Best lines of Poetry or Literature

**The Stranger** · 12-08-2009, 23:35

quote here the most beautiful, witty, sharp etc lines of Poetry or Literatures. (Small pieces are also allowed but don't asceed more than three to four sentences)

I'll start with Dylan Thomas

And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last
I may without fail
Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars

**Pannonian** · 12-09-2009, 00:02

Celia Celia - Adrian Mitchell

When I am sad and weary
When I think all hope has gone
When I walk along High Holborn
I think of you with nothing on

**The Stranger** · 12-09-2009, 01:09

Lovecraft's

That is not dead which can eternal lie. And with strange aeons even death may die.

**Azathoth** · 12-09-2009, 01:15

Perhaps the greatest thing I've ever read in my life.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

They walked to elude the companies of crossbowmen they knew the Inrithi kept behind their lines, armed with the Tears of God. Not one among their number could be risked, not with the Scarlet Spires girding for war—not for any reason. They were Cishaurim, Indara’s Waterbearers and their breath was more precious than the breath of thousands. They were oases among men.
Drawing their palms over grass, goldenrod, and white alyssum, they walked toward the common line, fourteen of them, their yellow silk cassocks whipped by wind and fiery convections, the five snakes about each of their throats outstretched, like the spokes of a candelabra, searching every direction. The desperate Northmen fired volley after volley of arrows, but the shafts burst into puffs of flame. The Cishaurim continued walking, sweeping their gouged eyes along the bristling Inrithi lines. Wherever they turned, blue blinding light exploded among the Men of the Tusk, blistering skin, welding iron to flesh, charring hearts . . .
Many Northmen held their position, dropping prone beneath their shields as they’d been taught. But many others were already fleeing—Usgalders, Agmundrmen, and Gaenrish, Numainerish and Plaidolmen—senseless to the rallying cries of their officers and lords. The Inrithi centre floundered, began to evaporate. Battle had become massacre.
Amid the tumult, Crown Prince Fanayal and his Coyauri fled the ravine, the Shrial Knights pursuing them through billowing dust and smoke—or so it seemed to all who watched. At first, the Fanim could scarce credit their eyes. Many cried out, not in fear or dismay, but in wonder at the deranged ferocity of the idolaters. When Fanayal wheeled away, Incheiri Gotian, some four thousand Shrial Knights massed behind him, continued galloping forward, crying—weeping—“The God wills it!” They scattered across the Battleplain, unbloodied save for the morning’s first disastrous charge, hurtling through the grasses, crouched low out of terror, crying out their fury, their defiance. They charged the fourteen Cishaurim, drove their mounts into the hellish lights that unspooled from their brows. And they died burning, like moths assailing coals in a fire’s heart.
Filaments of blue incandescence, fanning out, glittering with unearthly beauty, burning limbs to cinders, bursting torsos, immolating men in their saddles. Amid the shrieks and wails, the rumble of hooves, the thunder of men howling “The God wills it!” Gotian was pitched breakneck from the charred remnants of his horse. Biaxi Scoulas, his leg burnt to a stump, toppled and was trampled to pulp by those pounding after him. The knight immediately before Cutias Sarcellus exploded, and sent a knife whistling through his windpipe. The First Knight-Commander collapsed, slapped face-first onto the ground. Death came swirling down.
Brains boiled in skulls. Teeth snapped. Hundreds fell in the first thirty seconds. Hundreds more in the second. Scorching light materialized everywhere, like the cracks that dizzy glass. And still the Shrial Knights whipped their horses forward, leaping the smouldering ruin of their brothers, racing one another to their doom, thousands of them, howling, howling. The scrub and grasses ignited. Oily smoke bloomed skyward, drawn toward the Cishaurim by the wind.
Then a lone rider, a young adept, swept up to one of the sorcerer-priests—and took his head. When the nearest turned his sockets to regard him, only the boy’s horse erupted in flame. The young knight tumbled and continued running, his cries shrill, his dead father’s Chorae bound to the palm of his hand.
Only then did the Cishaurim realize their mistake—their arrogance. For several heartbeats they hesitated . . .
And a tide of burnt and bloody knights broke from the rolling smoke, among them Grandmaster Gotian, hauling the Gold Tusk on White, his Order’s sacred standard. In that final rush, hundreds more fell burning. But some didn’t, and the Cishaurim rent the earth, desperately trying to bring those with Chorae down. But it was too late—the raving knights were upon them. One tried to flee by stepping into the sky, only to be felled by a crossbow bolt bearing a Tear of God. The others were cut down where they stood.
They were Cishaurim, Indara’s Waterbearers, and their death was more precious than the death of thousands.
For an impossible moment, all was silent. The Shrial Knights, those few hundred who survived, began limping and staggering back to the battered ranks of their Inrithi brothers. Incheiri Gotian was among the last to reach safety, bearing a burnt youth slumped across his shoulders.

**Craterus** · 12-09-2009, 01:31

Mother died today.

**The Stranger** · 12-09-2009, 02:17

my my crate-boy also lives :P

who wrote that piece? you?

**Craterus** · 12-09-2009, 02:24

Too tough to die

And, are you joking?

**naut** · 12-09-2009, 02:32

Originally Posted by Craterus

Mother died today.

Originally Posted by The Stranger

my my crate-boy also lives :P

who wrote that piece? you?

L’Étranger, Camus --- magnifique.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.

Ernest Dowson.

**ajaxfetish** · 12-09-2009, 04:45

Man that is born of a woman is of few days, and full of trouble. He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down; he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not.

And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest.

A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.

Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death . . . Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.

And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.

I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.

Here's a few favorites from one text.

Ajax

**naut** · 12-09-2009, 05:13

So it goes.

Kurt Vonnegut.

**rajpoot** · 12-09-2009, 06:35

One is in my sig.

Another favourite is by Byron -

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

And a third one from a translation of Omar Khayyam, can't rightly remember who translation it was;

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

And a fourth one which I nearly forgot...don't even remember who it is by.....read it in a RD book of Wit and Wisdom ages back;

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

Great thread by the way.....lots of potential.

**Sevis** · 12-09-2009, 06:52

I am considering learning this bit by heart:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

And, a poem:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

EDIT: Oh, and almost forgot a recent jewel I discovered (non-English, I hope you don't mind):

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

**Lemur** · 12-09-2009, 07:26

When the stars threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?

— William Blake

**Samurai Waki** · 12-09-2009, 08:27

"Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honourably. And Rhaegar died."

~George R.R. Martin

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Alfred Tennyson

**The Stranger** · 12-09-2009, 12:00

Originally Posted by Craterus

Too tough to die

And, are you joking?

i know now, I read the book myself aswell... but I read it in french, your translation didnt ring a bell. it was the opening line if i recall correct? it is very good, like poetry. i like it.

**The Stranger** · 12-09-2009, 12:10

Originally Posted by Sevis

EDIT: Oh, and almost forgot a recent jewel I discovered (non-English, I hope you don't mind):

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

specially for you I have this one i just found,

Maar Noa zwijgt, en haar zwijgen is meer dan gewoon een stilte, en haar zwijgen snijdt alle woorden uit zijn mond. (by one called helga)

there's more here, in dutch though http://www.schrijvenonline.org/forum/102216?page=1

and Ungaretti's

Eterno

Tra un fiore colto e l'altro donato
l'inesprimibile nulla

between one flower reaped and the other given
the inexpressible nothingness

(I don't know but somehow english ruins most french and italian poems in translation)

**drone** · 12-09-2009, 17:07

"Oh freddled gruntbuggly? thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchis on a lurgid bee.
Groop I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes.
And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!"

-Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz

**Subotan** · 12-09-2009, 17:42

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

"Now can you tell me how all this happened?" asked Mrs Jones, the police officer in charge of finding out what happened, "it is vitally important"
"Yes I think I can" I replied, and I was forced to re-live my terrible experience.
"I miss you too," I was saying to my girlfriend Jess "no I miss you more"
"Sorry Adam my mum says I've got to get to off the phone and finish my homework bye "she had replied
"Bye love you see you tomorrow"
"Bye bye love you to" and she put the phone down, I carried on walking home, and then i saw them the bunch of 7, 18 year old, pikies I had seen yesterday, that threatened me, that if they saw me again they would mug me and beat me up.

"Damn" I thought I had forgotten my penknife, I was about to turn and run, when I realised that they were beating up someone they looked small about 10 or 11, I felt sorry for them, I would of them pikies up but I was only 14, and there was 7 of them and only one of me, so I was walking past trying not to be noticed, when I tried to get to get a glimpse of who it was, when I got a great shock, was that, no it couldn't be, but there again, my 10 year old brother, John and then I felt the rage build up, that had only happened once before, in year 4 when my worst enemy, his older brother and his gang, he was in year 5 and his brother was in year 6, were beating up my best friend, there were 4 of them, 3 year 5's and a year 6, it had come off badly, for them.
Back to the present I ran at the nearest one, rugby tackled him to the floor, we skid at least 15 feet, I cut up the knuckles on one hand, the other hand was holding his face to the floor, the last 5 feet there was a red skid of his blood, when we stopped I started to pummel his face, with both of my hands, the other pikies where looking now, this little kid decked the biggest of them they couldn't believe it, I kept on punching until one of them hit me, I got up and faced them, I shouted at John
"John get home now, take your bike and go and get help!" he got up, staggered a bit, started to walk towards me, to help but "John get home now, first house, get help now!"
He ran, the pikies started on me, I expected the one on the floor to get up, he didn't, I turned and ran, I was the sporty type, fasted sprinter best fighter, the strongest boy in our school and one of the smartest, I got my bike I yanked the keys out my pocket, and then realised I had so many keys and they looked the same, so I started to find the right key, they finally caught up with me, just as I opened the padlock
"Good for us that you opened the lock, after we kill you we can take the bike easier" one of them taunted me with his words, obviously the leader, being the strongest, then they all took a flick knife out there pocket and flicked the blade out, they were blood stained they had stabbed before and weren't afraid to do it again, they advanced on me
"bad for you actually," I replied
"How can in be bad for us?" he replied, "there are 7, no wait Daves down, 6 of us 10 more on there way I would say bad for you.

"Bring it on then" I taunted he pushed me backwards I stumbled over something on the floor, my brothers bike chain, I picked it up clicked the padlock shut I did the same with my padlock.
"Ahhhhhhhhhh" I screamed with rage then I swung the chains round like deadly batons and cracked them into his skull it made a hard impact and he went down on the floor blood trickled down from where the padlocks had struck. I carried on swinging moving toawrds the others.
"come on then bring it on" then I realised there were only 4 of them where was the other then I found out as he stabbed me in the back of my leg and punched me in the small of my back I bought the batons round and hit him he was down I thought 4 to go but then there were 10 more people coming towards me I turned round and quickly attacked the others they where down silently I turned back to the 10 but there where only 8 the other 2 where lying on the floor then the back 1 fell 7 and then Mr Williamson come round the corner holding a gun I knew it he was an elite sniper in the army when he was younger we all had thought it but he shot again 6 left the others scattered as 1 more went down there where still running towards me I swung the chins round as another fell shot the 4 where on me nearly 3 I hit one 2 he shot 1, 1 left I swung as he shot they hit the last 1 at the same time mass pain.

"Don't worry there only darts they will wake up, you made a mess of some of them"
"And that's how it happened"
"Thank you we wil be back."

Seriously though, either

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

Or.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

The Common translation is better, but I can't find that online, and I'm too lazy to type it up.

And I just started reading Lovecraft, so I'm really appreciating all the references.

**Sevis** · 12-09-2009, 18:44

Originally Posted by The Stranger

specially for you I have this one i just found,

Maar Noa zwijgt, en haar zwijgen is meer dan gewoon een stilte, en haar zwijgen snijdt alle woorden uit zijn mond. (by one called helga)

there's more here, in dutch though http://www.schrijvenonline.org/forum/102216?page=1
(I don't know but somehow english ruins most french and italian poems in translation)

Ah, thank you! :)

Unfortunately, I cannot access that page - is registration required, perhaps?

As for English ruining poems - I feel that when you've heard (and understood) the original, the translation (if you can understand it) will feel wrong. I often have this, and rarely see works that feel the same once translated.

**Ramses II CP** · 12-09-2009, 20:19

My favorite bit of poetry:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

As a person who generally finds poetry distasteful or boring I think the sense of grim humor in this poem is inescapably elegant and suitably nonsensical.

**Strike For The South** · 12-09-2009, 20:28

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood,
and I—I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

**Louis VI the Fat** · 12-09-2009, 20:34

Only in that great, fair state
of Texas, so brave, so great
full of oil, flowers and thyme
do hence and difference rhyme

**Strike For The South** · 12-09-2009, 20:47

Originally Posted by Louis VI the Fat

Only in that great, fair state

of Texas, so brave, so great
full of oil, flowers and thyme
do hence and difference rhyme

**The Stranger** · 12-09-2009, 23:20

Originally Posted by Sevis

Ah, thank you! :)

Unfortunately, I cannot access that page - is registration required, perhaps?

As for English ruining poems - I feel that when you've heard (and understood) the original, the translation (if you can understand it) will feel wrong. I often have this, and rarely see works that feel the same once translated.

oh yes, you need to registrate... well if you like poetry or writing than it is a good site to check out. if you'd like i can send you a pm with some other sites.

and youre right about translation, its actually a cruelty... although sometimes i believe translation can add another dimension... but seldom though

**Subotan** · 12-10-2009, 00:20

The translators of Asterix do a superb job of transferring the puns over.

**Lemur** · 12-10-2009, 01:39

Ogden Nash, one of the great unappreciated American poets:

Cow
The cow is of the bovine ilk,
One end is moo, the other, milk.

Turtle
The turtle live 'twixt plated decks
Which practically conceal its sex;
I think it clever of the turtle
in such a fix, to be so fertile.

You wanna know what's really sad? I just typed those from memory.

**Louis VI the Fat** · 12-10-2009, 01:57

Originally Posted by Lemur

Turtle
The turtle live 'twixt plated decks
Which practically conceal its sex;
I think it clever of the turtle
in such a fix, to be so fertile.

You wanna know what's really sad? I just typed those from memory.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C6YRshEn8K0

**Centurion1** · 12-10-2009, 02:17

Another part of my quote is from Henry the V but i love this part.

"This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
Make him a member of the gentry, even if he is a commoner.
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."

Shakespeare
Henry V, Act 4, Scene 3

and (this is sooooooo nerdy)

Theoden's monolgue in the two towers...... i have literally had this memorized since 4th grade.

Where is the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? They have passed like rain on the mountain, like wind in the meadow. The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.

judge me as you will but admit its pretty good

**Raz** · 12-10-2009, 06:44

People please... the first post explicitly states no more than four sentences.

I like the simpler and less metaphorical stuff. Not excessively big on poetry.

Emily Dickinson:

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

Oscar Wilde:

And, though I was a soul in pain,
My pain I could not feel.

(same poem, different part)

He looked upon the garish day
With such a wistful eye;
The man had killed the thing he loved
And so he had to die.

**rajpoot** · 12-10-2009, 11:37

Originally Posted by Centurion1

Where is the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? They have passed like rain on the mountain, like wind in the meadow. The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.

When I first saw the movie, I got the lines all wrong.....It wasn't until I read the book that I actually understood what the words were....
This and the lines Eomer sings during the battle of Pelennor;

Out of doubt out of dark, to the day's rising,
I came singing in the sun, sword unsheathing,
To hope's end I rode and heart's breaking,
Now for wrath, now for ruin, and a red nightfall.

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