YES
The tiger is out

[Anonymous No.18548298]

Hebban olla vogala nestas hagunnan
Hinase hic enda thu
Wat unbiddan we nu

[Anonymous No.18548364]

Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjured, murd'rous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,
Enjoyed no sooner but despisèd straight,
Past reason hunted; and, no sooner had
Past reason hated as a swallowed bait
On purpose laid to make the taker mad;
Mad in pursuit and in possession so,
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

Simultaneously an anti thot poem and an anti incel poem. All I know is that this say subtly says that women ain't shit, which is good enough for me.

[Anonymous No.18549430]

Younger brother
spreads his hands;
maple leaves.

(He was seven when he wrote this, btw.)

[Anonymous No.18549453]

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

[Anonymous No.18550670]

"Итaк, вы pyccкий? Я впepвыe
вcтpeчaю pyccкoгo..." Живыe,
cлeгкa нaвыкaтe, глaзa
мeня paзглядывaют: "К чaю
лимoн вы любитe, я знaю;
y вac бывaют oбpaзa
и caмoвapы, знaю тoжe!"
Oнa милa: пo нeжнoй кoжe
pyмянeц Aнглии paзлит.
Cмeeтcя, быcтpo гoвopит:
"Haш гopoд cкyчeн, мeждy нaми,--
нo peчкa -- пpeлecть!.. Bы гpeбeц?"
Кpyпнa, c пoкaтыми плeчaми,
бoльшиe pyки бeз кoлeц.

Taк y викapия зa чaeм
мы, пoзнaкoмившиcь, бoлтaeм,
и я cтapaтeльнo ocтpю,
и нe бeз cлaдocтнoй тpeвoги
нa эти cкpeщeнныe нoги
и гyбы яpкиe cмoтpю,
и cнoвa oтвoжy пocпeшнo
нecкpoмный взгляд. Oнa, кoнeчнo,
явилacь c тeткoю, нo тa
coциaлизмoм зaнятa,--
и, вoзpaжaя eй, викapий,--
мyжчинa кpoткий, c кaдыкoм,--
cкocил пo-пecьи глaз cвoй кapий
и нepвным дaвитcя cмeшкoм.

Чaй кpeпчe мюнхeнcкoгo пивa.
Tyмaннo в кoмнaтe. Лeнивo
в кaминe cлaбый oгoнeк
блecтит, кaк бaбoчкa нa кaмнe.
Ho зacидeлcя я,-- пopa мнe...
Bcтaю, кивoк, eщe кивoк,
пpoщaюcь я, pyки нe тычa,--
тaк здeшний тpeбyeт oбычaй,--
cбeгaю вниз чepeз cтyпeнь
и выхoжy. Фeвpaльcкий дeнь,
и c нeбa вoт yж двe нeдeли
нeпpeкpaщaющийcя тoк.
Heyжтo cкyчeн в caмoм дeлe
cтyдeнтoв дpeвний гopoдoк?

<...>

[Anonymous No.18551285]

>>18548053
based

[Anonymous No.18551381]

[Anonymous No.18551388]

>>18549430

utter trash

[Anonymous No.18551992]

When, long ago, the gods created Earth

In Jove's fair image Man was shaped at birth.

The beasts for lesser parts were next designed;

Yet were they too remote from humankind.

To fill the gap, and join the rest to Man,

Th' Olympian host conceiv'd a clever plan.

A beast they wrought, in semi-human figure,

Filled it with vice, and called the thing a NIGGER.

[Anonymous No.18552045]

LA SOLITUDE.

À Alcidon [1].


Ô que j’ayme la solitude !
Que ces lieux sacrez à la nuit,
Esloignez du monde et du bruit,
Plaisent à mon inquietude !
Mon Dieu ! que mes yeux sont contens
De voir ces bois, qui se trouverent
À la nativité du temps,
Et que tous les siecles reverent,
Estre encore aussi beaux et vers,
Qu’aux premiers jours de l’univers !

Un gay zephire les caresse
D’un mouvement doux et flatteur.
Rien que leur extresme hauteur
Ne fait remarquer leur vieillesse.
Jadis Pan et ses demy-dieux
Y vindrent chercher du refuge,

Quand Jupiter ouvrit les cieux
Pour nous envoyer le deluge,
Et, se sauvans sur leurs rameaux,
À peine virent-ils les eaux.

Que sur cette espine fleurie
Dont le printemps est amoureux,
Philomele, au chant langoureux,
Entretient bien ma resverie !
Que je prens de plaisir à voir
Ces monts pendans en precipices,
Qui, pour les coups du desespoir,
Sont aux malheureux si propices,
Quand la cruauté de leur sort,
Les force a rechercher la mort !

Que je trouve doux le ravage
De ces fiers torrens vagabonds,
Qui se precipitent par bonds
Dans ce vallon vert et sauvage !
Puis, glissant sous les arbrisseaux,
Ainsi que des serpens sur l’herbe,
Se changent en plaisans ruisseaux,
Où quelque Naïade superbe
Regne comme en son lict natal,
Dessus un throsne de christal !

Que j’aime ce marets paisible !
Il est tout bordé d’aliziers,
D’aulnes, de saules et d’oziers,
À qui le fer n’est point nuisible.
Les nymphes, y cherchans le frais,
S’y viennent fournir de quenouilles,
De pipeaux, de joncs et de glais [2] ;

Où l’on voit sauter les grenouilles,
Qui de frayeur s’y vont cacher
Si tost qu’on veut s’en approcher.

Là, cent mille oyseaux aquatiques
Vivent, sans craindre, en leur repos,
Le giboyeur fin et dispos,
Avec ses mortelles pratiques.
L’un tout joyeux d’un si beau jour,
S’amuse à becqueter sa plume ;
L’autre allentit le feu d’amour
Qui dans l’eau mesme se consume,
Et prennent tous innocemment
Leur plaisir en cet element.

[Anonymous No.18552051]

>>18552045
Jamais l’esté ny la froidure
N’ont veu passer dessus cette eau
Nulle charrette ny batteau,
Depuis que l’un et l’autre dure ;
Jamais voyageur alteré
N’y fit servir sa main de tasse ;
Jamais chevreuil desesperé
N’y finit sa vie à la chasse ;
Et jamais le traistre hameçon
N’en fit sortir aucun poisson.

Que j’ayme à voir la décadence
De ces vieux chasteaux ruinez,
Contre qui les ans mutinez
Ont deployé leur insolence !
Les sorciers y font leur sabat ;
Les demons follets y retirent,
Qui d’un malicieux ébat
Trompent nos sens et nous martirent ;
Là se nichent en mille troux
Les couleuvres et les hyboux.

L’orfraye, avec ses cris funebres,

Mortels augures des destins,
Fait rire et dancer les lutins
Dans ces lieux remplis de tenebres.
Sous un chevron de bois maudit
Y branle le squelette horrible
D’un pauvre amant qui se pendit
Pour une bergère insensible,
Qui d’un seul regard de pitié
Ne daigna voir son amitié.

Aussi le Ciel, juge équitable,
Qui maintient les loix en vigueur,
Prononça contre sa rigueur
Une sentence epouvantable :
Autour de ces vieux ossemens
Son ombre, aux peines condamnée,
Lamente en longs gemissemens
Sa malheureuse destinée,
Ayant, pour croistre son effroy,
Tousjours son crime devant onions.

Là se trouvent sur quelques marbres
Des devises du temps passé ;
Icy l’âge a presque effacé
Des chiffres taillez sur les arbres ;
Le plancher du lieu le plus haut
Est tombé jusques dans la cave,
Que la limace et le crapaut
Souillent de venin et de bave ;
Le lierre y croist au foyer,
À l’ombrage d’un grand noyer.

Là dessous s’estend une voûte
Si sombre en un certain endroit,
Que, quand Phebus y descendroit,
Je pense qu’il n’y verroit goutte ;
Le Sommeil aux pesans sourcis,

Enchanté d’un morne silence,
Y dort, bien loing de tous soucis,
Dans les bras de la Nonchalence,
Laschement couché sur le dos
Dessus des gerbes de pavos.

Au creux de cette grotte fresche,
Où l’Amour se pourroit geler,
Echo ne cesse de brusler
Pour son amant froid et revesche,
Je m’y coule sans faire bruit,
Et par la celeste harmonie
D’un doux lut, aux charmes instruit,
Je flatte sa triste manie
Faisant repeter mes accords
À la voix qui luy sert de corps.

[Anonymous No.18552057]

>>18552051
Tantost, sortant de ces ruines,
Je monte au haut de ce rocher,
Dont le sommet semble chercher
En quel lieu se font les bruïnes ;
Puis je descends tout à loisir,
Sous une falaise escarpée,
D’où je regarde avec plaisir
L’onde qui l’a presque sappée
Jusqu’au siege de Palemon,
Fait d’esponges et de limon.

Que c’est une chose agreable
D’estre sur le bord de la mer,
Quand elle vient à se calmer
Après quelque orage effroyable !
Et que les chevelus Tritons,
Hauts, sur les vagues secouées,
Frapent les airs d’estranges tons
Avec leurs trompes enrouées,
Dont l’eclat rend respectueux
Les vents les plus impetueux.


Tantost l’onde broüillant l’arène,
Murmure et fremit de courroux
Se roullant dessus les cailloux
Qu’elle apporte et qu’elle r’entraine.
Tantost, elle estale en ses bords,
Que l’ire de Neptune outrage,
Des gens noyez, des monstres morts,
Des vaisseaux brisez du naufrage,
Des diamans, de l’ambre gris,
Et mille autres choses de pris.

Tantost, la plus claire du monde,
Elle semble un miroir flottant,
Et nous represente à l’instant
Encore d’autres cieux sous l’onde.
Le soleil s’y fait si bien voir,
Y contemplant son beau visage,
Qu’on est quelque temps à sçavoir
Si c’est luy-mesme, ou son image,
Et d’abord il semble à nos yeux
Qu’il s’est laissé tomber des cieux.

Bernières, pour qui je me vante
De ne rien faire que de beau,
Reçoy ce fantasque tableau
Fait d’une peinture vivante.
Je ne cherche que les deserts,
Où, resvant tout seul, je m’amuse
À des discours assez diserts
De mon genie avec la muse ;
Mais mon plus aymable entretien
C’est le ressouvenir du tien.

Tu vois dans cette poësie
Pleine de licence et d’ardeur
Les beaux rayons de la splendeur
Qui m’esclaire la fantaisie :

Tantost chagrin, tantost joyeux
Selon que la fureur m’enflame,
Et que l’objet s’offre à mes yeux,
Les propos me naissent en l’ame,
Sans contraindre la liberté
Du demon qui m’a transporté.

Ô que j’ayme la solitude !
C’est l’element des bons esprits,
C’est par elle que j’ay compris
L’art d’Apollon sans nulle estude.
Je l’ayme pour l’amour de toy,
Connaissant que ton humeur l’ayme ;
Mais quand je pense bien à moy,
Je la hay pour la raison mesme :
Car elle pourroit me ravir
L’heur de te voir et te servir.