10/26/2010 09:56:00 PM
In
John Keats,
literature,
poetry
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 mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain...
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10/08/2010 09:59:00 PM
In
literature,
poetry,
Siegfried Sassoon
Light many lamps and gather round his bed.
Lend him your eyes, warm blood, and will to live.
Speak to him; rouse him; you may save him yet.
He's young; he hated War; how should he die
When cruel old campaigners win safe through?
But death replied: 'I choose him.' So he went,
And there was silence in the summer night;
Silence and safety; and the veils of sleep.
Then, far away, the thudding of the guns.
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7/25/2009 12:56:00 AM
In
Alfred Tennyson,
literature,
poetry
Death is the end of life; ah, why
Should life all labour be?
Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast,
And in a little while our lips are dumb.
Let us alone. What is it that will last?
All things are taken from us, and become
Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.
Let us alone. What pleasure can we have
To war with evil? Is there any peace
In ever climbing up the climbing wave?
All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave
In silence; ripen, fall and cease:
Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.
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7/22/2009 10:41:00 PM
In
Alfred Tennyson,
literature,
poetry
For now the noonday quiet holds the hill:
The grasshopper is silent in the grass:
The lizard, with his shadow on the stone,
Rests like a shadow, and the winds are dead.
The purple flower droops: the golden bee
Is lily-cradled: I alone awake.
My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love,
My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim,
And I am all aweary of my life.
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7/22/2009 10:09:00 PM
In
Alfred Tennyson,
literature,
poetry
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
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7/11/2009 01:03:00 PM
In
Emily Brontë,
literature,
poetry
Shall Earth no more inspire thee,
Thou lonely dreamer now?
Since passion may not fire thee
Shall Nature cease to bow?
Thy mind is ever moving
In regions dark to thee;
Recall its useless roving —
Come back and dwell with me —
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- Shall Earth No More Inspire Thee
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7/06/2009 03:57:00 PM
In
literature,
poetry,
Rainer Maria Rilke
His tired gaze - from passing endless bars -
has turned into a vacant stare which nothing holds.
To him there seem to be a thousand bars,
and out beyond these bars exists no world.
His supple gait, the smoothness of strong strides
that gently turn in ever smaller circles
perform a dance of strength, centered deep within
a will, stunned, but untamed, indomitable.
But sometimes the curtains of his eyelids part,
the pupils of his eyes dilate as images
of past encounters enter while through his limbs
a tension strains in silence
only to cease to be, to die within his heart.
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6/26/2009 07:11:00 PM
In
literature,
poetry,
T. S. Eliot
If we all were judged according to the consequences
Of all our words and deeds, beyond the intention
And beyond our limited understanding
Of ourselves and others, we should all be condemned.
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6/26/2009 07:04:00 PM
In
literature,
poetry,
T. S. Eliot
I shall be left with the inconsolable memory
Of the treasure I went into the forest to find
And never found, and which was not there
And is perhaps not anywhere? But if not anywhere
Why do I feel guilty at not having found it?
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6/26/2009 06:59:00 PM
In
literature,
poetry,
T. S. Eliot
I should really like to think there's something wrong with me -
Because, if there isn't then there's something wrong,
Or at least, very different from what it seemed to be,
With the world itself - and that's much more frightening!
That would be terrible.
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6/26/2009 06:54:00 PM
In
literature,
poetry,
T. S. Eliot
Your burden is not to clear your conscience
But to learn how to bear the burdens on your conscience.
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6/25/2009 07:42:00 PM
In
literature,
poetry,
T. S. Eliot
There are several symptoms
Which must occur together, and to a marked degree,
To qualify a patient for my sanatorium:
And one of them is an honest mind.
That is one of the causes of their suffering.
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6/25/2009 07:39:00 PM
In
literature,
poetry,
T. S. Eliot
What is hell? Hell is oneself.
Hell is alone, the other figures in it
Merely projections. There is nothing to escape from
And nothing to escape to. One is always alone.
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6/25/2009 07:29:00 PM
In
literature,
poetry,
T. S. Eliot
You do not know what hope is, until you have lost it.
You only know what it is not to hope:
You do not know what it is to have hope taken from you,
Or to fling it away, to join the legion of the hopeless
Unrecognized by other men, though sometimes by each other.
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6/25/2009 07:26:00 PM
In
literature,
poetry,
T. S. Eliot
You are all people
To whom has happened, at most a continual impact
Of external events. You have gone through life in sleep.
Never woken to the nightmare. I tell you life would be unendurable
If you were wide awake. You do not know
The noxious smell untraceable in the drains,
Inaccessible to the plumbers, that has its hour of the night; you do not know
The unspoken voice of sorrow in the ancient bedroom
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6/24/2009 09:37:00 PM
In
literature,
poetry,
T. S. Eliot
Oh my soul, be prepared for the coming of the Stranger.
Be prepared for him who knows how to ask questions.
There is one who remembers the way to your door:
Life you may evade, but Death you shall not.
You shall not deny the Stranger.
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6/24/2009 09:25:00 PM
In
literature,
poetry,
T. S. Eliot
Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
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6/24/2009 09:19:00 PM
In
literature,
poetry,
T. S. Eliot
I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
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6/24/2009 09:15:00 PM
In
literature,
poetry,
T. S. Eliot
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
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6/24/2009 08:01:00 PM
In
literature,
poetry,
T. S. Eliot
And how should I begin?
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
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