Poetry Friday: Iambic tetrameter and you

Because I love iambic tetrameter: Poem 126 by Emily Dickinson

The brain is wider than the sky,
For, put them side by side,
The one the other will include
With ease, and you beside.

The brain is deeper than the sea
For, hold them, blue to blue
The one the other will absorb
As sponges, buckets do.

The brain is just the weight of God
For, lift them, pound for pound,
And they will differ, if they do
As syllable, from sound.

--

I know when most people think of meter and poetry, the default setting is iambic pentameter, because that's what we study the most of in school. But twelve years of percussion study make me focus on the rhythm of poetry (sometimes to the detriment of not getting the poem itself because I'm so fascinated with the auditory quality) and I find iambic tetrameter far more interesting. Observe:

• Nearly all of Emily Dickinson's poetry is in iambic tetrameter.
• Although we don't much talk about poetry meter when we compose music, "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" and "The Yellow Rose of Texas" are also in iambic tetrameter.
  
• The Sorting Hat songs in the Harry Potter series are in iambic tetrameter. That means you can sing all of them to the tune of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." Want to impress people? Recite the entirety of the Sorting Hat song from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. It's much easier than it looks because everything is easier to memorize when set to music.
• Iambic tetrameter fits the natural movement of our bodies. Try this: Walk as you say the poem above, with your right foot landing on the stressed syllable (this means you'll say the first syllable of the poem standing still; it's like a pickup note). As you read, if you don't stop walking on the silent syllable, you'll always land on your right foot at the end of the phrase. Now, this works with iambic pentameter, too, but what I find more interesting in tetrameter is that you'll walk in phrases of eight counts. You know what else is done in counts of eight? Dancing. (Well, not dances in 3/4 time, but you get the picture.)
  
• Iambic tetrameter is easy to read in rhythm, especially the way Emily Dickinson employs it. Read the above poem aloud. Because most of Dickinson's poetry (and the Sorting Hat song) pauses on every eighth count, you have a natural place to take a breath. Taking that breath means you can keep up the reading pace.

And so ends today's lesson. Happy Friday!

Poetry Friday: The Red Wheelbarrow

The Red Wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williams.
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.

Poetry Friday round up is at The Well Read Child.

Poetry Friday: The Owl and the Pussycat

The Owl and the Pussycat by Edward Lear
I

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
'O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!'

II

Pussy said to the Owl, 'You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?'
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

III

'Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?' Said the Piggy, 'I will.'
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.



Part of the reason I like this nonsense rhyme is the last stanza; I find it haunting.



And it reminds me of a book I read in high school, The Moondancers by WJ Weatherby.



I cannot find a description online and my copy is packed, but it was one of those historical romance books where the following happened: girl in the UK abandoned by loving father, she grew up and was hanged for something, but the hangman loved her so fixed it so she wouldn't die (in which I learn that the weight and height of the body is important in figuring the length of rope to have a proper hanging), and then they both escape to the US and get separated. I think she thinks he's a little stalkerish, plus the whole hangman thing isn't appealing. Of course, they meet various historical people in 19th century England and America and then she finds her father and it turns out he is now an evil western land baron, and believe it or not she ends up getting hanged AGAIN and saved again by The Original Hangman. They do wind up together after all. Despite the stalkerish/killing her/not killing her thing.



Man, I loved that book. I have to find that box....


Round up at HipWriterMama.

Poetry Friday: Millay

So, why do I care that an actor who I never met died?

The same reason any death affects me. Oh, on one level, I think of the films I loved and the loss of a talent and the films that won't be made. On one level, it is the loss of a young man I never met, except thru film and photos. I don't know his family, his child, his ex-fiance.

But on another level, it's a reminder of other, more personal deaths; and the hurt and loss from those deaths, and the grief. And I feel terribly for the loss of this person I knew, but didn't, and for the heartache of his loved ones, who I don't know, but I know grief.

Anyway.

I always thought Edna St. Vincent Millay does loss well. From the website Poetry Out Loud.

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;

....

I say, “There is no memory of him here!”
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

The rest of the poem is here.

Poetry Friday round up at Mentor Texts.

Poetry Friday: Good Masters! Sweet Ladies!

Poetry Friday (will be edited tonight to add round up information ) The Round Up is at Literary Safari.

Good Masters! Sweet Ladies! Voices from a Medieval Village by Laura Amy Schlitz. Illustrated by Robert Byrd. 2007. Library copy. One of my personal Best Books 2007.

The Plot:

Inhabitants of a medieval village, from nephew of the Lord to beggar, provide a look at their lives via poetry and prose.

The Good:

Made of awesome.

There is a map of the village (a Medieval Manor, England, 1255) with plenty of details to linger over, from the various walls and fields, including the characters in the book.

Each person speaks once; tho characters sometimes mention once another, giving a fuller picture of each individual and the village itself. While most speak in varying forms of poetry, there is some prose; and there are also historical notes to explain things. For example, the son of a knight mentions the Crusades as he would see it; the note provides more detailed information on the Crusades.

How would I classify this book? Poetry? But it's got more than poetry, and will history lovers find it there?

History? The people are made up; and while there is an amazing bibliography (four pages worth!!), so I trust the history included, made up people saying things, even saying things based on historical fact, is, in my never to be humble opinion, fiction.

Fiction? While I love how this conveys a world, and a world view, there isn't really a plot or a main character.

Final words: great for teaching or classroom use, at home and at school, because in addition to the history aspect, the poetry is written to be read, like a play. So, a fun way to practice memorization and speaking skills.

More final words. It's illustrated by Robert Byrd, and he captures a medieval style and also includes tons of details for readers to pore over.

Anyway, here is a bit from

Otho, The Miller's Son

Father is the miller
As his father was of old,
And I shall be the miller,
When my father's flesh is cold.
I know the family business --
It's been drummed into my head;
How to cheat the customer
And earn my daily bread.

Oh, God makes the water, and the water makes the river,
And the river turns the mill wheel
and the wheel goes on forever.
Every man's a cheater, and so every man is fed,
For we feed upon each other,
when we seek our daily bread.

The rest of the poem is in the book.

Candlewick, the publisher, has these sample pages online, which also show Byrd's illustrations. Here are two more poems, with footnotes.

Links:

Lois Lowry likes it
Betsy Bird's review can be found at ForeWord: Shelf Space

Round Up of Poetry Friday Round Ups

Susan Taylor Brown has a Round Up of Poetry Friday Round Ups at her blog, Susan Writes.

Wow.

It's interesting to view the origin of this, and how it grew.

Poetry Friday: The Courtship Of Eddie's Father

The round up is at Kelly Fineman's Writing and Ruminating.

In honor of my support of TV, I offer you one of the great theme songs of my childhood TV watching.

The Courtship of Eddie's Father (aka "Best Friend") by Harry Nilsson

People let me tell you 'bout my best friend,
He's a warm hearted person who'll love me till the end.
People let me tell you bout my best friend,
He's a one boy cuddly toy, my up, my down, my pride and joy.

The rest of the song is here.

Wikipedia Information on the show; I love how it was based on a movie shot six years before the TV show. Quick, without looking, who originally played Eddie? And I loved how they changed Mrs. Livingston.
Still more on the show.
Bill Bixby still breaks my heart. I loved Brenda Benet on Days of Our Lives.

Poetry Friday: Frankenstein Makes A Sandwich

Frankenstein Makes A Sandwich: and other stories you're sure to like, because they're about monsters, and some of them are also about food. You like food, don't you? Well, all right then. by Adam Rex. 2006. Copy supplied by publisher, Harcourt, Inc.

The Plot:

A number of poems about a variety of monsters. Each monster gets a different type of unique poem; all are very funny.

A taste of the book:

The Invisible Man Gets a Haircut

"My hair is a fright!"
said Griffin one night.
"At least I assume that it is.
It feels awfully long,
and the part is all wrong,
and it's knotted with tangles and frizz."

The rest of the poem; well, you'll have to read the book!

The Good:

Brilliant. Why did I wait so long to read this one? (Oh, yeah, the kids took it.) A Best Book Read in 2007.

The Phantom of the Opera: poor guy. Each time it's his turn in the book, it's ruined because he has a song stuck in his head that twists his poem. From "It's a world gone crazy, a world gone wrong" (It's A Small World) to "All around the Opera House" (Pop Goes the Weasel) to... well, you get the picture.

This can work for all ages, but the older, the better, because of the references to other works, such as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

The illustrations; all done by Rex, all different, all great. The Phantom of the Opera (yes, I admit, he's my favorite) is done black and white, like a silent movie; the Mummy is against a background that looks like papyrus; Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Henderson looks like a 19th century newspaper.

Plus, there are a ton of details hidden in the pictures. When the Invisible Man gets a haircut, a ton of other characters are in the background, including a snake-headed Medusa coming in the door. And, extremely amusing to me, is the paper that says the Bride of Frankenstein wants her hair like Britney Spears.

Peter Parker and Cheetah fight over this one. And Peter Parker calls it the Ghost Book, because on page 14 there is a ghost. He is also very amused by the idea of the invisible man getting a haircut.

The Poetry Friday round up is at Two Writing Teachers. someplace. I'll edit this sentence once I figure it out.

Links:
Author Blog
Blog from the Windowsill review
A Fuse #8 Production review
Kelly Fineman: interview with Adam Rex
MotherReader review
PlanetEsme review
Publisher's webpage, with author interview
Swarm of Beasts review
What Adrienne Thinks About That review

Poetry Friday: Summer is Gone

Summer is Gone-- anonymous, 9th Century, Ireland. Translated by Kuno Meyer

My tidings for you: the stag bells,
Winter snows, summer is gone.

Wind high and cold, low the sun,
Short his course, sea running high.

Deep-red the bracken, its shape all gone --
The wild-goose has raised his wonted cry.

Cold has caught the wings of birds:
Seasons of ice -- these are my tidings.

Other translations: Here, here, here.

The round up is at Hip Writer Mama.

Poetry Friday

Donal Óg
by Isabella Augusta, Lady Gregory


Translated from an anonymous eighth-century Irish poem


It is late last night the dog was speaking of you;
the snipe was speaking of you in her deep marsh.
It is you are the lonely bird through the woods;
and that you may be without a mate until you find me.

You promised me, and you said a lie to me,
that you would be before me where the sheep are flocked;
I gave a whistle and three hundred cries to you,
and I found nothing there but a bleating lamb.

You promised me a thing that was hard for you,
a ship of gold under a silver mast;
twelve towns with a market in all of them,
and a fine white court by the side of the sea.

You promised me a thing that is not possible,
that you would give me gloves of the skin of a fish;
that you would give me shoes of the skin of a bird;
and a suit of the dearest silk in Ireland.

When I go by myself to the Well of Loneliness,
I sit down and I go through my trouble;
when I see the world and do not see my boy,
he that has an amber shade in his hair.

It was on that Sunday I gave my love to you;
the Sunday that is last before Easter Sunday.
And myself on my knees reading the Passion;
and my two eyes giving love to you for ever.

My mother said to me not to be talking with you today,
or tomorrow, or on the Sunday;
it was a bad time she took for telling me that;
it was shutting the door after the house was robbed.

My heart is as black as the blackness of the sloe,
or as the black coal that is on the smith's forge;
or as the sole of a shoe left in white halls;
it was you that put that darkness over my life.

You have taken the east from me; you have taken the west from me;
you have taken what is before me and what is behind me;
you have taken the moon, you have taken the sun from me;
and my fear is great that you have taken God from me!

The round up is at Semicolon.

Poetry Friday

Inspired by Chasing Ray's review of Kipling's Choice, I give you:

Dulce Et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Go here for notes.

Roundup is at Mentor Texts & More

Poetry Friday: Kid Tea

Poetry Friday

Kid Tea by Elizabeth Ficocelli, illustrated by Glin Dibley. 2007. Copy provided by publisher, Marshall Cavendish Children.

The Plot:

What, you may ask, is "kid tea"? Place a dirty child in a bathtub; and that's your kid tea! Playing in the dirt: brown kid tea. Eating a purple Popsicle? Purple kid tea. The week ends with Sunday, a visit to church, and two kids saying "Dunk me in the tub, please." What color? "Look -- no kid tea! We can be clean for one day . . . "

The Good:

This works as both a cute book (kids do something, kids get dirty, kids clean up) and a concept book about colors.

"Wednesday, friends day,
markers-paints-and-pens day.
Blobs of yellow
shake like Jell-O,
dribble-dip-and-slop day,
should-have-worn-my-smock day.
Dunk me in the tub, please,
for yellow kid tea!"

I really like Dibley's illustrations. The kids are appealing, and each day incorporates many shades of that day's color. The art is "pencil, acrylic and Photoshop in a mixed-media technique." (And the font is Woozee. I just wanted to type in Woozee.)

When I get in picture books, I put them in a pile and wait for Cheetah and Peter Parker to come over. They sit, sort thru them, give me feedback. (Sometimes, it's amusing; Cheetah, an animal lover, wanted me to read Parrotfish to her based on the cover. But she was bitterly disappointed by the lack of illustrations.)

Peter Parker zoomed in on this one. Loved the colors, loved pointing out the colors. Loved that there is a brother and sister, doing things that they do. This is a good pre-reading book; it's easy for him to memorize, and to identify the colors and then for us to find the word for that color.

Links:
Just One More Book podcast review
Chicken Spaghetti review

The Poetry Friday round up is at Big A little a.

Poetry Friday: Tommy Makem

Tommy Makem, who often sang with the Clancy Brothers, passed away this week.

Makem, in addition to performing folk songs, wrote original songs.

So, one of his original songs:



Four Green Fields

What did I have?" said the fine old woman
"What did I have?" this proud old woman did say
"I had four green fields, each one was a jewel
But strangers came and tried to take them from me
I had fine strong sons, they fought to save my jewels
They fought and died, and that was my grief" said she.

The rest of the song is here.

While I'm hard pressed to pick just one of the many traditional songs Makem sang, my favorite is The Whistling Gypsy:

The gypsy rover came over the hill
Down through the valley so shady
He whistled and he sang 'til the green woods rang
And he won the heart of a lady.

The rest of the lyrics here; also here.

Today's round up is at The Miss Rumphius Effect.

Poetry Friday: The Raggedy Man

The Raggedy Man by James Whitcomb Riley

O the Raggedy Man! He works fer Pa;
An' he's the goodest man ever you saw!
He comes to our house every day,
An' waters the horses, an' feeds 'em hay;
An' he opens the shed—an' we all ist laugh
When he drives out our little old wobble-ly calf;
An' nen—ef our hired girl says he can—
He milks the cow fer 'Lizabuth Ann.—
Ain't he a' awful good Raggedy Man?
Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!

The rest of the poem is here.

This week's Poetry Friday round up is at Check it Out (Jone/ Ms Mac).

Poetry Friday: How We Are Smart

How We Are Smart by W. Nikola Lisa, Illustrated by Sean Qualls. Copy supplied by publisher, Lee and Low Books.


It's About: The many ways people are smart: book smart, art smart, nature smart, body smart. Or, as is explained in the back of the book, "multiple intelligences".

The Good: I like that it recognizes that there are many ways of being "smart" with no one "smart" better than another; often, people are a blend of several intelligences.

I also like that no matter what the intelligence, the person achieved because they worked at it; no one is just smart without studying. Marion Anderson sang; but she worked, too, at developing that talent. Thurgood Marshall became who he was because he attended law school; Matthew Henson made personal sacrifices as an explorer. It's summed up best in the following quote by astronomer Annie Jump Cannon: "My success, if you would call it that, lies in the fact that I have kept at my work all these years. It is not genius or anything like that, merely patience."


Reasons I appreciate the multiple intelligences approach to people. First, as I noted above, it still includes having to work to succeed; second, kids are so different, that this provides multiple avenues for achieving success; finally, it is respectful of the diversity of talents and strengths that people have.


Individuals are highlighted with an illustration, a quote, a poem, their name, and a short biographical paragraph. At the end of the book, there is additional material on multiple intelligences including activities and resources for teachers and parents and caregivers. I like this because it makes things so much easier for adults working with kids, whether it's a parent or a librarian or a teacher or whatever.

This also works well with children up to middle school; the poems are short enough that younger children will enjoy it, but there is enough depth that it's good for older kids, also.

Qualls' artwork focuses on the face of the person portrayed, with items in the background showing more about their life. For Matthew Henson, arctic exploration with snow capped peaks and dog sleds; Tito Puente, drums and a couple dancing.

Since I'm a former lawyer, I'm including the poem about Thurgood Marshall (background showing the US flag, scales of justice, and the Supreme Court).

Please note that I contacted the author and the publisher for permission to use this poem in its entirety for this post; and that permission was kindly granted.

Thurgood Marshall

Hats off to Thurgood,
good-natured and kind,
who listened to everyone
with his razor-sharp mind.

He thought about people.
He thought about law.
He thought about everything
he witnessed and saw.

He stood up to lawyers,
no matter their wealth.
He stood up to judges,
though a judge himself.

He stood up for freedom,
for the poor and oppressed;
and when he stood up,
the world was impressed.

Yes, Thurgood was smart --
he reached for great heights,
used the power of the courts
to protect people's rights.

Are you smart like Thurgood?

Text copyright (c) 2006 by W. Nikola-Lisa

Permission granted by LEE & LOW Books Inc.

Note: The 2, 3 and 4 lines of each stanza are supposed to be indented and blogger refuses to keep the spaces! Any advice on how to fix this?

Edited to add: Kelly, for some reason what you have wasn't working; but I did find & nbsp (but without the space) via Blogger Tips & Tricks and that seems to work. Thank you!

Edited to add: Blogger hates me. OK, I did add some html and it did work and now all that html code is gone and it's back to not indenting.

************************
People included in the book are:

Luis Alvarez, physics
Maria Tallchief, dance
Thurgood Marshall, law
Annie Jump Cannon, astronomy
Tito Puente, music
Patsy Takemoto Mink, congresswoman
Matthew Henson, explorer
Georgia O'Keeffe, artist
Alexander Posey, poet
Marian Anderson, singer
I.M. Pei, architect
Ynes Mexia, botanist

Today's Poetry Friday is at Mentor Texts & More (NYC Teacher).

Links:

Sean Qualls also illustrated The Poet Slave of Cuba.
Lee and Low Books page for the book, including a preview.
The Planet Esme Review. (which also includes a big "thumbs up" for an author visit)
An author interview at The Prairie Wind, Newsletter of the SCBWI-Illinois Chapter. Very good information, including how he picked the people included in How We Are Smart.
2007 Christopher Award, Books for Young Readers.

PoetryFoundation.org: Thank Goodness It’s (Poetry) Friday

I don't care that everyone else in the kidlitosphere has already posted about this; I just have to say, Susan, great article!

Susan T. of Chicken Spaghetti's article, Thank Goodness It’s (Poetry) Friday is up at the Poetry Foundation. As befitting an online Happy Hour, I am currently sipping my much-earned TGIF glass of white wine.

It's an excellent article about the history of Poetry Friday, including the origins, the whys, and the growing pains. I think my favorite bit is about copyright; but maybe that's because I'm the "lawyer-turned-librarian Elizabeth Burns". I'm also a "Poetry Friday Regular"; the sidebar of regulars is also a great guide to blogs. (Yes, long time readers know, it's always about me.)

I love Poetry Friday, because it pushes me to think about Poetry, whether I'm reviewing a book or digging up a poem I loved as a teen or looking for something more current. I love that it's a great way to meet new people in the blogosphere; and it's an easy way for even a shy blogger to be part of the crowd. Like today; all you have to do is go over to The Simple & The Ordinary and leave your name and your link.

Interestingly, when Poetry Friday began we all sort of did mini round ups until one day we looked at each other and were all, "Dude! Isn't it easier on all of us if we, like, take turns, you know?"

My first Poetry Friday post.
My first round-up.
My favorite round up.

Poetry Friday: Wildly Romantic

Wildly Romantic: The English Romantic Poets: The Mad, The Bad, And The Dangerous by Catherine M. Andronik. Reviewed from ARC; source: ALA Midwinter 2007.

The Plot: Ah, some of the original bad boys. The revolutionary who became Mr Conservative; the drug addict, brilliant, who constantly disappointed; the man who inspired the infamous "mad, bad, and dangerous to know;" the free love, fire-starting, bigamist; and the guy with the talent from the "wrong side of the tracks" who just as it looked like he could have it all -- got TB and died.

The Good: Andronik does a wonderful job of introducing us to William Wordsworth, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Lord Byron, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and John Keats, weaving mini biographies of individuals against the broader story of England in the early 1800s. She explains how these five not only lived lives that were far from boring; but how poetry influenced them and how they influenced poetry. As a teen, I loved Shelley; in college, it was Byron; and now, after reading this, John Keats is the man.

This is a great sampler, of both the poets and their poetry; it's for older readers, because Andronik doesn't shy away from such topics as illegitimate children, incest, and drugs. About the only thing missing is rock'n'roll... and wow, these men and their groupies would have given any present day musician a run for their money. It's like Almost Famous: The 1800s version.

And yes, respect is given to the sisters, wives and daughters, who may not be as famous (well, except for that book about that monster....) but were also talented and bright.

So, a Poetry Friday sampler for you:

Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood
by William Wordsworth

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;--
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

The rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the rose;
The moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare;
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath past away a glory from the earth.

The rest of the poem is at Poets.org.

****

Kubla Khan Or a Vision in a Dream. A Fragment
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

The rest of the poem is at Poets.org.

*******

She Walks in Beauty by George Gordon, Lord Byron

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

******

Love's Philosophy by Percy Bysshe Shelley

The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one another's being mingle—
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdain'd its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea—
What is all this sweet work worth
If thou kiss not me?

and finally

Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats

....
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die, 55
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod.
....
The full poem is at Bartelby.com.

Links:
Today's Poetry Friday round up can be found by clicking the button, above, or going to The Simple & The Ordinary.

propernoun.net book review

Poetry Friday

The round up is at HipWriterMama's; click on the button to go!

Because I could not stop for Death By Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

The rest of the poem is here.

For my great aunt Mary Klopman.

Poetry Friday

How was my week? Well, I haven't posted since Sunday, so that's a clue right there. But yay for Friday!

So.

For no particular reason other than this is a poem I like.

Leda and the Swan by William Butler Yeats.

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop.


Round up is at a wrung sponge. Who has a marvelous doohickey for contributing your post. Cool beans!

Poetry Friday:Fat Is Not A Fairy Tale

Fat Is Not A Fairy Tale by Jane Yolen

I am thinking of a fairy tale,
Cinder Elephant,
Sleeping Tubby,
Snow Weight,
where the princess is not
anorexic, wasp-waisted,
flinging herself down the stairs.

The rest of the poem is at Poetry 180: Library of Congress.

The round up is at Big A little a.