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Sachet
10-24-2003, 09:34 AM
~*WOOD RIDES*~

Who hath not felt the influence that so calms
The weary mind in summers sultry hours
When wandering thickest woods beneath the arms
Of ancient oaks and brushing nameless flowers
That verge the little ride who hath not made
A minutes waste of time and sat him down
Upon a pleasant swell to gaze awhile
On crowding ferns bluebells and hazel leaves
And showers of lady smocks so called by toil
When boys sprote gathering sit on stulps and weave
Garlands while barkmen pill the fallen tree
~Then mid the green variety to start
Who hath {not} met that mood from turmoil free
And felt a placid joy refreshed at heart

~John Clare

Sachet
10-24-2003, 09:51 AM
Tragic Song



All still when summer is over
Stand shocks in the field,
Nothing left to whisper,
Not even good-bye, to the wind.

After summer was over
We knew winter would come:
We knew silence would wait,
Tall, patient calm.


And that cold this winter gray wolves
Deep in the North would cry
How summer that whispered all of us
At last whispers away.

~William Stafford

pudgy
10-24-2003, 09:52 AM
wow, thanks.

chelle
10-24-2003, 09:57 AM
cool Sachet ;)

Sachet
10-24-2003, 10:52 AM
:D
You two can come into my Quiet Zone anytime ;)




~*TO THE RIVER*~

Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow
Of crystal, wandering water,
Thou art an emblem of the glow
Of beauty - the unhidden heart~
The playful maziness of art
In old Alberto's daughter;

But when within thy wave she looks -
Which glistens then, and trembles -
Why, then, the prettiest of brooks
Her worshipper resembles;
For in his heart, as in thy stream,
Her image deeply lies~
His heart which trembles at the beam
Of her soul-searching eyes.

~Edgar Allen Poe

Sachet
10-24-2003, 11:07 AM
~*IMPERIOUSLY HE LEAPS*~
from Venus and Adonis

Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,
And now his woven girths he breaks asunder;
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds;
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thunder;
The iron bit he crusheth 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlle`d with.

His ears up-prick'd; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd crest now stand on end.
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send:
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,
Shows his hot courage and his high desire.

Sometime he trots, as if he told his steps,
With gentle majesty and modest pride;
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,
As who should say 'Lo, thus my strength is tried,
And this I do to captivate the eye
Of the fair breeder that is standing by.'

What recketh he his rider's angry stir,
His flattering 'Holla,' or his 'Stand, I say'?
What cares he now for curb or pricking spur
For rich caparisons or trapping gay?
He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,
For nothing else with his proud sight agrees.

Look, when a painter would surpass the life,
In limning out a well-proportion'd steed,
His art with nature's workmanship at strife,
As if the dead the living should exceed;
So did this horse excel a common one
In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.

Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,
Broad breast, full eye, small head and nostril wide,
High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong,
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide;
Look, what a horse should have he did not lack,
Save a proud rider on so proud a back.

Sometimes he scuds far off and there he stares;
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather;
To bid the wind a base he now prepares,
And whether he run or fly they know not whether;
For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,
Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings.


~William Shakespeare

Sachet
10-24-2003, 11:08 AM
*curtsies & exits stage left*

Chemical Evolution
10-24-2003, 11:47 AM
ahhhhh,.. Okey!

Sachet
10-24-2003, 12:15 PM
*hands on hips*
Are you & Rad related or something Chem?!
You both have the same 'Okay' responses to my posts *lmao*

*pokes you in the side*
I came back because I found one more :D


~*Something Told the Wild Geese*~

Something told the wild geese
It was time to go,
Though the fields lay golden
Something whispered, "Snow!"
Leaves were green and stirring,
Berries lustre-glossed,
But beneath warm feathers
Something cautioned, "Frost!"

All the sagging orchards
Steamed with amber spice,
But each wild beast stiffened
At remembered ice.
Something told the wild geese
It was time to fly~
Summer sun was on their wings,
Winter in their cry.

~Rachel Field

auriflex
10-24-2003, 02:55 PM
Nice.

Badgermoon
10-24-2003, 06:53 PM
I haven't read poetry for many years... thanks Sachet, that was good today.