My First English Poem

Today, I submitted an assignment for my Introduction to Literature course. It is a poem, which I write using another poem, Lake Isle of Innesfree, as template.

The template:

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin built there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud-glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes

dropping slow

Dropping from the veils of the morning to the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, and a noon a purple glow,

An evening full of the linner’s wings

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear the lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on pavements gray,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

My poem:

I will arise and go now, and go to somewhere,

And alluring sky see there, the blue spotted white;

All my sorrow will I heal there, no scar stay,

And live happily in a hut surrounded by daisy.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes

dropping slow

Dropping from waken up to the end of the day;

There midnight’s decorated stars, and a noon a white spot show,

An evening glimmered with fire-fly

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear the rustling of daisy when wind blows with care;

While I stand here, or anywhere under unpleasant sky,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

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Forgotten Language

Forgotten Language by Shel Silverstein

Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?

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Clock a Clay

Clock a Clay

In the cowslips peeps I lye                                                                                                       

Hidden from the buzzing fly                                                                                                                

While green grass beneath me lies

Pearled wi’dew like fishes eyes

Here I lye a Clock a Clay

Waiting for the time o’day

While grassy forests quake surprise

and the wild wind sobs and sighs

My gold home rocks as like to fall

On its pillars green and tall

When the pattering rain drives bye

Clock a Clay keeps warm and dry

Day by day and night by night

 All the weeks I hide from sight

in the cowslips peeps I lye

In rain and dew still warm and dry

Day and night and night and day

Red black spotted clock a clay

My home it shakes in wind and showers

Pale green pillar top’t wi’flowers

Bending at the wild wind breath

Till touch the grass beneath

 Here still I live alone Clock a Clay

Watching for the time of the way

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The Eagle

This occasion I want to share a poem.  I get it in my Introduction to Literature class last Thursday.

 The Eagle

by Alfred Lord Tennyson

He claps the crag with crooked hands;

Close to the sun in lonely lands,

Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;

He watches from his mountain walls,

And like a thunderbolt he falls. 

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