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> Alfred Lord Tennyson, Now sleeps the crmson petal,
post Oct 20 03, 16:15
Post #1

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One of the most beautiful poems ever written, in my humble opinion

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me.

Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.

Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake:
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.

-- Alfred, Lord Tennyson





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post Oct 20 03, 23:54
Post #2

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Yes, I agree......The poem is wonderful.

You cant call it imagery......it's better than imagery...superb!

'Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:'

What a great mind, to put pictures, like this in a poem!




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post Oct 22 03, 16:09
Post #3


A wonderful poet. Here's another of his. It was written as he was going blind and preparing to die. It's full of metaphorical relationships between the sea and Heaven. Even though he wasn't a sailor. What he's really saying is that he's ready to go home and he doesn't want too much grieving when he goes. The earthly bar he talks about is that sandbank at the delta of a river, where the sand moans as the tide ebbs and flows. But you have to listen to recognise it.

Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)

Crossing the Bar

            Sunset and evening star,
            And one clear call for me!
            And may there be no moaning of the bar,
            When I put out to sea,

            But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
            Too full for sound and foam,
            When that which drew from out the boundless deep
            Turns again home.

            Twilight and evening bell,
            And after that the dark!
            And may there be no sadness of farewell,
            When I embark;

            For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
            The flood may bear me far,
            I hope to see my Pilot face to face
            When I have crossed the bar.

A bourne is a small river or a place where he would make his home. (A miniature kingdom)
The language is a little archaic, but the spirit is as strong as it could be.

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post Jan 28 04, 14:42
Post #4


Yep, Two beautiful poems there. sun.gif  sun.gif
Don't write em like that anymore---

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