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Thread: Favourite Poets

  1. #1

    Default Favourite Poets

    Thomas Gray (1716-1771)

    Ode on the Death of a Favourite Cat, Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes The Poem
    Thomas Gray.


    I.
    'TWAS on a lofty vase's side,
    Where China's gayest art had dy'd
    The azure flowers that blow;
    Demurest of the tabby kind,
    The pensive Selima reclin'd,
    Gaz'd on the lake below.
    II.
    Her conscious tail her joy declar'd;
    The fair round face, the snowy beard,
    The velvet of her paws,
    Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
    Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
    She saw, and purr'd applause.
    III.
    Still had she gaz'd; but midst the tide
    Two beauteous forms were seen to glide,
    The Genii of the stream;
    Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue,
    Through richest purple, to the view,
    Betray'd a golden gleam.
    IV.
    The hapless Nymph with wonder saw:
    A whisker first, and then a claw,
    With many an ardent wish,
    She stretch'd, in vain, to reach the prize.
    What female heart can gold despise?
    What cat's averse to fish?
    V.
    Presumptuous Maid! with looks intent
    Again she stretch'd, again she bent,
    Nor knew the gulph between;
    (Malignant Fate sat by, and smil'd.)
    The slippery verge her feet beguil'd;
    She tumbled headlong in.
    VI.
    Eight times emerging from the flood,
    She mew'd to every watery God,
    Some speedy aid to send.
    No Dolphin came, no Nereid stir'd:
    Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard.
    A favourite has no friend.
    VII.
    From hence, ye beauties, undeceiv'd,
    Know, one false step is ne'er retriev'd,
    And be with caution bold.
    Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
    And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;
    Nor all, that glisters, gold.
    Last edited by Finebyme; 19-02-2017 at 03:06 PM.

  2. #2
    cathidaw
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    Thanks for that. Thomas Gray was my favourite when I was at college. the I traitored to Wilfred Gibson's - ice man cometh
    'Perched upon my Office stool' etc
    but my lasting favourite is 'Khubla khan, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

  3. #3
    rebbonk
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    Larkin would be my most favourite. Not only did we share the same school, I thought his most famous poem was very accurate.

  4. #4
    cathidaw
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    Quote Originally Posted by finebyme View Post
    thomas gray (1716-1771)

    ode on the death of a favourite cat, drowned in a tub of gold fishes the poem
    thomas gray.


    I.
    'twas on a lofty vase's side,
    where china's gayest art had dy'd
    the azure flowers that blow;
    demurest of the tabby kind,
    the pensive selima reclin'd,
    gaz'd on the lake below.
    Ii.
    Her conscious tail her joy declar'd;
    the fair round face, the snowy beard,
    the velvet of her paws,
    her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
    her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
    she saw, and purr'd applause.
    Iii.
    Still had she gaz'd; but midst the tide
    two beauteous forms were seen to glide,
    the genii of the stream;
    their scaly armour's tyrian hue,
    through richest purple, to the view,
    betray'd a golden gleam.
    Iv.
    The hapless nymph with wonder saw:
    A whisker first, and then a claw,
    with many an ardent wish,
    she stretch'd, in vain, to reach the prize.
    What female heart can gold despise?
    What cat's averse to fish?
    V.
    Presumptuous maid! With looks intent
    again she stretch'd, again she bent,
    nor knew the gulph between;
    (malignant fate sat by, and smil'd.)
    the slippery verge her feet beguil'd;
    she tumbled headlong in.
    Vi.
    Eight times emerging from the flood,
    she mew'd to every watery god,
    some speedy aid to send.
    No dolphin came, no nereid stir'd:
    Nor cruel tom, nor susan heard.
    A favourite has no friend.
    Vii.
    From hence, ye beauties, undeceiv'd,
    know, one false step is ne'er retriev'd,
    and be with caution bold.
    Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
    and heedless hearts, is lawful prize;
    nor all, that glisters, gold.
    how about a poem writing section by the members of wol
    set a subject and off we go. Shizara was good at this-perhaps she would join in.
    It would make a n interesting change.

  5. #5
    rebbonk
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    I'm up for it, but I'm mainly likely to do short limerick styles.

  6. #6
    cathidaw
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    Limericks are easy better than nothing and may liven the site up.Get away fro grumbles and politics-although I do my shareof moaning and it's not my nature.
    You start ?
    Last edited by cathidaw; 19-03-2017 at 12:27 AM.

  7. #7
    rebbonk
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    OK, lets go with something topical... BREXIT

  8. #8

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    Roses are Red ,
    Violets are blue
    Had enough of rulers and the EU,
    Without much ado,
    I'm ready for full English Brexit,
    How about you?




    Sorry it's politics again.
    Last edited by Finebyme; 19-03-2017 at 01:41 PM.

  9. #9

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    I'm not going to be good at lyric stuff, I'm afraid.
    Perhaps the Lyrics thread should be moved to another page as this one is Favourite Poets. Or change the title of this thread.
    Last edited by Finebyme; 19-03-2017 at 01:40 PM.

  10. #10
    rebbonk
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    Edward Heath; he sold us out
    We paid in lots but got out nowt.
    But now the people have had their say
    And placed their trust in Mrs May.
    Will we leave? I somehow doubt.

  11. #11

    Default

    Hope I can share this humorous poem here, I didn't want to spoil the lovely one Lex put about missing loved ones.
    Apologies for the last few cheeky lines.














    22448343_1538885266165892_7978783275376690765_n.jpg

  12. #12
    Super Moderator rebbonk's Avatar
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    Oct 2017
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    97

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    Mary had a little lamb
    She also had a bear
    I've often seen her little lamb
    But I've never seen her...

  13. #13

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    My lovelyPolly


    polly remembered

    Eyes so round and yellow green
    Coat of wondrous sheen
    Whiskers-silky bright
    Sleeping in sunlight
    Prowling in the night
    Padding on the floor
    Scratching by the door
    Purring soft and smooth
    Thundering across the roof
    Your coat so fine,
    My fingers tracing down your spine
    Claws retracting, you supine
    Expression sublime
    Sweet grassy smell of your fur
    Fishy purrings in my ear
    So sad that you have gone
    Sad your life is done
    Hole in my heart where you should be
    Empty space beneath your tree

  14. #14

    Default Alfred Lord Tennyson on his visit to Coventry

    Godiva
    by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

    I waited for the train at Coventry;
    I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge,
    To watch the three tall spires; and there I shaped
    The city's ancient legend into this:
    Not only we, the latest seed of Time,
    New men, that in the flying of a wheel
    Cry down the past, not only we, that prate
    Of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well,
    And loathed to see them overtax'd; but she
    Did more, and underwent, and overcame,
    The woman of a thousand summers back,
    Godiva, wife to that grim Earl, who ruled
    In Coventry: for when he laid a tax
    Upon his town, and all the mothers brought
    Their children, clamoring, "If we pay, we starve!"
    She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode
    About the hall, among his dogs, alone,
    His beard a foot before him and his hair
    A yard behind. She told him of their tears,
    And pray'd him, "If they pay this tax, they starve."
    Whereat he stared, replying, half-amazed,
    "You would not let your little finger ache
    For such as these?" -- "But I would die," said she.
    He laugh'd, and swore by Peter and by Paul;
    Then fillip'd at the diamond in her ear;
    "Oh ay, ay, ay, you talk!" -- "Alas!" she said,
    "But prove me what I would not do."
    And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand,
    He answer'd, "Ride you naked thro' the town,
    And I repeal it;" and nodding, as in scorn,
    He parted, with great strides among his dogs.
    So left alone, the passions of her mind,
    As winds from all the compass shift and blow,
    Made war upon each other for an hour,
    Till pity won. She sent a herald forth,
    And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all
    The hard condition; but that she would loose
    The people: therefore, as they loved her well,
    From then till noon no foot should pace the street,
    No eye look down, she passing; but that all
    Should keep within, door shut, and window barr'd.
    Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there
    Unclasp'd the wedded eagles of her belt,
    The grim Earl's gift; but ever at a breath
    She linger'd, looking like a summer moon
    Half-dipt in cloud: anon she shook her head,
    And shower'd the rippled ringlets to her knee;
    Unclad herself in haste; adown the stair
    Stole on; and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid
    From pillar unto pillar, until she reach'd
    The Gateway, there she found her palfrey trapt
    In purple blazon'd with armorial gold.
    Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity:
    The deep air listen'd round her as she rode,
    And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear.
    The little wide-mouth'd heads upon the spout
    Had cunning eyes to see: the barking cur
    Made her cheek flame; her palfrey's foot-fall shot
    Light horrors thro' her pulses; the blind walls
    Were full of chinks and holes; and overhead
    Fantastic gables, crowding, stared: but she
    Not less thro' all bore up, till, last, she saw
    The white-flower'd elder-thicket from the field,
    Gleam thro' the Gothic archway in the wall.
    Then she rode back, clothed on with chastity;
    And one low churl, compact of thankless earth,
    The fatal byword of all years to come,
    Boring a little auger-hole in fear,
    Peep'd -- but his eyes, before they had their will,
    Were shrivel'd into darkness in his head,
    And dropt before him. So the Powers, who wait
    On noble deeds, cancell'd a sense misused;
    And she, that knew not, pass'd: and all at once,
    With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon
    Was clash'd and hammer'd from a hundred towers,
    One after one: but even then she gain'd
    Her bower; whence reissuing, robed and crown'd,
    To meet her lord, she took the tax away
    And built herself an everlasting name.



    Written c.1842
    Last edited by Finebyme; 19-10-2017 at 07:15 PM.

  15. #15

  16. #16

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    I'm a great admirer of WW1 poets. I grew up with a framed copy of 'The Soldier' on one of our bedroom walls.
    I've wondered what Rupert Brook's poems would have been like if he hadn't died so early in the war. He died from an infected mosquito bite in 1915, so hadn't seen the horrors of the war. So maybe they wouldn't have been so romantic. He was a very gentle and effeminate person so the shock would have driven him mad.
    I have a book of German WW1 poetry which indicates that those young men had it equally as bad.
    A war to end all wars ! !

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