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Favourite poetry Lines

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  • Registered Users, Registered Users 2 Posts: 346 ✭✭TheFortField


    ...I have stolen
    some of the light which drenches you this midnight
    to wish you all the islands in the world
    and every one a different kind of peace.

    -Jo Shapcott, from 'Northern Lights'


  • Registered Users, Registered Users 2 Posts: 13,681 ✭✭✭✭Deja Boo


    "I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
    I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
    I learn by going where I have to go."

    From "The Waking" by Theodore Roethke:


  • Registered Users, Registered Users 2 Posts: 13,681 ✭✭✭✭Deja Boo


    "Time is ..Too slow for those who wait, Too swift for those who fear, Too long for those who grieve, Too short for those who rejoice. But for those who love, time is not." ~Henry Van Dyke


  • Registered Users, Registered Users 2 Posts: 13,681 ✭✭✭✭Deja Boo


    "Part steals, lets part abide; and shakes this fragile frame at eve with throbbings of noontide."


  • Registered Users, Registered Users 2 Posts: 4,688 ✭✭✭Day Lewin


    From a favourite poem, The Lotus-Eaters by Tennyson

    but these are among my favourite lines of all time.

    "...
    Here are cool mosses deep,
    And through the moss the ivies creep,
    And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep,
    And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. "


  • Moderators, Recreation & Hobbies Moderators Posts: 11,647 Mod ✭✭✭✭igCorcaigh


    I know you all know this, but this is my first time posting on this side of boards.

    I have never really read Shakespeare properly, even in school, but the opening line entered my mind tonight. I was glad that I googled it.

    So now in my 46th year it means something to me. I'm a slow learner! Maybe it's the times we live in.




    All the world's a stage,

    And all the men and women merely players;
    They have their exits and their entrances,
    And one man in his time plays many parts,
    His acts being seven ages.

    At first, the infant,
    Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

    Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
    And shining morning face, creeping like snail
    Unwillingly to school.

    And then the lover,
    Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
    Made to his mistress' eyebrow.

    Then a soldier,
    Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
    Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
    Seeking the bubble reputation. Even in the cannon's mouth.

    And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined. With eyes severe and beard of formal cut. Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part.

    The sixth age shifts.
    Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
    With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
    His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
    For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
    Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
    And whistles in his sound.

    Last scene of all,
    That ends this strange eventful history,
    Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
    Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.


  • Registered Users Posts: 311 ✭✭Rabbit Redux


    Yeats had all the best lines:


    "But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
    And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

    And bending down beside the glowing bars,
    Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
    And paced upon the mountains overhead
    And hid his face amid a crowd of stars."

    (When You Are Old)


  • Registered Users Posts: 695 ✭✭✭lostcat


    "...We are poor passing facts,
    warned by that to give
    each figure in the photograph
    his living name."

    Epilogue, Robert Lowell


  • Registered Users, Registered Users 2 Posts: 8,779 ✭✭✭Carawaystick


    tossup between
    mar smaoinigh mé ar an lá
    a bheadh an bháscrann glan
    agus an lámh beag - ar iarraidh...

    and
    Nuala Rua wrote:
    Cuirim mo dhóchas ar snámh
    i mbáidín teangan
    faoi mar a leagfá naíonán
    i gcliabhán


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  • Registered Users Posts: 311 ✭✭Rabbit Redux


    “History says, Don’t hope
    On this side of the grave,
    But then, once in a lifetime
    The longed-for tidal wave
    Of justice can rise up,
    And hope and history rhyme”

    Seamus Heaney

    John Hume RIP


  • Registered Users, Registered Users 2 Posts: 8,707 ✭✭✭corks finest


    Knockanure both mean and poor,
    A church without a steeple ,
    Bitches and whures
    Looking over half doors,
    Criticising decent ppl


  • Registered Users Posts: 311 ✭✭Rabbit Redux


    For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives
    In the valley of its making where executives
    Would never want to tamper, flows on south
    From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,
    Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,
    A way of happening, a mouth.

    W.H. Auden
    (In Memory of W.B. Yeats)


  • Posts: 13,712 ✭✭✭✭ [Deleted User]


    I don't think I have ever heard a recording of Ted Hughes reading "Do Not Pick Up The Telephone", but somehow can hear him, with his clipped Yorkshire accent enunciating every jagged consonant, almost snarling, as he reads it.

    There are a few great lines and images, such as where he predicts that if you pick it up the receiver, a dead body will fall out, or when he turns on the phone "You plastic crab" that screeches "at the root of the house".

    It's that impression of a man driven to the point of madness in the repeated exhortation "do not pick up the telephone" that is so moving.
    Of course, the context is that it was over the telephone in 1963 that Ted Hughes famously heard the devastating line "Your wife is dead".


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