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What Is Your Favourite Poem
# 1 : Saturday 18-2-2006 @ 19:24
ok what is you favourite,poem and what appeals you to this one write a verse or two, or all if you can remember it.

Mine is the ballad of Fr.Peter Gilligan

The old priest Peter Gilligan
Was weary night and day
For half his flock were in their beds
Or under green sods lay.

Once, while he nodded in a chair
At the moth-hour of the eve
Another poor man sent for him,
And he began to grieve.

'I have no rest, nor joy, nor peace,
For people die and die;
And after cried he, 'God forgive!
My body spake not I!'

He knelt, and leaning on the chair
He prayed and fell asleep;
And the moth-hour went from the fields,
And stars began to peep.

They slowly into millions grew,
And leaves shook in the wind
And God covered the world with shade
And whispered to mankind.

Upon the time of sparrow chirp
When the moths came once more,
The old priest Peter Gilligan
Stood upright on the floor.

'Mavrone, mavrone! The man has died
While I slept in the chair.'
He roused his horse out of its sleep
And rode with little care.

He rode now as he never rode,
By rocky lane and fen;
The sick man's wife opened the door,
'Father! you come again!'

'And is the poor man dead?' he cried
'He died an hour ago.'
The old priest Peter Gilligan
In grief swayed to and fro.

'When you were gone, he turned and died,
As merry as a bird.'
The old priest Peter Gilligan
He knelt him at that word.

'He Who hath made the night of stars
For souls who tire and bleed,
Sent one of this great angels down,
To help me in my need.

'He Who is wrapped in purple robes,
With planets in His care
Had pity on the least of things
Asleep upon a chair.'

-- W.B.Yeats

my god so many years ago book 3 of the english books..
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# 2 : Saturday 18-2-2006 @ 19:38
The road not taken

Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
and sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
and looked down one as far as I could
to where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
and having perhaps the better claim
because it was grassy and wanted wear;
though as for that, the passing there
had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
in leaves no feet had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less travelled by,
and that has made all the difference

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# 3 : Saturday 18-2-2006 @ 19:48
Firefighter,I learned that at about 6 years old at school but could not go beyond the first 3 verses when trying to remember it.Nostalgia rules!
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# 4 : Saturday 18-2-2006 @ 19:54
I did it for my intercert I love it.
well here is another you will remember .. you must have one yourself Jerryp

The Solitary Reaper

Behold her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?--
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;--
I listened, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.

-- William Wordsworth
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# 5 : Saturday 18-2-2006 @ 19:54
"Ce hé sin amuigh

Go bhfuil faor ar a ghuth

A' reaba mo dhorais dúnta?"

"Mise Eamonn a' Chnuic

Tá báidhte fuar fluich

O shior-shúil sléibhte is gleannta"

"A lao ghil's a chuid

Cad do dhéannfainnse duit

Mara gcuirfinn ort béinn dom ghúna?

'S go mbeidh púdar dubh

Is go mbeimis araon muchta"

"Is fada mise amuigh

Faoi sneachta is faoi shioc

Is gan dánacht agam ar éinne

Mo bhranar gan cur

Mo sheisreach gar sgur

Is gan iad agam ar aon chor

Nil cairde agam

(Is danaid liom san)

Do ghlacfadh mé moch na déanach

Is go gcaithear mé dul

Thar farraige soir

O's ann na fúil mo ghaolta"
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# 6 : Saturday 18-2-2006 @ 20:24
WB Yeats -

He wishes for the cloths of heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

-- William Butler Yeats
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# 7 : Saturday 18-2-2006 @ 23:01
The Passionate Shepherd to His Love
by Christopher Marlowe

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields
Woods or steepy mountain yields

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flower, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.

The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.
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# 8 : Saturday 18-2-2006 @ 23:02
The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd
by Sir Walter Raleigh

If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.

Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complain of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy bed of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.

But could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.
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# 9 : Sunday 19-2-2006 @ 01:05
I have never been one for Poems but these words were sent to me recently by a friend and I liked Emily Dickinson
He Fumbles At Your Spirit
He fumbles at your spirit
As players at the keys
Before they drop full music on;
He stuns you by degrees,

Prepares your brittle substance
For the ethereal blow,
By fainter hammers, further heard,
Then nearer, then so slow

Your breath has time to straighten,
Your brain to bubble cool, --
Deals one imperial thunderbolt
That scalps your naked soul.
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# 10 : Sunday 19-2-2006 @ 01:34
I love Dickinson. As a teenager, I identified with her for the typical angsty reasons. As an adult, I got to learn more about her moods and her styles. I've more yet to learn. She is one of the few poets that I feel a close affection for.

Here is one mysterious poem of hers: So bashful when I spied her So bashful when I spied her,
So pretty, so ashamed!
So hidden in her leaflets,
Lest anybody find;

So breathless till I passed her,
So helpless when I turned
And bore her, struggling, blushing,
Her simple haunts beyond!

For whom I robbed the dingle,
For whom betrayed the dell,
Many will doubtless ask me,
But I shall never tell!

Oh Emily!
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# 11 : Sunday 19-2-2006 @ 01:42
Nice one Wheelie. We were having a discussion about He Fumbles and for a woman who claims she never took a man in love, her words would say very much different. An interesting woman

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# 12 : Sunday 19-2-2006 @ 14:45
I like this there is a lesson in it

A Poison Tree (William Blake)

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe;
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I water'd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with my smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree
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# 13 : Sunday 19-2-2006 @ 15:06
@jthery - I like that one.

I used to get a lot of good poems when they were on the DART - anyone remember those?

e.g. (and please excuse the spelling mistakes)

Críde hé
Daire cnó
Ocán é
Pocán dó


He is a heart
an acorn of the oaklands
he is a young man
a kiss for him

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# 14 : Sunday 19-2-2006 @ 15:29
I don't read alot of poetry so many of my favourite poems come fromleaving cert.....but my absolute favourite has to be "The love song of J Alfred Prufrock"'s a totally amazing poem, and every time i read it I get something from's a tad depressing but it's the expresson of that melancholy that is amazing......

"the eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, and when I am formulated and sprawling on a pin"

"I have measured out my life in coffee spoons"

I just think there are so many wonderful lines in this poem that it's the best. No point in printing it here, it's very long, but i'd advise anyone to read it and wonder
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# 15 : Sunday 19-2-2006 @ 19:23
nice one Jthery,
and wheelie,
words in poetry say a multitude..
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