What's your favorite poem?

Charge 7

Master Gunner
Keep in mind that there is already a "What's your favorite military poem?" thread here so please confine this topic to non-military poems.

My favorite is by Siegfried Sassoon, the great WWI poet.


MAN AND DOG

Who's this — alone with stone and sky?
It's only my old dog and I — It's only him; it's only me;
Alone with stone and grass and tree.
What share we most — we two together?
Smells, and awareness of the weather.
What is it makes us more than dust?
My trust in him; in me his trust.
Here's anyhow one decent thing
That life to man and dog can bring;
One decent thing, remultiplied
Till earth's last dog and man have died.
 
Self Pity
I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.
 
Mine Has always been.


Footprints in the Sand


One night a man had a dream. He dreamed
he was walking along the beach with the LORD.
Across the sky flashed scenes from his life.
For each scene he noticed two sets of
footprints in the sand: one belonging
to him, and the other to the LORD.
When the last scene of his life flashed
before him,
he looked back at the footprints in the sand.
He noticed that many times along the path of
his life there was only one set of footprints.
He also noticed that it happened at the very
lowest and saddest times in his life.
This really bothered him and he
questioned the LORD about it:
"LORD, you said that once I decided to follow
you, you'd walk with me all the way.
But I have noticed that during the most
troublesome times in my life,
there is only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why when
I needed you most you would leave me."
The LORD replied:.
"My son, my precious child,
I love you and I would never leave you.
During your times of trial and suffering,
when you see only one set of footprints,
it was then that I carried you.".

written by Mary Stevenson.
 
OK, just got rid of the military poem... :oops: That'll learn me.

Withdrawn. You can have my ill-gotten milbucks.
 
Well, thanks for sharing, but like I said when I started this topic, there already is a military poems thread. This one is for non-military ones.
 
jack and jill went up the hill....lol nah jk

"If" by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
 
Invictus
by William Ernest Henley; 1849-1903


Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.
 
Others, I am not the first


Others, I am not the first,
Have willed more mischief than they durst:
If in the breathless night I too
Shiver now, ’tis nothing new.

More than I, if truth were told,
Have stood and sweated hot and cold,
And through their veins in ice and fire
Fear contended with desire.

Agued once like me were they,
But I like them shall win my way
Lastly to the bed of mould
Where there’s neither heat nor cold.

But from my grave across my brow
Plays no wind of healing now,
And fire and ice within me fight
Beneath the suffocating night.

-A.E. Housman

I have no idea what it means but it sure do sound purty.
 
Excellent choices! All three! Thanks guys :)

Ladyhawk, your's is great too! Almost forgot you, sorry. I'm familiar with your's and Locke's choices but had never known Missileer's and Redneck's. Always great to find a new well written poem.
 
Solitude

Solitude by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

LAUGH, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth,
But has trouble enough of it's own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.


 
From Rudyard Kipling:

This is my lodestone, his poetry hits me every time, there is laways something new in his work.
I keep six honest serving-men (They taught me all I knew);Their names are What and Why and When And How and Where and Who.I send them over land and sea, I send them east and west;But after they have worked for me, I give them all a rest.I let them rest from nine till five, For I am busy then,As well as breakfast, lunch, and tea, For they are hungry men.But different folk have different views. I know a person small-She keeps ten million serving-men, Who get no rest at all!She sends'em abroad on her own affairs, From the second she opens her eyes-One million Hows, two million Wheres, And seven million Whys! From The Elephant's Child
 
Solitude by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

LAUGH, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth,
But has trouble enough of it's own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.



It reminds me that I get to choose how I react to anything...
 
One of my favorites by The Bard:

Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.

Julius Caesar II, Shakespeare
 
Trees by
Joyce Kilmer. 1886–1918
I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

Veterans of the Foreign Wars asked the government to set aside a fitting stand of trees to serve as a living memorial to Joyce Kilmer, who was killed in action during World War I. Although Kilmer was both a soldier and a poet, he is most remembered for his poetry about common, beautiful things in nature. You can visit the webite for the Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest here: http://www.main.nc.us/graham/hiking/joycekil.html
 
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One i wrote myself:

Daniel Baldwin - Forever Wonder

I never meant to hurt you;
Never meant to make you cry;
We all do things we regret;
But now i'll wonder why.
Why did these things happen?
Why did i make you cry?
These things i'll never know;
Forever wonder why
 
One i wrote myself:

Daniel Baldwin - Forever Wonder

I never meant to hurt you;
Never meant to make you cry;
We all do things we regret;
But now i'll wonder why.
Why did these things happen?
Why did i make you cry?
These things i'll never know;
Forever wonder why

Very Nice, Insomniac!
 
That's a great poem Locke.

I like this one. It's a song really, by Bette Midler.

The Rose


Some say love it is a river
that drowns the tender reed
Some say love it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed

Some say love it is a hunger
an endless aching need
I say love it is a flower
and you it's only seed

It's the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance
It's the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance
It's the one who won't be taken
who cannot seem to give
and the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live

When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been too long
and you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter far beneath the bitter snows
lies the seed
that with the sun's love
in the spring
becomes the rose
 
SOME CORNER OF A FOREIGN FIELD

Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)

If I should die, think only this of me:

That there's some corner of a foreign field

That is for ever England. There shall be

In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;

A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,

Gave, once her flowers to love, her ways to roam,

A body of England's, breathing English air,

Washed by the rivers, blessed by the suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,

A pulse in the eternal mind, no less

Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;

Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;

And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,

In hearts a peace, under an English heaven.
 
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