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travelingbard
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Name: Liason
Country: Austria
Birthday: 5/13/1983
Interests: Poetry of the soul
Expertise: The Soul of the Poet
Occupation: Artist
Industry: Nonprofit
Message: message me
Member Since:
7/29/2004
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| The tide has departed with little heed
Pulling companions who accept its reach
Again to the ocean, the home they need
Away from the arid wasteland of beach.
But you went further than a young man should
Scorning what little joy was yours to claim;
In favor of Mammon and death you stood
Blindly staring toward the roaring flame.
Ages, your countenance remained devout
Until her whisper caroled to your ears
Convincing a change in the steady route,
A plea to return and to calm your fears
Step boldly, my son, through the churning sea
To understand my last epiphany. | | |
| I sincerely appologize for not updating. My poetry requires a certain feeling, that I have been lacking as of late. I travel a bit north next week. Hopefully inspiration will come. Perhaps even some photos! Don't worry; the bard has not given up xanga! (And just to clear things up: I am a male)
Ozymandias- Shelley
I met a traveller 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, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'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, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."
The Passionate Shepherd to His Love- 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 mountains 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 flowers 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.
The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd- 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 complains 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 beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten—
In folly ripe, in season 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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