Thursday, March 17, 2011

What is this called poetry


The unending cry of William  Wordsworth,
His praise of nature, from the "Tintern Abbey"
The sights and sounds,
The the pleasures both raw and polished,
The beauty, both within and without,
what is this called poetry.

A sorrowful John Keats, 
Panting yet praising; an Urn, -a Grecian old urn,
Beholding an art with life,
Of maidens and of passionate lovers, 
Of the thing they loath and love equal.
Lamenting like little lunatic boy,
at the life less sight,
of a garlanded cow and of a priest,
The citadel that at peace in the morn,
silent and desolate, 
The cold pastoral, - a waste of generation.
Truth  , Beauty, Beauty Truth.
What is this called Poetry.

 to be Continued.......................................................... 

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