What is your favourite poem?

Question

Please Hear What I'm Not Saying

Jester mask Don't be fooled by me.
Don't be fooled by the face I wear
For I wear a mask, a thousand masks,
Masks that I'm afraid to take off
And none of them is me.

Pretending is an art that's second nature with me,
but don't be fooled,
for God's sake don't be fooled.
I give you the impression that I'm secure,
that all is sunny and unruffled with me,
within as well as without,
that confidence is my name and coolness my game,
that the water's calm and I'm in command
and that I need no one,
but don't believe me.

My surface may be smooth but
my surface is my mask,
ever-varying and ever-concealing.
Beneath lies no complacence.
Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.
But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.
That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,
a nonchalant sophisticated facade,
to help me pretend,
to shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely

Answer 1

The Soldier. By Rupert Brooke.

Answer 2

The Ballad of Sam Magee by Robert Service or Gunga Din by Rudyard Kipling.

Answer 3

Solitary Reaper by William Wordsworth

Answer 4

DAD'S TAXI SERVICE
I have chauffeured my children
From the cradle to the nave,
From here to maternity.

I have left no avenue unexplored
Within a twenty-five mile radius
Of my own front doorstep.

I have lurked, engine revving,
Outside smash-and-grab-a-jelly parties,
Poised for a swift getaway.

I have kerb-crawled, petrified
Of being mistaken for a pervert,
Past Scout huts and ballet classes.

I have boldly burst into rave venues
Where wrinklies are unwelcome
And gratitude rationed.

I have seen in my rear view mirror
Back-seat passion that would send
Madonna screaming home to her Mom.

Now, for the very first time,
I am under orders to ferry home
Our diarrhoetic grandspawn.

(c) Peter Wyton

Answer 5

Wild Nights—Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile—the Winds—
To a Heart in port—
Done with the Compass—
Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden—
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor—Tonight—
In Thee!

Emily Dickinson

Answer 6

The Highwayman..By Alfred Noyes

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor.
And the highwayman came riding--riding--riding,
The higwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

Answer 7

“TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAR”

A children's poem. Its first stanza reads:

Twinkle, twinkle, little star;
How I wonder what you are!
Up above the world so high
Like a diamond in the sky,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star!
How I wonder what you are.

When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!

Then the traveller in the dark,
Thanks you for your tiny spark,
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!

As your bright and tiny spark,
Lights the traveller in the dark,—
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star is one of the most popular English nursery rhymes. It combines the tune of the 1761 French melody "Ah ! vous dirai-je, Maman" with an English poem, "The Star", by Jane Taylor. The poem, which is in couplet form, was first published in 1806 in Rhymes for the Nursery, a collection of poems by Taylor and her sister Ann.

This is my favourite poem. I AM ONLY 64 YEARS OLD. LOL-

Answer 8

Its a poem about the secret service agent Violette Szabo killed in France by the Gastapo.

The life that I have Is all that I have
And the life that I have is is yours
The love that I have Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours

A sleep I shall have A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause
For the peace of my years in the long
green grass will be yours and yours and yours

Answer 9

What a question. I have many favourites, here's just one of them: 'Prayer Before Birth' by Louis MacNeice

I am not yet born; O hear me.
Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the
club-footed ghoul come near me...

CLICK THE LINK FOR THE REST OF THE POEM

Answer 10

my favourite poems are :
1)The Solitary Reaper by William Wordsworth.
2)The Incident Of The French Camp by Robert Browning(don't miss this one, read it completely and i hope u'll enjoy).

THE SOLITARY REAPER

BEHOLD her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?—
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending;—
I listen'd, motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.



INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP
You know, we French stormed Ratisbon:
A mile or so away
On a little mound, Napoleon
Stood on our storming-day;
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,
Legs wide, arms locked behind,
As if to balance the prone brow
Oppressive with its mind.

Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans
That soar, to earth may fall,
Let once my army-leader Lannes
Waver a yonder wall," --
Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew
A rider, bound on bound
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew
Until he reached the mound.

Then off there flung in smiling joy,
And held himself erect
By just his horse's mane, a boy:
You hardly could suspect --
(So tight he kept his lips compressed,
Scarce any blood came through)
You looked twice ere you saw his breast
Was all but shot in two.

"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace
We've got you Ratisbon!
The Marshal's in the market-place,
And you'll be there anon
To see your flag-bird flap his vans
Where I, to heart's desire,
Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans
Soared up again like fire.

The chief's eye flashed; but presently
Softened itself, as sheathes
A film the mother-eagle's eye
When her bruised eaglet breathes:
"You're wounded!" "Nay", the soldier's pride
Touched to quick, he said:
"I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside,
Smiling the boy fell dead.