Poems- Not your own.

[DanaC]

So many wonderful poems. Larkin's poem that Sundae posted takes me back to my English A-levels, when I and a bunch of other 17 year olds 'discovered' Larkin for the first time. Ah bliss.

@ Merc: Invictus is one my favourite poems of all time. Utterly beautiful.

Here's one of my other favourite poems. It's a little long; but I think it's marvellous. Oliver Goldsmith's The Deserted Village. Written after the death of the poet's brother, and in the wake of the Inclosure Act, and the 'death of the countryside' which followed. I think it captures so much of the anger and sorrow at a world which was changing, forcibly; and the coldness of the new age of capital:

The Deserted Village (part 1)
by Oliver Goldsmith

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,
Where health and plenty cheered the labouring swain,
Where smiling spring its earliest visits paid,
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed:
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, where every sport could please,
How often have I loitered o'er your green,
Where humble happiness endeared each scene;
How often have I paused on every charm,
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the busy mill,
The decent church that topped the neighbouring hill,
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made;
How often have I blessed the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
And all the village train, from labour free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree:
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
The young contending as the old surveyed;
And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground,
And sleights of art and feats of strength went round;
And still as each repeated pleasure tired,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired;
The dancing pair that simply sought renown
By holding out to tire each other down!
The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter tittered round the place;
The bashful virgin's sidelong look of love,
The matron's glance that would those looks reprove:
These were thy charms, sweet village; sports like these,
With sweet succession, taught even toil to please;
These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed,
These were thy charms -But all these charms are fled.