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Karen's
Poetry Corner
~Updated 07/09/03~
This page will be developed further
but in light of today being Valentines Day, I'm posting my favorite poem..... It
brings me back in time... to Freshman English class even, and my favorite
wrestler with the huge hair and killer smile...
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The
Passionate Shepherd to his Love
Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593)
Come live with me and be my
love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle:
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold:
A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning;
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.
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 Christopher
Marlowe
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There have been various replies including the following:
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The Nymph's Reply
Sir Walter Raleigh (ca. 1552-1618)
If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.
Time drives the flocks from
field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks
grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to
come.
The flowers do fade, and
wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning
yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of
gall,
Is fancy's spring, but
sorrow's fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds
of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy
posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,--
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
The coral clasps and amber
studs,
All these in me no means can
move
To come to thee and be thy
love.
But could youth last and love
still breed,
Had joys no date nor age no
need,
Then these delights my mind
might move
To live with thee and be thy
love.
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The Bait
John Donne (1572-1631)
Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new
pleasures prove
Of golden sands, and
crystal brooks,
With silken lines, and
silver hooks.
There will the river whispering run
Warm'd by thy eyes, more
than the sun;
And there the 'enamour'd
fish will stay,
Begging themselves they
may betray.
When thou wilt swim in that live bath,
Each fish, which every channel hath,
Will amorously to
thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.
If thou, to be so
seen, be'st loth,
By sun or moon,
thou dark'nest both,
And if myself have
leave to see,
I need not their light having thee.
Let others freeze
with angling reeds,
And cut their legs
with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously
poor fish beset,
With strangling
snare, or windowy net.
Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest;
Or curious traitors, sleeve-silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes.
For thee, thou
need'st no such deceit,
For thou thyself
art thine own bait:
That fish, that is
not catch'd thereby,
Alas, is wiser far
than I.
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Song
C. Day-Lewis
(1935)
Come, live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
Of peace and plenty, bed and board,
That chance employment may afford
I’ll handle dainties on the docks
And thou shalt read of summer frocks:
At evening my the sour canals
We’ll hope to hear some madrigals.
Care on thy maiden brow shall put
A wreath of wrinkles, and thy foot
Be shod with pain: not silken dress
But toil shall tire thy loveliness.
Hunger shall make thy modest zone
And cheat fond death of all but bone--
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.
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Here's an awesome speech from
Henry V. Read it carefully and think of a certain night in early
February, 2002!!
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Henry V
St. Crispian's Day Speech
William Shakespeare, 1599
Enter the KING
WESTMORELAND. O that we now had
here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!
KING. What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not
here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
For additional background/commentary on this speech see
http://www.chronique.com/Library/Knights/crispen.htm |
~Many Pages Under Construction~
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