Well Khandro's Doing It, . . .

[Buenchico]

. . . so why shouldn't I?

Posting relatively obscure, but undoubtedly beautiful, poetry that is.

Here's my offering:

" It was on that day when the sun’s ray
was darkened in pity for its Maker,
that I was captured, and did not defend myself,
because your lovely eyes had bound me, Lady.

It did not seem to me to be a time to guard myself
against Love’s blows: so I went on
confident, unsuspecting; from that, my troubles
started, amongst the public sorrows.

Love discovered me all weaponless,
and opened the way to the heart through the eyes,
which are made the passageways and doors of tears:

so that it seems to me it does him little honour
to wound me with his arrow, in that state,
he not showing his bow at all to you who are armed"

["Per fare una leggiadra sua vendetta", from 'Il Canzoniere', Pertrarch, 1304-1374]

[Buenchico]

^^^ or even 'Petrarch'!

[Rosie29]

That really plucked st the heartstrings B

[naomi24]

You old softee. :o)

[Khandro]

Chimaki musubu katate ni hasamu hitai-gami

Wrapping rice dumplings in bamboo leaves,
With one hand she fingers
The hair over her forehead.



Basho

[Theland]

Gosh Chico, I've gone all bacon butty reading that :-)

[brainiac]

Here's my offering,Chris, which I first came across on Radio 3's excellent Words and Music. I think most who read or hear this poem, by Ernest Dowson, will have a 'Cynara' in their life.

LAST night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:
I have been faithful to you, Cynara! in my fashion.

I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long;
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

[Vicasso]

“What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why”
BY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.

Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

[Vicasso]

^^^^^^.....a favourite of my wife

[Coppit]

Requiescat

Fair is her cottage in its place,
Where yon broad water sweetly slowly glides.
It sees itself from thatch to base
Dream in the sliding tides.

And fairer she, but ah how soon to die!
Her quiet dream of life this hour may cease.
Her peaceful being slowly passes by
To some more perfect peace.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson