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Posts Tagged ‘sonnet’

What can you be? Death! you sound much more

Profound and wiser, than you will ever

Be on this side of living or the other:

Death, I shall name you are least spoken of

Among genteel or rude folks, What’s it?

You hold no part of continents where life

May set foot and claim neither for fame nor

for light,-it casts no farther than dead wall.

If thou be one what avails my life to fight

A dead weight that is better cast aside?

Death I shall name you are least spoken of

And get on with precious joy of life’s savor.

Death is least of the heartaches that I need

While life has with heat of love enow for now.

benny

 John Donne original:

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
/

Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,/

For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.


From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,


Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,


And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,

Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,


And better then thy stroake; why swell’st thou then?


One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,


And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

 

 

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Leda and the Swan-W.B Yeats

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,

So mastered by the brute blood of the air
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

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Much have I pined in the paperwork,
And many accounts and books tallied;
Round many expense accounts have I rallied
And found how Corporate heads work.
Oft of one name in particular I shirk
To cite among many follies in my work:
Yet did I never breathe or e’en bark
Till I saw Madoff scheme take off sky-high:
Then felt I like some stupid pen-pusher
Wading through worthless assets rated high:
My eyes ever on entries and number
Must keep my judgment suspended-fie!
Work is worship: but a lean purse, my boon
I guess Madoff has his god of Mammon
benny

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