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RobBob

Best Lit

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The talk about Ayn Rand on another thread got me to thinking about what literature I like best and why. IMO the best writing is timeless---about things that most of us can relate to. And I like the power of pictures painted with few words.

 

Here's a test for you. Who can name the author of this poem (without a websearch)?

 

 

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

 

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

 

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

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I want to say robert browning???

 

there was a fab movie about a woman ding of cancer who studdied this poet

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isn't chris t right?

 

robert dunne??? or something close?

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Dylan T. got it at home and couldn't remember his last name and i obviously butchered his first! oy!

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Dylan T. got it at home and couldn't remember his last name and i obviously butchered his first! oy!

 

at least you were on the right path smile.gif

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i was distracted. it took a minute but i got the ol' brain engaged! i love his poetry but i don't think i'll start a poetry recitation on the board today.

 

nice topic

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I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.

I learn by going where I have to go.

 

We think by feeling. What is there to know?

I hear my being dance from ear to ear

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

 

Of those so close to me, which are you?

God bless the ground! I shall walk softly there,

and learn by going where I have to go.

 

Light takes the tree, but who can tell us how?

The lowly worm climbs up winding stair;

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

 

Great Nature has another thing to do

to you and me; so take the lively air,

and lovely, learn by going where to go.

 

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.

What falls away is always. And is near.

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

I learn by going where I have to go.

 

-------------------------------------------

 

I know notyhing about this poet. just this poem. it was a gift from a friend smile.gif

 

does anyone know???

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they were even your rules wink.gif silly I guess i wasn't clear that I knew and was just not familure with entire his body of work cantfocus.gif

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so much depends

upon

a red wheel

barrow

glazed with rain

water

beside the white

chickens

 

 

Edited by gregm

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When awful darkness and silence reign

Over the great Gromboolian plain,

Through the long, long wintry nights;--

When the angry breakers roar

As they beat on the rocky shore;--

When Storm-clouds brood on the towering heights

Of the Hills of the Chankly Bore:--

 

Then, through the vast and gloomy dark,

There moves what seems a fiery spark,

A lonely spark with silvery rays

Piercing the coal-black night,--

A Meteor strange and bright:--

Hither and thither the vision strays,

A single lurid light.

 

Slowly it wanders,--pauses,--creeeps,--

Anon it sparkles,--flashes and leaps;

And ever as onward it gleaming goes

A light on the Bong-tree stems it throws.

And those who watch at that midnight hour

From Hall or Terrace, or lofty Tower,

Cry, as the wild light passes along,--

'The Dong!--the Dong!

'The wandering Dong through the forest goes!

'The Dong! the Dong!

'The Dong with a luminous Nose!'

 

Long years ago

The Dong was happy and gay,

Till he fell in love with a Jumbly Girl

Who came to those shores one day,

For the Jumblies came in a sieve, they did,--

Landing at eve near the Zemmery Fidd

Where the Oblong Oysters grow,

And the rocks are smooth and gray.

And all the woods and the valleys rang

With the Chorus they daily and nightly sang,--

'Far and few, far and few,

Are the lands where the Jumblies live;

Their heads are green, and their hands are blue

And they went to sea in a sieve.'

 

Happily, happily passed those days!

While the cheerful Jumblies staid;

They danced in circlets all night long,

To the plaintive pipe of the lively Dong,

In moonlight, shine, or shade.

For day and night he was always there

By the side of the Jumbly Girl so fair,

With her sky-blue hands, and her sea-green hair.

Till the morning came of that hateful day

When the Jumblies sailed in their sieve away,

And the Dong was left on the cruel shore

Gazing--gazing for evermore,--

Ever keeping his weary eyes on

That pea-green sail on the far horizon,--

Singing the Jumbly Chorus still

As he sate all day on the grassy hill,--

'Far and few, far and few,

Are the lands where the Jumblies live;

Their heads are green, and their hands are blue

And they went to sea in a sieve.'

 

But when the sun was low in the West,

The Dong arose and said;--

--'What little sense I once possessed

'Has quite gone out of my head!'--

And since that day he wanders still

By lake or forest, marsh and hill,

Singing--'O somewhere, in valley or plain

'Might I find my Jumbly Girl again!

'For ever I'll seek by lake and shore

'Till I find my Jumbly Girl once more!'

 

Playing a pipe with silvery squeaks,

Since then his Jumbly Girl he seeks,

And because by night he could not see,

He gathered the bark of the Twangum Tree

On the flowery plain that grows.

And he wove him a wondrous Nose,--

A Nose as strange as a Nose could be!

Of vast proportions and painted red,

And tied with cords to the back of his head.

--In a hollow rounded space it ended

With a luminous Lamp within suspended,

All fenced about

With a bandage stout

To prevent the wind from blowing it out;--

And with holes all round to send the light,

In gleaming rays on the dismal night.

 

And now each night, and all night long,

Over those plains still roams the Dong;

And above the wall of the Chimp and Snipe

You may hear the sqeak of his plaintive pipe

While ever he seeks, but seeks in vain

To meet with his Jumbly Girl again;

Lonely and wild--all night he goes,--

The Dong with a luminous Nose!

And all who watch at the midnight hour,

From Hall or Terrace, or lofty Tower,

Cry, as they trace the Meteor bright,

Moving along through the dreary night,--

'This is the hour when forth he goes,

'The Dong with a luminous Nose!

'Yonder--over the plain he goes,

'He goes!

'He goes;

'The Dong with a luminous Nose!'

 

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is this the longest poem you have commited to memeory dru wink.gif

 

my guess is lewis carol (although I am sure I am wrong, that would be way too easy)

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