National Poetry Day: What is your favourite poem/poet?

[Toby]

Hi guys,

Its National Poetry Day today, so I thought I'd create a little discussion and ask; What is your favourite poem or poet?

I studied a lot of poetry in college and used to love de-construcitng them for the inner symbolism.

One of my favourties is a classic: William Blake

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen? 

And did the Countenance Divine  
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic mills? 

Bring me my bow of burning gold:
Bring me my arrows of desire:
Bring me my spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire. 

I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.

source

 What about you?

[viridis]

England's national anthem right there.

[viridis]

Anyway, aside from the great national anthem we don't use, one poem that came to my mind is "the solitary reaper" by Wordsworth.
No words of the reapers song are written, the emphasis is purely on the tone and feelings coming from her song, and that those emotions are felt long after the listener has stopped hearing her song, even though he heard no words.
Beautiful.
I'm also fond of variations of "there once was a man from Nantucket"

[Anonymous]

Beautiful thread! For those of us who don't have English as our mother tongue, this thread is very inspiring! Keep sharing please!  

[jonsie]

The one poem that I can recite still and remembered from junior school so many years ago.and obviously my favourite.

Written by Robert Browning who spent much of the time in Italy with his family.

Home-Thoughts, from Abroad

BY ROBERT BROWNING

Oh, to be in England

Now that April's there,

And whoever wakes in England

Sees, some morning, unaware,

That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf

Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,

While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough

In England—now!

And after April, when May follows,

And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!

Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge

Leans to the field and scatters on the clover

Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray's edge—

That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,

Lest you should think he never could recapture

The first fine careless rapture!

And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,

All will be gay when noontide wakes anew

The buttercups, the little children's dower

[Toby]

I love the language used in that @jonsie, good choice!

[MI5]

Anyone for Tennyson?

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
‘Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!’ he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
‘Forward, the Light Brigade!’
Was there a man dismay’d?
Not tho’ the soldier knew
Someone had blunder’d:
Their’s not to make reply,
Their’s not to reason why,
Their’s but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley’d and thunder’d;

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.
Flash’d all their sabres bare,
Flash’d as they turn’d in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder’d:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro’ the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel’d from the sabre-stroke
Shatter’d and sunder’d.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro’ the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade ?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder’d.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

[viridis]

Ok, point of thought...
Are today's music stars poets?
In written form, many lyrics could easily be discussed in the same vein as poetry.
I'd definately put John Lennon's Imagine as modern poetic writing and, as taboo as it is, I'd also include many lyrics from Eminem who, whether you like it or not, is as lyrically advanced as you can get.
Would they be looked on in the future as past poetic geniuses?
Discuss. ..

[Anonymous]

Mine is this one:

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand 
And Eternity in an hour.

A Robin Redbreast in a Cage
Puts all Heaven in a Rage.
A dove house fill’d with doves and pigeons
Shudders Hell thro’ all its regions.
A Dog starv’d at his Master’s Gate
Predicts the ruin of the State.
A Horse misus’d upon the Road
Calls to Heaven for Human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted Hare
A fiber from the Brain does tear.

He who shall train the Horse to War
Shall never pass the Polar Bar.
The Beggar’s Dog and Widow’s Cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.
The Gnat that sings his Summer song 
Poison gets from Slander’s tongue.
The poison of the Snake and Newt
Is the sweat of Envy’s Foot.

A truth that’s told with bad intent
Beats all the Lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for Joy and Woe;
And when this we rightly know
Thro’ the World we safely go.

Every Night and every Morn
Some to Misery are Born.
Every Morn and every Night
Some are Born to sweet delight.
Some are Born to sweet delight,
Some are Born to Endless Night.  

[jonsie]

William Blake, nice