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What's your favourite poem?

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  • #91
    'Stopping by woods on a snowy evening'. by Robert Frost. Just hearing the poem, and reading the poem, was the highlight of my English learning at school. Not that one learned a lot of English, from the poem. But, my knowledge of English was adequate, then, to admire the poem terribly.


    • #92
      I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud- W. Wordsworth.
      This poem is actually really simple. The thing is I have a major anxiety problem and when I recite this poem it actually helps me relax a little and it's something to concentrate on while I work through.


      • #93
        I'm not sure

        But sometimes when we've had too much to drink by a long way, we invent verse (talk bollocks)
        and take the piss out of each other
        here goes
        And so the Emperor announces games for 5 weeks and the crowd cheers
        Down with the corrupt status Quo, Light the bonfires and let the festivities begin
        Asgard and the great hall awaits for those who dare, fight and sacrifice
        While those with the panic plague find a bed with Hell in Hel!


        • #94

          If you can keep your head when all about you
          Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
          If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
          But make allowance for their doubting too;
          If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
          Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
          Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
          And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

          If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
          If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
          If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
          And treat those two impostors just the same;
          If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
          Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
          Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
          And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

          If you can make one heap of all your winnings
          And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
          And lose, and start again at your beginnings
          And never breathe a word about your loss;
          If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
          To serve your turn long after they are gone,
          And so hold on when there is nothing in you
          Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

          If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
          Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
          If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
          If all men count with you, but none too much;
          If you can fill the unforgiving minute
          With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
          Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
          And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!