I don't usually do the Classics Club Meme, but I couldn't resist October's topic. Classic poetry! My long-time favourite poem is by Romantic, William Wordsworth:
A slumber did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears: She seem'd a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years. No motion has she now, no force; She neither hears nor sees; Roll'd round in earth's diurnal course With rocks, and stones, and trees. |
It is lyrically beautiful, while also being so very sad. I first read this poem in University. It has stayed with me since.
I went through poetry overload after University. I took an entire course on poetry, plus there was poetry in other classes as well. I spent so long dissecting classic and contemporary poetry that I couldn't read it anymore, just for the enjoyment. A couple years ago that slowly started to change with Disney Princesses, and Rime of the Ancient Mariner (which for some reason I never read in University.) Since, I have kept up with reading poetry here and there. I also decided that there were some classic poems and poets I had to read. This past spring, I started reading the complete works of Emily Dickinson. I decided to do it slowly, as so many poems would just blend together if I read it all at once and I wanted the opportunity to savour each poem. From the collection, I have two favourites so far:
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
and
Death is a dialogue between
The spirit and the dust.
“Dissolve,” says Death. The Spirit, “Sir,
I have another trust.”
Death doubts it, argues from the ground.
The Spirit turns away,
Just laying off, for evidence,
An overcoat of clay.
Death is a dialogue between
The spirit and the dust.
“Dissolve,” says Death. The Spirit, “Sir,
I have another trust.”
Death doubts it, argues from the ground.
The Spirit turns away,
Just laying off, for evidence,
An overcoat of clay.
I know that The Chariot is Dickinson's most well-known poem, and I do think it is wonderful, but I can't have the same favourite as everyone else. As soon as I read Hope it stuck with me and I think it might be like Wordsworth's classic, a poem I will think of for years to come.
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