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The evening has come around. Anything else going to come around? <ponders>
(Sorry, can't resist )
As I ponder'd in silence,
Returning upon my poems, considering, lingering long,
A Phantom arose before me with distrustful aspect,
Terrible in beauty, age, and power,
The genius of poets of old lands,
As to me directing like flame its eyes,
With finger pointing to many immortal songs,
And menacing voice, What singest thou? it said,
Know'st thou not there is but one theme for ever-enduring bards?
And that is the theme of War, the fortune of battles,
The making of perfect soldiers.
Be it so, then I answer'd,
I too haughty Shade also sing war, and a longer and greater one than any,
Waged in my book with varying fortune, with flight, advance
and retreat, victory deferr'd and wavering,
(Yet methinks certain, or as good as certain, at the last,) the
field the world,
For life and death, for the Body and for the eternal Soul,
Lo, I too am come, chanting the chant of battles,
I above all promote brave soldiers.
~Walt Whitman
A noiseless, patient spider,
I mark’d, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated;
Mark’d how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself;
Ever unreeling them—ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you, O my Soul, where you stand,
Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing,—seeking the spheres, to connect them;
Till the bridge you will need, be form’d—till the ductile anchor hold;
Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul.
Walt Whitman
Patience -- has a quiet Outer --
Patience -- Look within --
Is an Insect's futile forces
Infinites -- between --
'Scaping one -- against the other
Fruitlesser to fling --
Patience -- is the Smile's exertion
Through the quivering --
~Emily Dickinson
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed- and gazed- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
Wordsworth
I wonder if this is scaring away the boobs? <ponders>
Those are good threads, but not quite what I meant.
I know, just me being facetious. Apologies for hijacking your thread; no malice was intended. I get carried away at times, especially when it comes to poetry.
Who wants to watch HBO with me tonight?
I’m single, I have boobs and HBO but um...I’m a gamer with *cough* needs too, so we’d either need to take turns or both put the controllers down for a while for it to work
No doubt with your qualifications something could be worked out.
I mean boobs and HBO?!?
I say that you go for it. Those are two of your most spoken words right there
I have so many mixed thoughts about this thread.
Vain seems to be a rather derogatory adjective to ascribe to yourself, unless there's an alternate reason that is more subtle, or you're maybe playing with sarcasm?
I would like ot change my profile.
This has been said a lot, but I figured I too should say it.