A Favourite poem

[powerdesal]

I've posted this for no other reason that its my favourite poem.

"Oh,

I have slipped the surly bonds of earth and danced the skies on

laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward

I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds-

and done a hundred things you have not dreamed of-

wheeled and soared and swung high in the sunlit silence.

Hov'ring

there, I've chased the shouting wind along,

and flung my eager craft through footless halls of air.

Up, up the

long delirious, burning blue I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace,

where never lark, or even eagle flew.

And, while

with silent, lifting mind I've trod the high untresspassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand,

and touched the face of God

[Dick Smith]

What an excellent thing to do. Thank you.

Can I add one of my favourites, which seems to compliment yours?

Pied Beauty

 

 

GLORY be to God for dappled things—   

  For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;   

    For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;   

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;   

  Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;           

    And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.   

 

All things counter, original, spare, strange;   

  Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)   

    With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;   

He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:         

                  Praise him.   

[powerdesal]

Nice.

[Dago]

Not as uplifting but this is my favourite.

Remember me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land;

When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

You tell me of our future that you plann'd:

Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

For if the darkness and corruption leave

A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

Than that you should remember and be sad.

Christina Georgina Rossetti

best regards

[IMG]http://i55.photobucket.com/albums/g130/dago49/Dago3.jpg[/IMG]

[Cassis]

Corny, but I'm a Keats fan.  Any of the odes.  Blame my English teacher when I was 14.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing

sun;

Conspiring with him how to load

and bless 

With fruit the vines that round

the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss’d

cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness

to the core; 

To swell the gourd, and plump the

hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding

more, 

And still more, later flowers for

the bees,

Until they think warm days will

never cease,

For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their

clammy cells. 

Who hath not seen thee oft amid

thy store?

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad

may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary

floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing

wind;

Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound

asleep,

Drows’d with the fume of poppies,

while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its

twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou

dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a

brook;

Or by a cyder-press, with patient

look,

Thou watchest the last oozings

hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay,

where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy

music too,—

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying

day,

And touch the stubble plains with

rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small

gnats mourn

Among the river sallows, borne

aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives

or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat

from hilly bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with

treble soft

The red-breast whistles from a

garden-croft;

And gathering swallows twitter

in the skies.

 

[Clair]

A peaceful offering

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,

and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender

be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly;

and listen to others,

even the dull and the ignorant;

they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,

they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,

you may become vain and bitter;

for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;

it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs;

for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;

many persons strive for high ideals;

and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.

Especially, do not feign affection.

Neither be cynical about love;

for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment

it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,

gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,

be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,

no less than the trees and the stars;

you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you,

no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,

whatever you conceive Him to be,

and whatever your labors and aspirations,

in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,

it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann, Desiderata

[Cassis]

 [:D] [:D] [:D]

[Dago]

Nice one Clair....and the quote[:D][:D]

best regards

[IMG]http://i55.photobucket.com/albums/g130/dago49/Dago3.jpg[/IMG]

[Clair]

Glad you liked it. [:)]

Somehow, I never found it quite so moving in French.

In English, it just flows and leaves me contented.

[Russethouse]

Complete change of pace, but I like this John Betjeman poem because of its rhythm and the way it is evocative of a certain period and social class :

Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,
Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun,
What strenuous singles we played after tea,
We in the tournament - you against me!

Love-thirty, love-forty, oh! weakness of joy,
The speed of a swallow, the grace of a boy,
With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won,
I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you won,
The warm-handled racket is back in its press,
But my shock-headed victor, she loves me no less.

Her father's euonymus shines as we walk,
And swing past the summer-house, buried in talk,
And cool the verandah that welcomes us in
To the six-o'clock news and a lime-juice and gin.

The scent of the conifers, sound of the bath,
The view from my bedroom of moss-dappled path,
As I struggle with double-end evening tie,
For we dance at the Golf Club, my victor and I.

On the floor of her bedroom lie blazer and shorts,
And the cream-coloured walls are be-trophied with sports,
And westering, questioning settles the sun,
On your low-leaded window, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

The Hillman is waiting, the light's in the hall,
The pictures of Egypt are bright on the wall,
My sweet, I am standing beside the oak stair
And there on the landing's the light on your hair.

By roads "not adopted", by woodlanded ways,
She drove to the club in the late summer haze,
Into nine-o'clock Camberley, heavy with bells
And mushroomy, pine-woody, evergreen smells.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
I can hear from the car park the dance has begun,
Oh! Surrey twilight! importunate band!
Oh! strongly adorable tennis-girl's hand!

Around us are Rovers and Austins afar,
Above us the intimate roof of the car,
And here on my right is the girl of my choice,
With the tilt of her nose and the chime of her voice.

And the scent of her wrap, and the words never said,
And the ominous, ominous dancing ahead.
We sat in the car park till twenty to one
And now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn

[Patf]

Steve - who wrote your poem? Similar feel to Dick's which is one of my favourites too. Here's one of W.S's   

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O no! it is an ever fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken.

It is the star to every wandering bark

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come.

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks

But bears it out even to the end of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved

I never writ nor no man ever loved.

 

[powerdesal]

The poem is called 'High Flight'

High Flight was composed by Pilot Officer John Gillespie

Magee, Jr., an American serving with the Royal Canadian Air Force. He

was born in Shanghai, China in 1922, the son of missionary parents, Reverend

and Mrs. John Gillespie Magee; his father was an American and his mother

was originally a British citizen.

He came to the U.S. in 1939 and earned a scholarship to

Yale, but in September 1940 he enlisted in the RCAF and was graduated

as a pilot. He was sent to England for combat duty in July 1941.

In August or September 1941, Pilot Officer Magee composed

High Flight and sent a copy to his parents. Several months later, on December

11, 1941 his Spitfire collided with another plane over England and Magee,

only 19 years of age, crashed to his death.

His remains are buried in the churchyard cemetery at Scopwick, Lincolnshire.

Another reference says:-

"The poem, High Flight, has over the years become a mantra to pilots.

It is reproduced here as a tribute to, and in memory of pilots of all generations."

[powerdesal]

Further info:-

His poem has lived on, the original manuscript

being held in the Library of Congress in the USA. Later in the war, the

poem was used in posters which were sent to every airfield in Britain

and throughout the Commonwealth.

In 1971, James Irwin, pilot of the Apollo 15 Lunar Module, carried a

copy of the poem with him to the moon. President Regan quoted from the

poem following the Challenger disaster in 1986 and in 1998 it was

included in the eulogy to America's first man in space, Alan Shephard.

An American officer stationed at RAF Digby suggested to Edward Ash

that he make a painting to mark the 65th anniversary, the result is 'A

tribute to High Flight'.

Ash described painting one of the world's most famous aviation

poem's as a "huge challenge". He wanted it to be more than an aviation

painting and had to capture the ethos of the poem, the vastness of the

space. His solution was a contemporary painting but with a 1940s feel.

It took six months to complete.

And why is the poem so enduring? Ash commented: "It captures space and air and the sanctity of God."

The final painting recalls Magee's time on 412 (RCAF) Squadron when

he was first inspired to write 'High Flight'. It depicts Supermarine

Spitfire Mark IIa 'VZ-E', the aircraft shared between John Magee and

Flight Sergeant MacDonnell in which MacDonnell had the honour of

becoming the first 412 Squadron pilot to shoot down an enemy aircraft.

A digital print of the painting has been presented to RAF Cranwell

and further prints will soon be on their way to a US audience. The US

Air Force Academy in Colarado Springs is fascinated by the history of

'High Flight'. The artist hopes to sell more prints in the future but

the original painting is still to find its final home.

[Dick Smith]

I was 25 before I found out the Desiderata wasn't supposed to be ironic, or an extended version of a Get Well card!