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Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Lord Alfred Tennyson

Posted by on December 28 at 11:55 AM

All Things will Die Clearly the blue river chimes in its flowing Under my eye; Warmly and broadly the south winds are blowing Over the sky. One after another the white clouds are fleeting; Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating Full merrily; Yet all things must die. The stream will cease to flow; The wind will cease to blow; The clouds will cease to fleet; The heart will cease to beat; For all things must die. All things must die. Spring will come never more. O, vanity! Death waits at the door. See! our friends are all forsaking The wine and the merrymaking. We are call’dówe must go. Laid low, very low, In the dark we must lie. The merry glees are still; The voice of the bird Shall no more be heard, Nor the wind on the hill. O, misery! Hark! death is calling While I speak to ye, The jaw is falling, The red cheek paling, The strong limbs failing; Ice with the warm blood mixing; The eyeballs fixing. Nine times goes the passing bell: Ye merry souls, farewell. The old earth Had a birth, As all men know, Long ago. And the old earth must die. So let the warm winds range, And the blue wave beat the shore; For even and morn Ye will never see Thro’ eternity. All things were born. Ye will come never more, For all things must die.

Nuff said Lord Alfred Tennyson, my favorite poet in the whole world.


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Now I know this whole "War on Poetry" has been a silly joke from the start. Tennyson? Really? Favorite poet in the whole world? While I like to spin the occasional old ragtime record and dip into the jelly jar of laudanum, I don't hold either up as shining examples for contemporary culture. I can't wait for the next Puyallup Fair where "The Stranger's Olde Timey Culture Show" will premier with Professor Mudede in his rocking chair spouting off like Andy Rooney about how much better poetry was in merry old England. How can someone who is seemingly so contemporary be so mired in retrograde poetics? Do you really wish for poetry to return to this? Nuff said doesn't quite cut it, I'm afraid.

Charles's REAL favorite poet is Public Enemy's Chuck D, but the world ain't ready to hear that.

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