quote:

Originally posted by dandelion:
"If I were dead and buried, and I heard your voice, beneath the sod my heart of dust would still rejoice."

Apparently these lines of poetry were made up for the film "Roman Holiday." Many readers over the years have searched both Keats and Shelley for them, as the character, Princess Ann, played by Audrey Hepburn, recites them to Joe, played by Gregory Peck, followed by some lines by a real poem by Shelley which she insists is Keats, and they enjoy quite a debate over it.

Fine lines; I wish they were part of a real poem!

Ah, I love Percy Shelly, I hope thats the shelly your thinking of.

I met traveler from
an antique land
Who said:
Two vast and
trunkless legs of
stone stand in the
desert
Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered
Visage Lies...
my Name is
OZYMANDIAS
King of Kings
look on my works
ye mighty and
despair
Nothing
Beside
Remains
Round the
Decay of
That colossal
Wreck, Bound-
less and bare
The lone and
level sands
Stretch Far
Away


Percy Shelly


From memory, hope I got it right

quote:

Originally posted by Robot Lincoln:
B-Two, What's that from? Sounds like tombstone poetry, which I am fond of.

I don't know "tombstone poetry" but the Sara Teasdale I posted was the last poem she ever wrote. Thats right, it was her suicide note, I did not post it to be morbid, it really is one of my very favorite poems, plus the story of it's existance only makes it more touching.

Thats very interesting, Jayne. I don't find it morbid, beautiful perhaps.

Rosemary

Boots were of leather
A breath of cologne
Her mirror was a window
She sat quite alone

All around her
the garden grew
scarlet and purple
and crimson and blue

She came and she went
and at last went away
The garden was sealed
when the flowers decayed

On the wall of the garden
a legend did say:
No one may come here
since no one may stay

R. Hunter

Joyce Kilmer - To A Young Poet Who Killed Himself

When you had played with life a space
And made it drink and lust and sing,
You flung it back into God's face
And thought you did a noble thing.
"Lo, I have lived and loved," you said,
"And sung to fools too dull to hear me.
Now for a cool and grassy bed
With violets in blossom near me."
Well, rest is good for weary feet,
Although they ran for no great prize;
And violets are very sweet,
Although their roots are in your eyes.
But hark to what the earthworms say
Who share with you your muddy haven:
"The fight was on -- you ran away.
You are a coward and a craven.
"The rug is ruined where you bled;
It was a dirty way to die!
To put a bullet through your head
And make a silly woman cry!
You could not vex the merry stars
Nor make them heed you, dead or living.
Not all your puny anger mars
God's irresistible forgiving.
"Yes, God forgives and men forget,
And you're forgiven and forgotten.
You might be gaily sinning yet
And quick and fresh instead of rotten.
And when you think of love and fame
And all that might have come to pass,
Then don't you feel a little shame?
And don't you think you were an ass?"

I been learing to speak French recently, about an hour a day of serious study. I have come to have a new appretiation for poety, that honestly I never thought I would have. I'm sure it involves stimulating rarely used parts of the brain, but it is amazing, almost like seeing with new eyes. Thanks Robot and Dandelion, I enjoyed what you posted, and please, if you feel so inclined, post more.

Bot, Yes that's an epitaph I heard of.
Here's a site with quite a few, including the one I posted, but I remembered it slightly differently...
http://seniors-site.com/funstuff/epitaphs.html

Also, for some great imagery and illiteration, I suggest anything by Dylan Thomas or Gerard Manley Hopkins; e.g. "God's Grandeur" ("...It will flame out, like shining from shook foil...")

For something creepier, check out Poe's "The Conqueror Worm", which I was privileged to hear recited IN PERSON by Vincent Price!

By the way, if Butch is reading this, editing worked OK for me.

This message has been edited. Last edited by: Braling II,

I see that, Sundance. But, where do you place the tnt to open it up so it stays opened?!?

There must be a gremlin on my wing.

Dandelion, I read the biography of Robert Wood Johnson, the son of the founder of Johnson and Johnson. In the book he refers to his assistant, whose son was Joyce Kilmer.

Robert speaks quite a bit about Joyce and his being a correspondent who really didn't have to be on the front lines, but chose to do so. He was killed in battle. Perhaps his most famous poem is "If I Were a Tree."

Braling II: I am envious of you! Vincent Price, who was from St. Louis, became a yearly participant of the Lyceum Programs at my alta mater, then Missouri State University (Now Truman University) but after I left school. I would have loved to have heard and seen him perform. As it was I did get to meet Hans Conried, but that has been discussed previously.

Vincent played the ghoul so well.

Hey, Biplane, yes it was a thrill meeting Mr. Price! The venue was a discussion of art and museums (musea?) in which he was an expert. He began his talk berating the audience for having gone to the famous museums like The Louvre, The Prado, etc. while having neglected local ones. Then he discussed some artists and works and concluded with the poem - from memory, I might add! It was at a wine and cheese reception afterward that I got to meet him. He was tall!
I envy you your having met Hans Conreid!
By the way, Vincent Price began his career as a leading man on stage and in film, even singing in some early pictures!
This is a pretty good site:
http://www.angelfire.com/film/rdsquires/

Thanks, Braling. I will check that site out. I have always loved tombstone poetry and going to old small country graveyards just to look around. I know several people who do tombstone rubbings as well. I do like Dylan Thomas, have several of his in anthologies with other poets. Gerard Manley Hopkins though, after your recommendation before, I went out and bought a book with just his poetry. Interesting man, and great poetry. Thanks.

p.s. envious of you meeting Price as well. one of my favorites.

I just looked at that site, my fav:

Here lies an atheist
all dressed up and no where to go

This message has been edited. Last edited by: rocket,

"Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage, against the dying of the light."--
Dylan Thomas, a favorite poet/writer. This is one of the most powerful poems I know of.

And, from several Bardstown, KY, tombstones, and something I'm told is repeated often as an epitaph: "Weep no more, my lady." The images those words bring. . .

In our final human words, what legacy will endure?

Thanks for letting me know that, biplane. After reading Joyce Kilmer's poem, I wondered how he had died. He sounds like a very great patriot and a wise man.

Aaaaaahhhhhh!!!
Still reading Being and Time, I give up, this is the toughest book I have ever seen, I have read books in Japanese and latin, but this takes the cake! I am to dumb to live, deficient, I must be destroyed for the good of mankind.

P.S. No, not a eugenics refrence, I think we can all agree eugenics is bad.

The saddest poem I have ever read.

LITTLE BOY BLUE
By Eugene Field (1850-1893)

The little toy dog is covered in dust,
But sturdy and staunch he stands;
And the little red soldier is red with rust,
And the musket molds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair,
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.

“Now, don’t you go till I come,” he said.
“And don’t you make any noise!”
So toddling of to his trundle-bed
He dreamt of the pretty toys,
And as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue,--
Oh, the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true!

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place,
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face.
And they wonder, as waiting these long years through,
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue
Since he kissed them and put them there.

**
I thank God every day that I have happy, healthy children.

Amen to that, Chap. I remember that poem. Reading it, I felt like I used to hearing Al Jolson sing the last lines of "Sonny Boy".
"I'm gettin' kinda misty, Dobe."