- starlite wrote:
- this is for a good cause, submit your favorite poem or story, does not have to be your original but your favorite poem or story,
if thats the case ...and it does not have to be original
Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard
by Thomas Gray
The Curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care:
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor.
also........The Lake Isle of Innisfree.....W.B Yeats
I will arise and go now to Innisfree
and a small cabin build ther,of clay wattles made
nine bean-rows will i have there,a hive for the honey bee,
and live alone in the bee-loud glade
and i shall have some peace there,for peace comes droppinng slow,
dropping from the veils of the morning to where the crickets sing;
there midnight,s all a glimmer,and noon a purple glow,
and evening full of linnet,s wings
i will arise and go now,for always night and day
i hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
while i stand on the roadway,or on the pavements grey,
i hear it in the deepheart,s core