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Favorite lines of poetry


runnjump

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They know not my heart

 

 

They know not my heart, who believe there can be

 

One stain of this earth in its feelings for thee;

 

Who think, while I see thee in beauty's young hour,

 

As pure as the morning's first dew on the flower,

 

I could harm what I love, -- as the sun's wanton ray

 

But smiles on the dew-drop to waste it away.

 

 

No: beaming with light as those young features are,

 

There's a light round thy heart which is lovelier far:

 

It is not that cheek -- 'tis the soul dawning clear

 

Through its innocent blush makes thy beauty so dear:

 

As the sky we look up to, though glorious and fair,

 

Is look'd up to the more, because Heaven lies there!

 

 

Thomas Moore

 

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The road not taken


Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;


Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim

Because it was grassy and wanted wear,

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,


And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way

I doubted if I should ever come back.


I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.


Robert Frost
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Though humble the banquet


Though humble the banquet to which I invite thee,

Thou'lt find there the best a poor bard can command;

Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall throng round, to light thee,

And Love serve the feast with his own willing hand.


And though Fortune may seem to have turn'd from the dwelling

Of him thou regardest her favouring ray,

Thou wilt find there a gift, all her treasures excelling,

Which, proudly he feels, hath ennobled his way.


'Tis that freedom of mind, which no vulgar dominion

Can turn from the path a pure conscience approves,

Which, with hope in the heart, and no chain on the pinion,

Holds upwards its course to the light which it loves.


'Tis this makes the pride of his humble retreat,

And with this, though of all other treasures bereaved,

The breeze of his garden to him is more sweet

Than the costliest incense that Pomp e'er received.


Then, come, if a board so untempting hath power

To win thee from grandeur, its best shall be thine;

And there's one, long the light of the bard's happy bower,

Who, smiling will blend her bright welcome with mine.


Thomas Moore
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When I started using fountain pens again, I wondered what to write. I began scouring the internet for poems and prose that I once knew but had mostly forgotten. I found it - and now I enjoy writing these words into my notepads. Using different pens, in script, cursive, different inks.....and next to enjoying using my pens, I enjoy reading about the emotions that I, just like most people, have. Only worded much better than I ever could.

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Farewell, too little and too lately known,
Whom I began to think and call my own;
For sure our souls were near ally’d; and thine
Cast in the same poetic mould with mine.
One common note on either lyre did strike,
And knaves and fools we both abhorr’d alike:
To the same goal did both our studies drive,
The last set out the soonest did arrive.
Thus Nisus fell upon the slippery place
While his young friend perform’d and won the race.
O early ripe! to thy abundant store
What could advancing age have added more?
It might (what nature never gives the young)
Have taught the numbers of thy native tongue.
But satire needs not those, and wit will shine
Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line.
A noble error, and but seldom made,
When poets are by too much force betray’d.
Thy generous fruits, though gather’d ere their prime
Still showed a quickness; and maturing time
But mellows what we write to the dull sweets of rhyme.
Once more, hail and farewell; farewell thou young,
But ah too short, Marcellus of our tongue.
Thy brows with ivy, and with laurels bound;
But fate and gloomy night encompass thee around.

 

John Dryden

 

"Every line is to me perfect"

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  • 2 weeks later...

Baptiste knew how to make a short job long

For love of it. And yet not waste time either.

Baptiste knew how to make a short job long

For love of it. And yet not waste time either.

Robert Frost

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Or...

 

The way a crow shook down on me

The dust of snow from a hemlock tree

Gave my heart a change of mood

And saved a day I had rued.

 

Minor events, when considered, can change one's perspective.

Edited by corgicoupe

Baptiste knew how to make a short job long

For love of it. And yet not waste time either.

Robert Frost

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I think I forgot to post this.

Diamine Ochre.

fpn_1544373184__diamine_ochre_grotz_late

 

 

Gloomy ink to match the tiny amount of sunlight these days..

Pelikan 4001 Blue-Black.

fpn_1544373276__pelikan_4001_blau-schwar

fpn_1502425191__letter-mini.png

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I came across this while looking for another of Carl Sandburg’s poems.

 

Grass

 

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo

Shovel them under and let me work—

I am the grass, I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg

And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.

Shovel them under and let me work.

Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:

What place is this?

Where are we now?

I am the grass.

Let me work.

I have not failed. Ive just found 10,000 ways that wont work.

Thomas A. Edison

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Imprisoned for 12 years for alleged treason, and released on a promise that he'd secure fortunes for the king, Sir Walter Raleigh then failed and his expedition ended in disaster, and he was executed on this return. After execution, and as was common practice, his head was embalmed and presented to his wife who history says carried it around for the last 29 years of her life. Raleigh allegedly wrote this the night before his execution and it is said to have been found on the fly leaf of his bible - facts, if we knew them, may not of course substantiate this, but it's a heart rending verse full of resignation and the knowledge of the end.

 

The Author's Epitaph, Made By Himself.

 

Even such is time, which takes in trust

Our youth, our joys, and all we have,

And pays us but with age and dust,

Who in the dark and silent grave

When we have wandered all our ways

Shuts up the story of our days,

And from which earth, and grave, and dust

The Lord shall raise me up, I trust.

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I'm so glad I found a poem dedicated to sleep, it deserves more praise. Hurrah for sleep.

 

Ink: Diamine Shimmertastic Shimmering Seas. (This ink is so wild it clogged my pen mid-writing).

Also please note how I had meant to write this in print, but my hand subconsciously switched to Italic. I noticed when the ink started clogging the pen, and I simply shrugged and continued. :P

 

fpn_1545135895__diamine_shimmertastic_sh

fpn_1502425191__letter-mini.png

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Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,

Dreaming in the joys of night;

Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep

Little sorrows sit and weep.

 

Sweet babe, in thy face

Soft desires I can trace,

Secret joys and secret smiles,

Little pretty infant wiles.

 

As thy softest limbs I feel,

Smiles as of the morning steal

O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast

Where thy little heart doth rest.

 

O the cunning wiles that creep

In thy little heart asleep!

When thy little heart doth wake,

Then the dreadful night shall break.

 

William Blake

Edited by GreyPix
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Last days of autumn.

Ink used Pelikan 4001 Blue-Black.

 

fpn_1544952680__pelikan_4001_blau-schwar

 

 

~ RoyalBlueNotebooks:

 

The Pelikan 4001 Blue-Black is a luxurious hue when written by your hand.

Both color and calligraphy enhance the verse.

Thank you.

Tom K.

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Tom, always making me blush :blush:

 

fpn_1546516286__diamine_peach_haze_stern

 

Super saturated Diamine Peach Haze, I don't know why but the scan gives me a bright crimson when this ink is, in fact, a peach color.

fpn_1502425191__letter-mini.png

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