legoline
05 April 2010 @ 08:47 am
Poetry Month. Hence, More Poems.  
They had excerpts of this poem displayed in the London tube in February. Go, London. Seriously.


In Memoriam (Section CXXIII)

There rolls the deep where grew the tree.
O earth, what changes hast thou seen!
There where the long street roars, hath been
The stillness of the central sea.

The hills are shadows, and they flow
From form to form, and nothing stands;
They melt like mist, the solid lands,
Like clouds they shape themselves and go.

But in my spirit will I dwell,
And dream my dream, and hold it true;
For tho' my lips may breathe adieu,
I cannot think the thing farewell.

- Alfred Lord Tennyson
 
 
Current Mood: thoughtful
 
 
legoline
05 April 2010 @ 11:07 pm
What's that? Even MORE poetry!  
Another week of annoying customers ahead, so I'll probably be too busy/tired/distracted to post a lot of poems. Hence why there are two today. I hope you'll forgive me. Last post of spamming for the week!

This is a favourite of mine, one of the very first English poems we know of. Some say it's incomplete, some say it's a riddle. Fact is, there are a few theories about the context of the poem, but no one knows for sure.


Wulf and Eadwacer

Leodum is minum swylce him mon lac gife;
willað hy hine aþecgan, gif he on þreat cymeð.
Ungelic is us.
Wulf is on iege, ic on oþerre.

Fæst is þæt eglond, fenne biworpen.
Sindon wælreowe weras þær on ige;
willað hy hine aþecgan, gif he on þreat cymeð.
Ungelice is us.
Wulfes ic mines widlastum wenum dogode;

þonne hit wæs renig weder ond ic reotugu sæt,
þonne mec se beaducafa bogum bilegde,
wæs me wyn to þon, wæs me hwæþre eac lað.
Wulf, min Wulf, wena me þine
seoce gedydon, þine seldcymas,

murnende mod, nales meteliste.
Gehyrest þu, Eadwacer? Uncerne earne hwelp
bireð Wulf to wuda.
þæt mon eaþe tosliteð þætte næfre gesomnad wæs,
uncer giedd geador.

My Favourite Translation In Here )

-author unknown, from The Exeter Book
 
 
Current Mood: melancholy