View Full Version : Dead Poet's Society

01-11-11, 12:33 AM
I officially commence the very first meeting of the Addforums Dead Poet's Society Chapter!

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

John Keating ( Language was developed for one endeavor, and that is - Mr. Anderson? Come on, are you a man or an amoeba?
John Keating ( Mr. Perry?
Neil ( To communicate.
John Keating ( No! To woo women!

Neil ( [quoting Henry David Thoreau] "I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life."
Dalton ( I'll second that.
Neil ( "To put to rout all that was not life; and not, when I had come to
die, discover that I had not lived."

John Keating ( Boys, you must strive to find your own voice. Because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all. Thoreau said, "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation." Don't be resigned to that. Break out!

John Keating ( Now we all have a great need for acceptance, but you must trust that your beliefs are unique, your own, even though others may think them odd or unpopular, even though the herd may go,
[imitating a goat]
John Keating ( "that's baaaaad." Robert Frost said, "Two roads diverged in the wood and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."


John Keating ( Mr. Meeks, time to inherit the earth.

John Keating ( This is a battle, a war, and the casualties could be your hearts and souls.

Dalton ( I'm exercising the right not to walk.

Neil ( [talking angrily to Todd] You're in the club! Being in the club means being stirred up by things! You look about as stirred up as a cesspool!

01-11-11, 02:01 AM
Oh Captain my Capitan!

01-11-11, 03:03 AM
<CITE>"The true philosopher and the true poet are one, and a beauty, which is truth, and a truth, which is beauty, is the aim of both." </CITE>Ralph Waldo Emerson

01-11-11, 03:14 AM
Oh Captain my Capitan!
I have to go get me a book of Walt Whitman. He really did move me when I read Song of Myself when I was in my early 20s

01-11-11, 11:02 AM
<table width="95%" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td colspan="2"> An Irish Airman Foresees His Death
</td></tr> <tr><td width="62%" align="left">
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight, I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

W.B.Yeats, 1865 - 1939</td></tr></tbody></table>

01-11-11, 11:50 AM

by Sylvia Plath (

You do not do, you do not do Any more, black shoe In which I have lived like a foot For thirty years, poor and white, Barely daring to breathe or Achoo. Daddy, I have had to kill you. You died before I had time-- Marble-heavy, a bag full of God, Ghastly statue with one gray toe Big as a Frisco seal And a head in the freakish Atlantic Where it pours bean green over blue In the waters off beautiful Nauset. I used to pray to recover you. Ach, du. In the German tongue, in the Polish town Scraped flat by the roller Of wars, wars, wars. But the name of the town is common. My Polack friend Says there are a dozen or two. So I never could tell where you Put your foot, your root, I never could talk to you. The tongue stuck in my jaw. It stuck in a barb wire snare. Ich, ich, ich, ich, I could hardly speak. I thought every German was you. And the language obscene An engine, an engine Chuffing me off like a Jew. A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen. I began to talk like a Jew. I think I may well be a Jew. The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna Are not very pure or true. With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack I may be a bit of a Jew. I have always been scared of you, With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo. And your neat mustache And your Aryan eye, bright blue. Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You-- Not God but a swastika So black no sky could squeak through. Every woman adores a Fascist, The boot in the face, the brute Brute heart of a brute like you. You stand at the blackboard, daddy, In the picture I have of you, A cleft in your chin instead of your foot But no less a devil for that, no not Any less the black man who Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do. But they pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue. And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you, A man in black with a Meinkampf look And a love of the rack and the screw. And I said I do, I do. So daddy, I'm finally through. The black telephone's off at the root, The voices just can't worm through. If I've killed one man, I've killed two-- The vampire who said he was you And drank my blood for a year, Seven years, if you want to know. Daddy, you can lie back now. There's a stake in your fat black heart And the villagers never liked you. They are dancing and stamping on you. They always knew it was you. Daddy, daddy, you *******, I'm through.

01-11-11, 01:19 PM
I had to read this one a bunch of times before it meant anything to me. (But I have to do that with a lot of poetry. Poetry requires attention. It's good practice for some of us.)

Bright Star

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.

John Keats

01-11-11, 02:34 PM
by: George Gordon (Lord) Byron (1788-1824)

<dl><dt> walks in beauty, like the night </dt><dt>Of cloudless climes and starry skies; </dt><dt>And all that's best of dark and bright </dt><dt>Meet in her aspect and her eyes: </dt><dt>Thus mellow'd to that tender light </dt><dt>Which heaven to gaudy day denies. </dt><dt> </dt><dt>One shade the more, one ray the less, </dt><dt>Had half impair'd the nameless grace </dt><dt>Which waves in every raven tress, </dt><dt>Or softly lightens o'er her face; </dt><dt>Where thoughts serenely sweet express </dt><dt>How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. </dt><dt> </dt><dt>And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, </dt><dt>So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, </dt><dt>The smiles that win, the tints that glow, </dt><dt>But tell of days in goodness spent, </dt><dt>A mind at peace with all below, </dt><dt>A heart whose love is innocent! </dt></dl>

01-11-11, 04:13 PM
<table width="750" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" height="501"><tbody><tr><td width="120" height="60">
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</td></tr> <tr><td align="CENTER">William Blake. 1757–1827</td></tr> <tr><td> </td></tr> <tr><td align="CENTER">489. The Tiger</td></tr> <tr><td> </td></tr> </tbody></table> <table align="CENTER" bgcolor="#ffffff" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td>TIGER, tiger, burning bright</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td>In the forests of the night,</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td>What immortal hand or eye</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Could frame thy fearful symmetry?</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td> </td></tr> <tr><td>In what distant deeps or skies</td><td valign="top" align="right"> 5</td></tr> <tr><td>Burnt the fire of thine eyes?</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td>On what wings dare he aspire?</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td>What the hand dare seize the fire?</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td> </td></tr> <tr><td>And what shoulder and what art</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Could twist the sinews of thy heart?</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> 10</td></tr> <tr><td>And when thy heart began to beat,</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td>What dread hand and what dread feet?</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td> </td></tr> <tr><td>What the hammer? what the chain?</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td>In what furnace was thy brain?</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td>What the anvil? What dread grasp</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> 15</td></tr> <tr><td>Dare its deadly terrors clasp?</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td> </td></tr> <tr><td>When the stars threw down their spears,</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td>And water'd heaven with their tears,</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Did He smile His work to see?</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Did He who made the lamb make thee?</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> 20</td></tr> <tr><td> </td></tr> <tr><td>Tiger, tiger, burning bright</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td>In the forests of the night,</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td>What immortal hand or eye</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?</td></tr></tbody></table></td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2" valign="top" width="240"> <table width="130" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"> <tbody><tr> <td valign="top" width="130" height="700"> <ins style="display: inline-table; border: medium none; height: 600px; margin: 0pt; padding: 0pt; position: relative; visibility: visible; width: 160px;"><ins id="google_ads_frame1_anchor" style="display: block; border: medium none; height: 600px; margin: 0pt; padding: 0pt; position: relative; visibility: visible; width: 160px;"></ins></ins> <noscript> (</noscript>
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01-11-11, 04:17 PM

01-11-11, 05:01 PM
We need a cave. This thread is a cave.


At the end of my suffering
there was a door.

Hear me out: that which you call death
I remember.

Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
Then nothing. The weak sun
flickered over the dry surface.

It is terrible to survive
as consciousness
buried in the dark earth.

Then it was over: that which you fear, being
a soul and unable
to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth
bending a little. And what I took to be
birds darting in low shrubs.

You who do not remember
passage from the other world
I tell you I could speak again: whatever
returns from oblivion returns
to find a voice:

from the center of my life came
a great fountain, deep blue
shadows on azure seawater.

Louise Gluck

01-12-11, 05:24 PM
The master said you must write what you see
But what I see does not move me
The master answered Change what you see.

Louise Gluck

01-12-11, 11:55 PM
… but not ever was it, nor yet will it be, since it is now together entire,/ single, continuous; for what birth will you seek of it?/ How, whence increased? From not being I shall not allow/ you to say or to think: for not to be said and not to be thought/ is it that it is not. And indeed what need could have aroused it/ [10] later rather than before, beginning from nothing, to grow?/ Thus it must either be altogether or not at all./ Nor ever from not being will the force of conviction allow/ something to come to be beyond it: on account of this neither to be born/ nor to die has Justice allowed it, having loosed its bonds,/ [15] but she holds it fast. And the decision about these matter lies in this:/ it is or it is not; but it has in fact been decided, just as is necessary,/ to leave the one unthought and nameless (for no true/ way is it), and <it has been decided> that the one that it is indeed is genuine./ And how could What Is be hereafter? And how might it have been?/ [20] For if it was, it is not, nor if ever it is going to be:/ thus generation is extinguished and destruction unheard of.


01-13-11, 02:08 AM
Tonight I've watched

The moon and then
the Pleiades
go down

The night is now
half-gone; youth
goes; I am

in bed alone

-- Sappho

01-13-11, 02:17 AM
If You Forget Me
I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

01-21-11, 02:34 PM
i carry your heart with me by E. E. Cummings
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

01-21-11, 03:53 PM
Broken Butterflies

You wear your anger well and stand
For all the world to see
A heavy cloak and one gloved hand
And no humility

You stand inside the garden
And feast on black cherries
And swallow the manna from Heaven
And spit out the seeds

You spread your anger on sharp-edged knives
Cut my skin and make it bleed
Like Pilate in his self-righteousness
You're a traitor and a thief

And choking on your unplanned words
Coughing up your lies
Tumbling from your mouth
A flurry of broken butterflies

Broke butterflies
They rest their wings snapped in two
On their way to certain death
Their colors gold and blue

But the blood that flows I cannot hide
The blood that covers me
Nourishes the butterflies
And they are healed and are set free

I wish you had what Ruth possessed
But then I don't expect that of you
Grace and honor and faithfulness
And the love that you refuse

Will you ever learn to just forgive?
Will you open your beautiful eyes?
And bleed the way Christ did
And fix the broken butterflies

-- Lucinda Williams

01-24-11, 06:15 PM
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><center>I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD</center>

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Memory and desire, stirring</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Dull roots with spring rain.</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Winter kept us warm, covering</td><td valign="top" align="right"> 5</td></tr> <tr><td>Earth in forgetful snow, feeding</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>A little life with dried tubers.</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> 10</td></tr> <tr><td>And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>And I was frightened. He said, Marie,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> 15</td></tr> <tr><td>Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>In the mountains, there you feel free.</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td> </td></tr> <tr><td>What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> 20</td></tr> <tr><td>You cannot say, or guess, for you know only</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>And the dry stone no sound of water. Only</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>There is shadow under this red rock,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> 25</td></tr> <tr><td>(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>And I will show you something different from either</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Your shadow at morning striding behind you</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>I will show you fear in a handful of dust.</td><td valign="top" align="right"> 30</td></tr> <tr><td> Frisch weht der Wind</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td> Der Heimat zu.</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td> Mein Irisch Kind,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td> Wo weilest du?</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;</td><td valign="top" align="right"> 35</td></tr> <tr><td>'They called me the hyacinth girl.'</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> 40</td></tr> <tr><td>Looking into the heart of light, the silence.</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Od' und leer das Meer.</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td> </td></tr> <tr><td>Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Had a bad cold, nevertheless</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> 45</td></tr> <tr><td>With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>The lady of situations.</td><td valign="top" align="right"> 50</td></tr> <tr><td>Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.</td><td valign="top" align="right"> 55</td></tr> <tr><td>I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>One must be so careful these days.</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td> </td></tr> <tr><td>Unreal City,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> 60</td></tr> <tr><td>Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>I had not thought death had undone so many.</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.</td><td valign="top" align="right"> 65</td></tr> <tr><td>Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying 'Stetson!</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!</td><td valign="top" align="right"> 70</td></tr> <tr><td>'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,</td><td valign="top" align="right"> </td></tr> <tr><td>'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!</td><td valign="top" align="right"> 75</td></tr> <tr><td>'You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!'</td></tr></tbody></table>

01-24-11, 06:26 PM
Song of Myself


I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.


Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with
I breathe the fragrance myself and know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.
The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the
distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.
The smoke of my own breath,
Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and

My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing
of blood and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and
dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,
The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of
the wind,

A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields
and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising
from bed and meeting the sun.
Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? have you reckon'd the
earth much?
Have you practis'd so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of
all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions
of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look
through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.


I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the
beginning and the end,
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.
There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.

Urge and urge and urge,
Always the procreant urge of the world.
Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and
increase, always sex,
Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of

To elaborate is no avail, learn'd and unlearn'd feel that it is so.
Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well
entretied, braced in the beams,
Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical,
I and this mystery here we stand.
Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not
my soul.

Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen,
Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.
Showing the best and dividing it from the worst age vexes age,
Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they
discuss I am silent, and go bathe and admire myself.
Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty
and clean,
Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be
less familiar than the rest. I am satisfied - I see, dance, laugh, sing;

As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through the
night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with stealthy
Leaving me baskets cover'd with white towels swelling the house with
their plenty,
Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization and scream at my
That they turn from gazing after and down the road,
And forthwith cipher and show me to a cent,
Exactly the value of one and exactly the value of two, and which is

01-24-11, 08:57 PM
<a href="">As part of this society I think it is imperative 2 either feel deeply or ponder significantly on the eternal things such as GRACE </a>

01-27-11, 08:17 PM
The Panther by Rainer Maria Rilke - English translation used in Awakenings

His gaze from staring through the bars has grown so weary,
that it can take nothing more.
For him it is as though there were a thousand bars,
and behind the thousand bars no world.
As he paces in cramped circles over and over,
his powerful strides are like a ritual dance around a centre
where a great wheel (will?) stands paralyzed
At times the curtain of the eye lifts without a sound.
And a shape enters, slips through the tightened silence of the shoulders,
reaches the heart and dies.

01-27-11, 08:30 PM
<table class="Poem" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td class="Title" align="center">Full Heart, Empty Arms

</td> </tr> <tr> <td class="ByLine" align="center">by Valerie Jochum</td> </tr> <tr> <td class="PoemText"> Thoughts of you illuminate my spirit;
Never a flicker of flame, but with
Arching bolts which strike with a force
That disturbs my equilibrium.

My mind races as waves of passion flush over
My pale skin, causing me to gaze upon visions
Of impossible romantic possibilities.

Pathetic is this woman who anticipates the
True rhythm of love, with a man she will never hold.

My imagined discourse of thoughts leave me suffering,
As my lips quiver with the words I shall never speak
to his: "I have loved you more than anybody in this world." </td></tr></tbody></table>

01-27-11, 08:45 PM
A.S. Bayatt's Possession

They say that women change: 'tis so: but you

Are ever-constant in your changefulness,

Like that still thread of falling river, one

From source to last embrace in the still pool

Ever-renewed and ever-moving on

From first to last a myriad water-drops

And you, I love you for it, are the force

That moves and holds the form (285).

01-27-11, 08:51 PM
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td valign="MIDDLE" height="90">by Elizabeth Barrett Browning ( (1806-1861)</td></tr> <tr><td>
</td></tr> <tr><td valign="TOP">How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.</td></tr></tbody></table>

01-28-11, 04:36 PM
Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Kubla Khan

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

02-05-11, 07:15 PM
<table width="601" align="CENTER" bgcolor="#ffffff" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="2"><tbody><tr><td align="CENTER">Robert Frost (1874–1963). Mountain Interval. 1920.</td></tr> <tr><td> </td></tr> <tr><td align="CENTER">1. The Road Not Taken</td></tr> <tr><td> </td></tr> </tbody></table> <table align="CENTER" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td> </td></tr> <tr><td>TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,</td><td></td></tr> <tr><td>And sorry I could not travel both</td><td></td></tr> <tr><td>And be one traveler, long I stood</td><td></td></tr> <tr><td>And looked down one as far as I could</td><td></td></tr> <tr><td>To where it bent in the undergrowth;</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> 5</td></tr> <tr><td> </td></tr> <tr><td>Then took the other, as just as fair,</td><td></td></tr> <tr><td>And having perhaps the better claim,</td><td></td></tr> <tr><td>Because it was grassy and wanted wear;</td><td></td></tr> <tr><td>Though as for that the passing there</td><td></td></tr> <tr><td>Had worn them really about the same,</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> 10</td></tr> <tr><td> </td></tr> <tr><td>And both that morning equally lay</td><td></td></tr> <tr><td>In leaves no step had trodden black.</td><td></td></tr> <tr><td>Oh, I kept the first for another day!</td><td></td></tr> <tr><td>Yet knowing how way leads on to way,</td><td></td></tr> <tr><td>I doubted if I should ever come back.</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> 15</td></tr> <tr><td> </td></tr> <tr><td>I shall be telling this with a sigh</td><td></td></tr> <tr><td>Somewhere ages and ages hence:</td><td></td></tr> <tr><td>Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—</td><td></td></tr> <tr><td>I took the one less traveled by,</td><td></td></tr> <tr><td>And that has made all the difference.</td><td valign="TOP" align="RIGHT"> 20</td></tr></tbody></table>

02-05-11, 07:17 PM
iieee! Esh maybe you DO tap into people's whatevers. This is the third time you've thought my thoughts the same time that I thought them.

02-06-11, 01:23 AM

When I heard the learn'd astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired, and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander'd off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.

Walt Whitman, 1865 (TOAOAL-II, PP 821-822)

02-08-11, 04:58 AM
I dedicate this to Mignon and Peripatetic, two of the most quality human beings I've ever had the privilege of corresponding with. My sincere love and gratitude to you both for your kindness you've shown me.

"Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness blow the rest away." - George Eliot

02-08-11, 06:10 AM

as left nearly speechless and teary-eyed at reading such a beautiful sentiment, all i can say is how honoured i am that you said it about me.

thank you for your post and your friendship. much love to you:)

02-19-11, 01:02 PM
"Carpe diem boys... seize the day. Make your life extraordinary!"
Oh gosh, I love this movie. :]
Anyways, here's a short poem that you may know, it's one of my favourites.

Fire and Ice by Robert Frost
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

02-24-11, 05:10 AM
If we assume man has been corrupted by an artificial civilization, what is the natural state? The state of nature from which he has been removed? Imagine wandering up and down the forest, without industry, without speech, and without home.

- Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Tommy Wilhelm
02-25-11, 05:55 PM
I haven't seen Dead Poets' Society since I was in grade six. Do I have to be a fan of the movie to post here, if we're consolidating the poem-posting posts?

03-01-11, 10:30 PM
A Psalm of Life - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Finds us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,--act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing
Learn to labor and to wait.</pre>

05-20-11, 05:43 PM
To Know the Dark by Wendell Berry

To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.
To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,
and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,
and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

07-10-11, 01:44 AM
"Can you imagine what it is to cross on ocean? For weeks you see nothing but the horizon, perfect and empty. You live in the grip of fear: fear of storms; fear of sickness on board; fear of immensity.

So you must drive the fear down deep into your belly, study your charts, watch your compass, pray for a fair wind, and hope. Pure, naked, fragile hope.

At first it's no more than a haze on the horizon. So you watch.. you watch. Then it's a smudge: a shadow on the far water. For a day, for another day, the stain slowly spreads along the horizon taking form until on the third day, you let yourself believe.. You dare to whisper the word: land. Land. Life! Resurrection! A true adventure--coming out of the vast unknown, out of the immensity, into new life."

I remember this analogy resonating with me when I was diagnosed with ADHD last August after suffering the theretofore inexplicable symptoms my whole life. But over the past year I've been a member of this forum, and particularly the last four or five months, this quote describes what I've been feeling and experiencing because of the friendship, patience, and *gentle* :D tutelage of Esh (who started the whole thing), Ginnie, DTour, Keith, Danelady, Geronimo, Nate, Abi, and my beloved Peripatetic (who's been paramount). Thank you all so much.

07-16-11, 03:43 PM
Pain stayed so long I said to him today,
"I will not have you with me anymore!"
And paused there startled at the look he wore.
"I who have been your friend," he said to me,
"I who have been your teacher--all that you know
Of understanding love, of sympathy and patience
I have taught you. Shall I go?"
He spoke the truth, this strange unwelcome guest;
I watched him leave and knew that he was wise.
He left a heart grown tender in my breast.
He left a far, clear vision in my eyes.
I dried my tears and lifted up a song
even for one who'd tortured me so long.


07-16-11, 06:59 PM
shaney said he could live without god, without faith, without beauty and without joy...but not without hope. and so i wonder...and then i know...catastrophic is how sore the storm...

emily dickinson:

Part One: LIFE
<!-- END CHAPTERTITLE --><TABLE border=0 cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=0 bgColor=#ffffff align=center><!-- BEGIN CHAPTER --><TBODY><TR><TD>HOPE is the thing with feathers</TD><TD vAlign=top align=right></TD></TR><TR><TD>That perches in the soul,</TD><TD vAlign=top align=right></TD></TR><TR><TD>And sings the tune without the words,</TD><TD vAlign=top align=right></TD></TR><TR><TD>And never stops at all,

</TD><TD vAlign=top align=right></TD></TR><TR><TD></TD></TR><TR><TD>And sweetest in the gale is heard;</TD><TD vAlign=top align=right>5</TD></TR><TR><TD>And sore must be the storm</TD><TD vAlign=top align=right></TD></TR><TR><TD>That could abash the little bird</TD><TD vAlign=top align=right></TD></TR><TR><TD>That kept so many warm.</TD><TD vAlign=top align=right></TD></TR><TR><TD></TD></TR><TR><TD>
I ’ve heard it in the chillest land,
</TD><TD vAlign=top align=right></TD></TR><TR><TD>And on the strangest sea;</TD><TD vAlign=top align=right>10</TD></TR><TR><TD>Yet, never, in extremity,</TD><TD vAlign=top align=right></TD></TR><TR><TD>It asked a crumb of me.</TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE><!-- END CHAPTERTITLE -->

07-16-11, 09:55 PM
"Acquainted With The Night"
By: Robert Frost

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
O luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

Side Note - I wrote an essay describing how this poem so strongly resonates with me and want to share it with you:

Humbling Familiarity

Robert Frost’s poem “Acquainted with the Night” awakens unpleasant memories of my youth and the troubling paths I chose to explore. Notably, Frost’s repeated use of the phrase “I have been” leaves readers wondering if the feelings he portrays are a thing of the past or if they are ongoing. I strongly relate to this poem because a large portion of my youth was spent in the proverbial dark. The uncertainty and the darkness in my life manifested in my early teens, grew into a larger beast each year, and continued well into my late twenties.

Frost portrays an image of darkness and uncertainty when he explains, “I have been one acquainted with the night. / I have walked out in the rain – and back in the rain. / I have outwalked the furthest city light.” I have often walked in the dark, through all kinds of weather, rarely certain of my destination. A few days after my eighteenth birthday, black trash bags and a couple of suitcases held my life’s possessions as I left the safety of my home and traveled from one unknown destination to another. Somehow, I acquired a false sense of security and the boldness to venture away from a stable and loving home into situations that an average person would readily avoid. There are nights I would drink myself into oblivion and experiment with drugs that no human should consume. Consequently, I would often wake up in an unknown dwelling and was left to wonder how I arrived there. Discomfort and darkness depleted my energies and resulted in a pattern of poor choices.

Frost articulates an almost shameful tone in the lines, I have looked down the saddest city lane. / I have passed by the watchman on his beat / And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.” I remember crossing paths with other human beings who would have probably been very willing to help me, but I didn’t feel comfortable reaching out to them. However, I was very comfortable socializing and partying. Granted, I never met a stranger, but I certainly encountered strange. Not only have I been beaten and battered more times than I care to remember, I once felt the cold steel of a gun barrel resting upon my cheek. Luckily, the multiple assailants throughout my life didn’t rob me of my breath, but they did manage to strip away massive amounts of my self-worth.

Frost describes losing touch with the sense of time in the following lines, And further still at an unearthly height, / A luminary clock against the sky / Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.” I rarely found time to visit my home that I so willingly abandoned. But when I did, my mom gave me the caring lectures about how I should know better than to choose the path I was on. She often commented that I was lucky to be alive. I don’t think she realized how dead-on her comment was. I was a glutton for punishment and a magnet for trouble.

From time to time, I find myself sinking into the darkness again. However, I no longer fear reaching out to others for guidance and protection. I presently surround myself with opportunity as opposed to oppression. I purposely make positive choices. As a result of the challenges I faced in my youth, I feel I am better equipped to manage the uncertainty and darkness that constantly tries to invade my life.

08-06-11, 02:12 AM

08-06-11, 11:22 AM
Sonnet LX
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

08-24-11, 07:03 PM

the actual song starts around :45

(cheers to the friend who suggested "it's pretty much like this?" yeah... the good and the bad.)

08-28-11, 12:10 PM
<table width="100%" border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td valign="top" width="80%">
</td><td colspan="2" nowrap="nowrap" valign="top" align="right">
</td></tr><tr><td colspan="3">
</td></tr><tr><td colspan="3">Dreams

</td></tr><tr><td colspan="2" valign="top"> Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

Langston Hughes

10-15-11, 08:19 PM
The Laughing Heart by Charles Bukowski

Your life is your life
Don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
Be on the watch.
There are ways out.
There is a light somewhere.
It may not be much light but
It beats the darkness.
Be on the watch.
The gods will offer you chances.
Know them.
Take them.
You can’t beat death but
You can beat death in life, sometimes.
And the more often you learn to do it,
The more light there will be.
Your life is your life.
Know it while you have it.
You are marvelous
The gods wait to delight
In you.

10-25-11, 04:06 AM

10-26-11, 01:57 AM
I Am Vertical by Sylvia Plath

But I would rather be horizontal.
I am not a tree with my root in the soil
Sucking up minerals and motherly love
So that each March I may gleam into leaf,

Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed
Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,
Unknowing I must soon unpetal.

Compared with me, a tree is immortal
And a flower-head not tall, but more startling,
And I want the one's longevity and the other's daring.

Tonight, in the infinitesimal light of the stars,
The trees and flowers have been strewing their cool odors.
I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.

Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping
I must most perfectly resemble them--
Thoughts gone dim.

It is more natural to me, lying down.
Then the sky and I are in open conversation,
And I shall be useful when I lie down finally:
Then the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me.

10-26-11, 02:05 AM
People are often unreasonable, illogical and self centered;
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse your of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and God;
It was never between you and them anyway.

- Mother Teresa

10-26-11, 02:16 AM
Time Tested Beauty Tips by Sam Levenson

For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.

For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.

For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry.

For beautiful hair, let a child run his or her fingers through it once a day.

For poise, walk with the knowledge you'll never walk alone.

People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; Never throw out anybody.

Remember, If you ever need a helping hand, you'll find one at the end of your arm.

As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.

The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides.

The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mole, but true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows, and the beauty of a woman with passing years only grows.

11-05-11, 06:34 AM
How does the ordinary person come to the transcendent? For a start, I would say, study poetry. Learn how to read a poem. You need not have the experience to get the message, or at least some indication of the message. It may come gradually. - Joseph Campbell

One, seven, three, five--
Nothing to count on in this or any world;
Nighttime falls and the water is flooded with moonlight.
Here in the Dragon's jaws: Many exquisite jewels. - Setcho Juken (980 - 1052)

"..but in my dreams I slew the Dragon.." (

11-05-11, 04:27 PM
^^ The Dragon = my autoimmune disease.

06-11-12, 10:45 AM
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightening they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas