Poetry is something inexpicably beautiful. It may be seen in an exchange between two people. In a blossoming flower. In a sunset. Or in some rhyming words written by us human beings. Some might say that poetry is not for everyone. That it is something that one must have prior inclination towards. But, for each one of us, there must be some poem in some language that will touch our hearts and speak to our souls. It is a pity,then, that most of us learn some poetry in school beacuse we have to only to leave those words in some far corner of our memory, remembering them rarely.
Come to think of it, some of the most touching poems are those written by men for the ones they love. I came across such a creation by Robert Burns, named (quite aptly)
A Red Rose. O, my love is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June.
O, my love is like the melodie,
That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonny lass,
So deep in love am I,
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till all the seas gang dry.
Till all the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
I will love the still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run:
And fare thee well, my only love!
And fare thee well, a while!
And I will come again, my love,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.
A beautiful poem full of passion where the poet speaks of his love for his lady. I'm sure even today women will appreciate poetry such as this :-)
Or maybe not. I always thought our very own Shakespeare was much ahead of his time. In an era where men were busy comparing their ladies' eyes to the sun and her lips to the red of the rose, he broke the monotony with a sonnet that gladdens my heart. In this sonnet he does away with false comparisons and speaks his mind.
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red, than her lips red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.
Not very flattering, is it ? I'm sure the any girl would be furious before she reached the end. But if she were patient enough to reach the last two lines, my bet is that she'll be floored :-)
There are so many other poems that have stayed with me through the years. One of my favourite of course, is
Daffodils by William Wordsworth (
http://www.blupete.com/Literature/Poetry/WordsworthDaffodils.htm). A simple poem about nature, it has always acted as a pick-me-up when I was sad. Or the very energetic,
The Charge of the Light Brigade by Lord Tennyson (
http://poetry.eserver.org/light-brigade.html) . Coming back to romance, we have
Lochinvar (
http://homepages.wmich.edu/~cooneys/poems/Scott.Lochinvar.html) and
The Highwayman (
http://www.potw.org/archive/potw85.html) . There are so many more that need honourable mention, like
The Solitary Reaper by Wordsworth again or the mysterious
The Listeners by Walter de la Mare.The famous
Stopping by Woods by Frost and
Tiger by Blake. Or even the funny
Macavity : The Mystery Cat. :-)So many beautiful pieces of poetry. And so much more to read. What better way to end this post than with the words of Frost
The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep,And miles to go before I sleep,And miles to go before I sleep.
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