What is your favourite verse of poetry?

Answer 1

i have 2, both of which have been with me for many years, so much so that every journal i have written has had these two verses written in them at some point or other
.
the first is by william blake from auguries of innocence

to see the world in a agrain of sand
and heaven in a wild flower
hold infinity in the palm of your hand
and eternity in an hour

and the second is by robert frost from the road not taken

two roads diverged in a wood, and i,
i took the one less traveled by,
and that has made all the diference

Answer 2

Hmmm... it's hard to pick just one but I love Shakespeare's Sonnet 17:

Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were filled with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say 'This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.'
So should my papers, yellowed with their age,
Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be termed a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice, in it, and in my rhyme.


Oh, and the second half of Auden's 'Funeral Blues':

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.



And this part of Louis MacNeice's 'Autumn Journal':

September has come, It is hers whose vitality leaps in the autumn,
Whose nature prefers
Trees without leaves and a fire in the fire-place;
So I give her this month and the next
Though the whole of my year should be hers who has rendered already
So many of its days intolerable or perplexed
But so many more so happy;
Who has left a scent on my life and left my walls
Dancing over and over with her shadow,
Whose hair is twined in all my waterfalls
And all of London lilttered with remembered kisses.

Answer 3

From 'Macbeth':

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time.
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out! Out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

I love it so much I have learnt the whole thing off by heart. Not sure where all of the new lines come in though.

Answer 4

Walt whitman's song of myself

I have said that the soul is not more than the body,
And I have said that the body is not more than the soul;
And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's self is,
And whoever walks a furlong without sympathy, walks to his own
funeral, drest in his shroud,
And I or you, pocketless of a dime, may purchase the pick of the
earth,
And to glance with an eye, or show a bean in its pod, confounds the learning of all times,
And there is no trade or employment but the young man following it may become a hero,
And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheel'd
universe,
And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes.

And I say to mankind, Be not curious about God,
For I, who am curious about each, am not curious about God;
(No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God, and about death.)

I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least,
Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself.

Why should I wish to see God better than this day?
I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment
then;
In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the
glass;
I find letters from God dropt in the street--and every one is sign'd
by God's name,
And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoe'er I go,
Others will punctually come forever and ever.

Answer 5

We look before and after,
And pine for what is not;
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught,
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

To a Skylark,by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Answer 6

My favorite vers of poetry is the following one :
"And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!", the last verse of "If" by Rudyard Kipling.

Answer 7

There is a place of beauty and peace
we can't see with these eyes.

This place so close and just beyond, beyond all goodbye's.

From here we wait as time goes by,
for this place to come hither and neigh.

As promised this place is made.

For all who ask they will be there,
and will not be afraid.

By Me.

Answer 8

Cannon to Right of Them,
Cannon to left of Them of Them,
Cannon in front of Them;
Volly'd and Thund'rd;
Storm'd at with shot and Shell,Boldly They rode and well'
Into the Jaws of Death'
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the Six Hundred.

Answer 9

Pelėsiais ir kerpėm apaugus aukštai
Trakų štai garbinga pilis!
Jos aukštus valdovus užmigdė kapai,
o ji tebestovi dar vis..

Seems like i'll remember this poem i learnt in school like 6 years ago forever..

Answer 10

They.ve taken me from down below, and raised me to the skies, . With hair of blond, these busty girls, and stars within their eyes. Complete poem copyright by Chris C.