# Respond to the last poster by quoting a line of poetry **URL:** \ **Category:** Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share\ **Created:** [May 1, 2007, 3:03am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257 "2007-05-01T03:03:16Z")\ **Posts on this page:** 20\ **Page:** 3
**Author:** ![Sternvogel](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/s/bc79bd/32.png) [@Sternvogel](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Sternvogel)\ **Post date:** [May 2, 2007, 8:17pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/41 "2007-05-02T20:17:23Z")
[QUOTE=ComeToTheDarkSideWeHaveCookies] I sit in the dusk. I am all alone. Enter a child and an ice-cream cone. A parent is easily beguiled By sight of this coniferous child. The friendly embers warmer gleam, The cone begins to drip ice cream. Cones are composed of many a vitamin. My lap is not the place to bitamin. Although my raiment is not chinchilla, I flinch to see it become vanilla. Coniferous child, when vanilla melts I’d rather it melted somewhere else. Exit child with remains of cone. I sit in the dusk. I am all alone, Muttering spells like an angry Druid, Alone, in the dusk, with the cleaning fluid. -Ogden Nash [/QUOTE] Call the roller of big cigars, The muscular one, and bid him whip In kitchen cups concupiscent curds. Let the wenches dawdle in such dress As they are used to wear, and let the boys Bring flowers in last month’s newspapers. Let be be finale of seem. The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream. – Wallace Stevens ---
**Author:** ![Malacandra](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/m/45deac/32.png) [@Malacandra](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Malacandra)\ **Post date:** [May 2, 2007, 9:57pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/42 "2007-05-02T21:57:59Z")
[QUOTE=Sternvogel] Call the roller of big cigars, The muscular one, and bid him whip In kitchen cups concupiscent curds. Let the wenches dawdle in such dress As they are used to wear, and let the boys Bring flowers in last month’s newspapers. Let be be finale of seem. The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream. – Wallace Stevens [/QUOTE] OPEN the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout, For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out. We quarrelled about Havanas-we fought o’er a good cheroot, And I know she is exacting, and she says I am a brute. Open the old cigar-box – let me consider a space In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie’s face Maggie is pretty to look at—Maggie’s a loving lass But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass There is peace in a Larranaga, there’s calm in a Henry Clay But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away— Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown But I could not throw away Maggie for fear of the talk of the town! Maggie, my wife at fifty—grey and dour and old With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold! And the light of the days that have Been the dark of the days that Are And Love’s torch stinking and stale like the butt of an dead cigar— The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket— With never a new one to light tho’ it’s charred and black to the socket! Open the old cigar-box—let me consider a while Here is a mild Manila—there is a wifely smile. Which is the better portion—bondage bought with a ring Or a harem of dusky beauties, fifty tied in a string? Counsellors cunning and silent—comforters true and tried, And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride? Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes, Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close. This will the fifty give me, asking nought in return, With only a _Suttee_’s passion—to do their duty and burn. This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead Five times other fifty shall be my servants instead. The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main, When they hear my harem is empty will send me my brides again. I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal, So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the shadows fall. I will scent ‘em with best vanilla, with tea I will temper their hides And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides. For Maggie has written a letter to give me my choice between The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick O’Teen. And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelvemonth clear, But I have been priest of Cabanas a matter of seven year. And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and Fight. And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove But the only light on the marshes is the Will O’ The Wisp of Love. Will it see me safe through the journey or leave me clogged in the mire? Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire? Open the old cigar-box-let me consider anew- Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon _you_? A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke; And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke. Light me another Cuba-I hold to my first-sworn vows. If Maggie will have no rival, I’ll have no Maggie for Spouse! –Rudyard Kipling, “The Betrothed” ---
**Author:** ![henrijohns](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/h/cdc98d/32.png) [@henrijohns](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/henrijohns)\ **Post date:** [May 2, 2007, 11:04pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/43 "2007-05-02T23:04:55Z")
Carl Sandburg - Crimson CRIMSON is the slow smolder of the cigar end I hold, Gray is the ash that stiffens and covers all silent the fire. (A great man I know is dead and while he lies in his coffin a gone flame I sit here in cumbering shadows and smoke and watch my thoughts come and go.) ---
**Author:** ![pinkfreud](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/pinkfreud/32/17603_2.png) [@pinkfreud](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/pinkfreud)\ **Post date:** [May 3, 2007, 12:38am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/44 "2007-05-03T00:38:28Z")
[QUOTE=henrijohns] Carl Sandburg - Crimson CRIMSON is the slow smolder of the cigar end I hold, Gray is the ash that stiffens and covers all silent the fire. (A great man I know is dead and while he lies in his coffin a gone flame I sit here in cumbering shadows and smoke and watch my thoughts come and go.) [/QUOTE] ONE CIGARETTE (by Edwin Morgan) No smoke without you, my fire. After you left, your cigarette glowed on in my ashtray and sent up a long thread of such quiet grey I smiled to wonder who would believe its signal of so much love. One cigarette in the non-smoker’s tray. As the last spire trembles up, a sudden draught blows it winding into my face. Is it smell, is it taste? You are here again, and I am drunk on your tobacco lips. Out with the light. Let the smoke lie back in the dark. Till I hear the very ash sigh down among the flowers of brass I’ll breathe, and long past midnight, your last kiss. ---
**Author:** ![matt\_mcl](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/m/7ab992/32.png) [@matt\_mcl](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/matt_mcl)\ **Post date:** [May 3, 2007, 12:40am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/45 "2007-05-03T00:40:12Z")
Or when the pipe is fairly glowing, Behold then instantaneously, The smoke off into thin air going, 'Til naught but ash is left to see. Man’s fame likewise away will burn And unto dust his body turn. - Johann Sebastian Bach, “Edifying Thoughts of a Tobacco-Smoker” ---
**Author:** ![Fretful\_Porpentine](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/fretful_porpentine/32/2873_2.png) [@Fretful\_Porpentine](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Fretful_Porpentine)\ **Post date:** [May 3, 2007, 1:36am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/46 "2007-05-03T01:36:45Z")
This thread makes me so happy 🙂 [QUOTE=matt\_mcl] Or when the pipe is fairly glowing, Behold then instantaneously, The smoke off into thin air going, 'Til naught but ash is left to see. Man’s fame likewise away will burn And unto dust his body turn. - Johann Sebastian Bach, “Edifying Thoughts of a Tobacco-Smoker” [/QUOTE] Fear no more the heat o’ the sun Nor the furious winter’s rages; Thou thy worldly task has done, Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o’ the great Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic must All follow this, and come to dust. – William Shakespeare, Song from _Cymbeline_ ---
**Author:** ![Chanteuse](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/c/9de053/32.png) [@Chanteuse](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Chanteuse)\ **Post date:** [May 3, 2007, 3:19am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/47 "2007-05-03T03:19:43Z")
[QUOTE=Fretful Porpentine] This thread makes me so happy 🙂 Fear no more the heat o’ the sun Nor the furious winter’s rages; Thou thy worldly task has done, Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o’ the great Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic must All follow this, and come to dust. – William Shakespeare, Song from _Cymbeline_ [/QUOTE] The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. –Robert Frost, _Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening_ ---
**Author:** ![Squink](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/s/b5e925/32.png) [@Squink](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Squink)\ **Post date:** [May 3, 2007, 3:34am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/48 "2007-05-03T03:34:10Z")
[QUOTE=Chanteuse] The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. –Robert Frost, _Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening_ [/QUOTE] ``` And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold : And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald. And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen : Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken-- The ice was all between. The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around : It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound ! ``` –Samuel Taylor Coleridge _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner_ ---
**Author:** ![Surok](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/s/cc9497/32.png) [@Surok](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Surok)\ **Post date:** [May 3, 2007, 3:52am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/49 "2007-05-03T03:52:21Z")
[QUOTE=Squink] And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold : And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald. ``` And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen : Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken-- The ice was all between. The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around : It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound ! ``` –Samuel Taylor Coleridge _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner_ [/QUOTE] Who’s that knocking on the window, Who’s that standing at the door, What are all those presents Laying on the kitchen floor? Who is the smiling stranger With hair as white as gin, What is he doing with the children And who could have let him in? Why has he rubies on his fingers, A cold, cold crown on his head, Why, when he caws his carol, Does the salty snow run red? Why does he ferry my fireside As a spider on a thread, His fingers made of fuses And his tongue of gingerbread? Why does the world before him Melt in a million suns, Why do his yellow, yearning eyes Burn like saffron buns? Watch where he comes walking Out of the Christmas flame, Dancing, double-talking: Herod is his name. Charles Causley, Innocent’s Song ---
**Author:** ![Kolak\_of\_Twilo](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/kolak_of_twilo/32/73_2.png) [@Kolak\_of\_Twilo](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Kolak_of_Twilo)\ **Post date:** [May 3, 2007, 4:37am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/50 "2007-05-03T04:37:27Z")
[QUOTE=Surok] Who’s that knocking on the window, Who’s that standing at the door, What are all those presents Laying on the kitchen floor? Who is the smiling stranger With hair as white as gin, What is he doing with the children And who could have let him in? Why has he rubies on his fingers, A cold, cold crown on his head, Why, when he caws his carol, Does the salty snow run red? Why does he ferry my fireside As a spider on a thread, His fingers made of fuses And his tongue of gingerbread? Why does the world before him Melt in a million suns, Why do his yellow, yearning eyes Burn like saffron buns? Watch where he comes walking Out of the Christmas flame, Dancing, double-talking: Herod is his name. Charles Causley, Innocent’s Song [/QUOTE] Jehovah buried,Satan dead, do fearers worship Much and Quick; badness not being felt as bad, itself thinks goodness what is meek; obey says toc,submit says tic, Eternity’s a Five Year Plan: if Joy with Pain shall hand in hock who dares to call himself a man? go dreamless knaves on Shadows fed, your Harry’s Tom,your Tom is Dick; while Gadgets murder squack and add, the cult of Same is all the chic; by instruments,both span and spic, are justly measured Spic and Span: to kiss the mike if Jew turn kike who dares to call himself a man? loudly for Truth have liars pled,click; where Boobs are holy,poets mad, illustrious punks of Progress shriek; when Souls are outlawed,Hearts are sick, Hearts being sick,Minds nothing can: if Hate’s a game and Love’s a fuck who dares to call himself a man? King Christ,this world is all aleak; and lifepreservers there are none: and waves which only He may walk Who dares to call Himself a man. _– e.e. cummings - Jehovah buried,Satan dead,_ ---
**Author:** ![ComeToTheDarkSideWeHaveCookies](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/c/e9bcb4/32.png) [@ComeToTheDarkSideWeHaveCookies](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/ComeToTheDarkSideWeHaveCookies)\ **Post date:** [May 3, 2007, 5:30am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/51 "2007-05-03T05:30:23Z")
[QUOTE=Kolak of Twilo] Jehovah buried,Satan dead, do fearers worship Much and Quick; badness not being felt as bad, itself thinks goodness what is meek; obey says toc,submit says tic, Eternity’s a Five Year Plan: if Joy with Pain shall hand in hock who dares to call himself a man? go dreamless knaves on Shadows fed, your Harry’s Tom,your Tom is Dick; while Gadgets murder squack and add, the cult of Same is all the chic; by instruments,both span and spic, are justly measured Spic and Span: to kiss the mike if Jew turn kike who dares to call himself a man? loudly for Truth have liars pled,click; where Boobs are holy,poets mad, illustrious punks of Progress shriek; when Souls are outlawed,Hearts are sick, Hearts being sick,Minds nothing can: if Hate’s a game and Love’s a fuck who dares to call himself a man? King Christ,this world is all aleak; and lifepreservers there are none: and waves which only He may walk Who dares to call Himself a man. _– e.e. cummings - Jehovah buried,Satan dead,_ [/QUOTE] The sun was shining on the sea, Shining with all his might: He did his very best to make The billows smooth and bright– And this was odd, because it was The middle of the night. The moon was shining sulkily, Because she thought the sun Had got no business to be there After the day was done– “It’s very rude of him,” she said, “To come and spoil the fun!” The sea was wet as wet could be, The sands were dry as dry. You could not see a cloud, because No cloud was in the sky: No birds were flying overhead– There were no birds to fly. The Walrus and the Carpenter Were walking close at hand; They wept like anything to see Such quantities of sand: “If this were only cleared away,” They said, “it would be grand!” “If seven maids with seven mops Swept it for half a year. Do you suppose,” the Walrus said, “That they could get it clear?” “I doubt it,” said the Carpenter, And shed a bitter tear. “O Oysters, come and walk with us!” The Walrus did beseech. “A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, Along the briny beach: We cannot do with more than four, To give a hand to each.” The eldest Oyster looked at him, But never a word he said: The eldest Oyster winked his eye, And shook his heavy head– Meaning to say he did not choose To leave the oyster-bed. But four young Oysters hurried up, All eager for the treat: Their coats were brushed, their faces washed, Their shoes were clean and neat– And this was odd, because, you know, They hadn’t any feet. Four other Oysters followed them, And yet another four; And thick and fast they came at last, And more, and more, and more– All hopping through the frothy waves, And scrambling to the shore. The Walrus and the Carpenter Walked on a mile or so, And then they rested on a rock Conveniently low: And all the little Oysters stood And waited in a row. “The time has come,” the Walrus said, “To talk of many things: Of shoes–and ships–and sealing-wax– Of cabbages–and kings– And why the sea is boiling hot– And whether pigs have wings.” “But wait a bit,” the Oysters cried, “Before we have our chat; For some of us are out of breath, And all of us are fat!” “No hurry!” said the Carpenter. They thanked him much for that. “A loaf of bread,” the Walrus said, “Is what we chiefly need: Pepper and vinegar besides Are very good indeed– Now if you’re ready, Oysters dear, We can begin to feed.” “But not on us!” the Oysters cried, Turning a little blue. “After such kindness, that would be A dismal thing to do!” “The night is fine,” the Walrus said. "Do you admire the view? “It was so kind of you to come! And you are very nice!” The Carpenter said nothing but “Cut us another slice: I wish you were not quite so deaf– I’ve had to ask you twice!” “It seems a shame,” the Walrus said, “To play them such a trick, After we’ve brought them out so far, And made them trot so quick!” The Carpenter said nothing but “The butter’s spread too thick!” “I weep for you,” the Walrus said: “I deeply sympathize.” With sobs and tears he sorted out Those of the largest size, Holding his pocket-handkerchief Before his streaming eyes. “O Oysters,” said the Carpenter, "You’ve had a pleasant run! Shall we be trotting home again?’ But answer came there none– And this was scarcely odd, because They’d eaten every one. -Lewis Carroll ---
**Author:** ![Malacandra](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/m/45deac/32.png) [@Malacandra](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Malacandra)\ **Post date:** [May 3, 2007, 11:29am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/52 "2007-05-03T11:29:37Z")
[QUOTE=ComeToTheDarkSideWeHaveCookies] The sun was shining on the sea, Shining with all his might: He did his very best to make The billows smooth and bright– And this was odd, because it was The middle of the night. The moon was shining sulkily, Because she thought the sun Had got no business to be there After the day was done– “It’s very rude of him,” she said, “To come and spoil the fun!” The sea was wet as wet could be, The sands were dry as dry. You could not see a cloud, because No cloud was in the sky: No birds were flying overhead– There were no birds to fly. The Walrus and the Carpenter Were walking close at hand; They wept like anything to see Such quantities of sand: “If this were only cleared away,” They said, “it would be grand!” “If seven maids with seven mops Swept it for half a year. Do you suppose,” the Walrus said, “That they could get it clear?” “I doubt it,” said the Carpenter, And shed a bitter tear. “O Oysters, come and walk with us!” The Walrus did beseech. “A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, Along the briny beach: We cannot do with more than four, To give a hand to each.” The eldest Oyster looked at him, But never a word he said: The eldest Oyster winked his eye, And shook his heavy head– Meaning to say he did not choose To leave the oyster-bed. But four young Oysters hurried up, All eager for the treat: Their coats were brushed, their faces washed, Their shoes were clean and neat– And this was odd, because, you know, They hadn’t any feet. Four other Oysters followed them, And yet another four; And thick and fast they came at last, And more, and more, and more– All hopping through the frothy waves, And scrambling to the shore. The Walrus and the Carpenter Walked on a mile or so, And then they rested on a rock Conveniently low: And all the little Oysters stood And waited in a row. “The time has come,” the Walrus said, “To talk of many things: Of shoes–and ships–and sealing-wax– Of cabbages–and kings– And why the sea is boiling hot– And whether pigs have wings.” “But wait a bit,” the Oysters cried, “Before we have our chat; For some of us are out of breath, And all of us are fat!” “No hurry!” said the Carpenter. They thanked him much for that. “A loaf of bread,” the Walrus said, “Is what we chiefly need: Pepper and vinegar besides Are very good indeed– Now if you’re ready, Oysters dear, We can begin to feed.” “But not on us!” the Oysters cried, Turning a little blue. “After such kindness, that would be A dismal thing to do!” “The night is fine,” the Walrus said. "Do you admire the view? “It was so kind of you to come! And you are very nice!” The Carpenter said nothing but “Cut us another slice: I wish you were not quite so deaf– I’ve had to ask you twice!” “It seems a shame,” the Walrus said, “To play them such a trick, After we’ve brought them out so far, And made them trot so quick!” The Carpenter said nothing but “The butter’s spread too thick!” “I weep for you,” the Walrus said: “I deeply sympathize.” With sobs and tears he sorted out Those of the largest size, Holding his pocket-handkerchief Before his streaming eyes. “O Oysters,” said the Carpenter, "You’ve had a pleasant run! Shall we be trotting home again?’ But answer came there none– And this was scarcely odd, because They’d eaten every one. -Lewis Carroll [/QUOTE] The sun, whose rays Are all ablaze With ever-living glory, Does not deny His majesty — He scorns to tell a story! He don’t exclaim, “I blush for shame, So kindly be indulgent.” But, fierce and bold, In fiery gold, He glories all effulgent! I mean to rule the earth, As he the sky — We really know our worth, The sun and I! I mean to rule the earth, As he the sky — We really know our worth, The sun and I! Observe his flame, That placid dame, The moon’s Celestial Highness; There’s not a trace Upon her face Of diffidence or shyness: She borrows light That, through the night, Mankind may all acclaim her! And, truth to tell, She lights up well, So I, for one, don’t blame her! Ah, pray make no mistake, We are not shy; We’re very wide awake, The moon and I! Ah, pray make no mistake, We are not shy; We’re very wide awake, The moon and I! –William Schwenk Gilbert ---
**Author:** ![matt\_mcl](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/m/7ab992/32.png) [@matt\_mcl](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/matt_mcl)\ **Post date:** [May 3, 2007, 12:30pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/53 "2007-05-03T12:30:02Z")
We have seen thee, Queen of Cheese, Lying quietly at your ease, Gently fanned by evening breeze; Thy fair form no flies dare seize. […] Wert thou suspended from balloon, Thou’d cast a shade even at noon. Folks would think it was the moon About to fall and crush them soon. - James McIntyre, “Ode on the Mammoth Cheese” ---
**Author:** ![Fretful\_Porpentine](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/fretful_porpentine/32/2873_2.png) [@Fretful\_Porpentine](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Fretful_Porpentine)\ **Post date:** [May 3, 2007, 1:15pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/54 "2007-05-03T13:15:48Z")
[QUOTE=matt\_mcl] We have seen thee, Queen of Cheese, Lying quietly at your ease, Gently fanned by evening breeze; Thy fair form no flies dare seize. […] Wert thou suspended from balloon, Thou’d cast a shade even at noon. Folks would think it was the moon About to fall and crush them soon. - James McIntyre, “Ode on the Mammoth Cheese” [/QUOTE] Darkness at the break of noon Shadows even the silver spoon, The handmade blade, the child’s balloon, Eclipses both the sun and moon. To understand, you know too soon, There is no sense in trying. - Bob Dylan (who is _too_ a real poet, so there), “It’s All Right, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)” ---
**Author:** ![matt\_mcl](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/m/7ab992/32.png) [@matt\_mcl](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/matt_mcl)\ **Post date:** [May 3, 2007, 2:16pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/55 "2007-05-03T14:16:27Z")
The sun’s gon dim, and The moon’s turned black; For I loved him, and He didn’t love back. - Dorothy Parker, “Two-Volume Novel” ---
**Author:** ![HazelNutCoffee](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/h/ac91a4/32.png) [@HazelNutCoffee](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/HazelNutCoffee)\ **Post date:** [May 3, 2007, 2:32pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/56 "2007-05-03T14:32:05Z")
[QUOTE=matt\_mcl] The sun’s gon dim, and The moon’s turned black; For I loved him, and He didn’t love back. - Dorothy Parker, “Two-Volume Novel” [/QUOTE] Shall the water not remember _ember_ my hand’s slow gesture, tracing above \*of \* its mirror my half-imaginary _airy_ portrait? My only belonging _longing_; is my beauty, which I take _ache_ away and then return, as love _of_ teasing playfully the one being _unbeing_. whose gratitude I treasure \*Is your \* moves me. I live apart \*heart \* from myself, yet cannot \*not \* live apart. In the water’s tone, \*stone? \* that brilliant silence, a flower _Hour,_ whispers my name with such slight _light:_ moment, it seems filament of air, \*fare \* the world becomes cloudswell. _well._ - Frank Chappell, “Echo and Narcisuss” ---
**Author:** ![ComeToTheDarkSideWeHaveCookies](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/c/e9bcb4/32.png) [@ComeToTheDarkSideWeHaveCookies](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/ComeToTheDarkSideWeHaveCookies)\ **Post date:** [May 3, 2007, 3:30pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/57 "2007-05-03T15:30:08Z")
[QUOTE=HazelNutCoffee] Shall the water not remember _ember_ my hand’s slow gesture, tracing above \*of \* its mirror my half-imaginary _airy_ portrait? My only belonging _longing_; is my beauty, which I take _ache_ away and then return, as love _of_ teasing playfully the one being _unbeing_. whose gratitude I treasure \*Is your \* moves me. I live apart \*heart \* from myself, yet cannot \*not \* live apart. In the water’s tone, \*stone? \* that brilliant silence, a flower _Hour,_ whispers my name with such slight _light:_ moment, it seems filament of air, \*fare \* the world becomes cloudswell. _well._ - Frank Chappell, “Echo and Narcisuss” [/QUOTE] … The missel-thrush has frighted from the glade, One pale narcissus loiters fearfully Close to a shadowy nook, where half afraid Of their own loveliness some violets lie That will not look the gold sun in the face For fear of too much splendour, - ah! methinks it is a place Which should be trodden by Persephone When wearied of the flowerless fields of Dis! Or danced on by the lads of Arcady! The hidden secret of eternal bliss Known to the Grecian here a man might find, Ah! you and I may find it now if Love and Sleep be kind. … -Oscar Wilde ---
**Author:** ![Fretful\_Porpentine](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/fretful_porpentine/32/2873_2.png) [@Fretful\_Porpentine](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Fretful_Porpentine)\ **Post date:** [May 3, 2007, 4:20pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/58 "2007-05-03T16:20:40Z")
[QUOTE=ComeToTheDarkSideWeHaveCookies] … The missel-thrush has frighted from the glade, One pale narcissus loiters fearfully Close to a shadowy nook, where half afraid Of their own loveliness some violets lie That will not look the gold sun in the face For fear of too much splendour, - ah! methinks it is a place Which should be trodden by Persephone When wearied of the flowerless fields of Dis! Or danced on by the lads of Arcady! The hidden secret of eternal bliss Known to the Grecian here a man might find, Ah! you and I may find it now if Love and Sleep be kind. … -Oscar Wilde [/QUOTE] Here, where the world is quiet, Here, where all trouble seems Dead winds’ and spent waves’ riot In doubtful dreams of dreams; I watch the green field growing For reaping-folk and sowing, For harvest-time and mowing, A sleepy world of streams. I am tired of tears and laughter And men who laugh and weep; Of what may come hereafter For men that sow to reap: I am weary of days and hours, Blown buds of barren flowers, Desires and dreams and powers, And everything but sleep. – Algernon Charles Swinburne, “The Garden of Proserpine” ---
**Author:** ![MacTech](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/m/c0e974/32.png) [@MacTech](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/MacTech)\ **Post date:** [May 3, 2007, 4:32pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/59 "2007-05-03T16:32:18Z")
[QUOTE=Fretful Porpentine] Here, where the world is quiet, Here, where all trouble seems Dead winds’ and spent waves’ riot In doubtful dreams of dreams; I watch the green field growing For reaping-folk and sowing, For harvest-time and mowing, A sleepy world of streams. I am tired of tears and laughter And men who laugh and weep; Of what may come hereafter For men that sow to reap: I am weary of days and hours, Blown buds of barren flowers, Desires and dreams and powers, And everything but sleep. – Algernon Charles Swinburne, “The Garden of Proserpine” [/QUOTE] Oh frettled gruntbuggly Thy micturations are to me As plurdled gableblochtis In a lurgid bee… Groop, I implore thee My foonting turlingdromes And hoopschiously drangle me With crinkly bindlewurdles For otherwise I will rend thee In the gobberworts With my burglecruncheon! …see if I don’t –Prostecnic Vogon Jeltz, as relayed by Douglas Adams ---
**Author:** ![si\_blakely](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/s/d9b06d/32.png) [@si\_blakely](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/si_blakely)\ **Post date:** [May 3, 2007, 5:03pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257/60 "2007-05-03T17:03:33Z")
The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea in a beautiful pea green boat They took some money and plenty of honey wrapped up in a five pound note… The Owl and the Pussycat - Edward Lear [Previous page](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257.md?page=2) [Next page](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/respond-to-the-last-poster-by-quoting-a-line-of-poetry/402257.md?page=4)