I will be offline until the middle of July as we will be in Southern France in search of warmer weather! Have fun and don't hide all the toys whilst I'm away!

bleachededen wrote:

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men

I can only think of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, and what the tinker says to Charlie while he's looking at the closed gates of the Wonka factory. I never knew where the quote came from, and now I do, and it made me happy. I love this forum.

I'm glad you love it. What a memory for a quote; either that or you've see WW many times.

316. "The Scholar Gypsy," by Matthew Arnold. Is this another "mention-only" poem? Probably should be. It's long, for one thing, and for another reads like a very mannered, latter-day pastoral. I love Arnold's "Dover Beach," and once even read and almost enjoyed his rather massive "Empedocles on Etna," but I don't do so well with his scholar gypsy. Don't let me discourage you. Here's a taste--the first stanza:

GO, for they call you, Shepherd, from the hill;
Go, Shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes:
No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed,
Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats,
Nor the cropp'd grasses shoot another head. 5
But when the fields are still,
And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest,
And only the white sheep are sometimes seen
Cross and recross the strips of moon-blanch'd green;
Come Shepherd, and again begin the quest.

I do hope there's a future for longer poems, both old ones that live on and new ones. If poetry becomes confined to shorter lyrics, I fear it becomes a more minor literary form, having more the status of song lyrics. Once upon a time poetry could do anything.

315. "I Hear America Singing," by Walt Whitman.

I HEAR America singing, the varied carols I hear;
Those of mechanics—each one singing his, as it should be, blithe and strong;
The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work;
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat—the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck; 5
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench—the hatter singing as he stands;
The wood-cutter’s song—the ploughboy’s, on his way in the morning, or at the noon intermission, or at sundown;
The delicious singing of the mother—or of the young wife at work—or of the girl sewing or washing—Each singing what belongs to her, and to none else;
The day what belongs to the day—At night, the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious songs. 10

DWill wrote:I'm glad you love it. What a memory for a quote; either that or you've see WW many times.

Both. I have seen WW probably more times than anyone else in the world, but I also remember quotes almost immediately after having seen a movie. I can also recognize pieces of music by one or two notes. My mother always said I "have a good ear," and I'm very much an aural learner, which is why reading poetry aloud not only comes naturally, but also helps me remember it.

But anyway. Moving on...

314. "The Jumblies," by Edward Lear

I

They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all their friends could say,
On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,
In a Sieve they went to sea!
And when the Sieve turned round and round,
And every one cried, 'You'll all be drowned!'
They called aloud, 'Our Sieve ain't big,
But we don't care a button! we don't care a fig!
In a Sieve we'll go to sea!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.


II

They sailed away in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a beautiful pea-green veil
Tied with a riband by way of a sail,
To a small tobacco-pipe mast;
And every one said, who saw them go,
'O won't they be soon upset, you know!
For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long,
And happen what may, it's extremely wrong
In a Sieve to sail so fast!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.


III

The water it soon came in, it did,
The water it soon came in;
So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet
In a pinky paper all folded neat,
And they fastened it down with a pin.
And they passed the night in a crockery-jar,
And each of them said, 'How wise we are!
Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,
Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,
While round in our Sieve we spin!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.


IV

And all night long they sailed away;
And when the sun went down,
They whistled and warbled a moony song
To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,
In the shade of the mountains brown.
'O Timballo! How happy we are,
When we live in a Sieve and a crockery-jar,
And all night long in the moonlight pale,
We sail away with a pea-green sail,
In the shade of the mountains brown!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.


V

They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,
To a land all covered with trees,
And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart,
And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart,
And a hive of silvery Bees.
And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws,
And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws,
And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,
And no end of Stilton Cheese.
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.


VI

And in twenty years they all came back,
In twenty years or more,
And every one said, 'How tall they've grown!
For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,
And the hills of the Chankly Bore!'
And they drank their health, and gave them a feast
Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast;
And every one said, 'If we only live,
We too will go to sea in a Sieve,---
To the hills of the Chankly Bore!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

I LOVED this poem SO VERY, VERY MUCH when I was a child. It was in the same anthology as "Wynken, Blynken, and Nod," and I am amazed and delighted at how much the 500 list is taking me down memory lane!

Sometimes, at random points throughout my day, I will, for no reason whatsoever, think of the word "sieve," and logically, the next words I hear are "They went to sea in a sieve, they did, they went to sea in a sieve." And every time I hear the word sieve for whatever other reason it is used, the poem comes back then, as well. Oh, how I loved it!

In the book we had the pictures that went along with this poem, showing little green children with strange and smiling faces sailing in a sieve and carrying their cart on an island always made me a bit nervous, but it was one of my most favorite of all poems, and was toward the back of the book, and I would always rush past the other poems to get to this one, and made my father read it to me over and over, night after night. What a small world it is that my most beloved childhood memories are coming back to me via an online book forum!

313. "Paul Revere's Ride," by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. It was once considered suitable to deliver history lessons in rhyme. No longer, but it's surprising how well this approach makes facts stick in the mind, especially of school children.
http://poetry.eserver.org/paul-revere.html

312. "To Night," By Percy Bysshe Shelley

Swiftly walk over the western wave,
Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear, -
Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle grey,
Star-inwrought!
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day,
Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand -
Come, long-sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn,
I sighed for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sighed for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried
`Wouldst thou me?'
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noontide bee
`Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me?' -And I replied
`No, not thee!'

Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon -
Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, beloved Night -
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon!

311. "The Burial of Sir john Moore After Corunna," by Charles Wolfe

NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the rampart we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.

We buried him darkly at dead of night, 5
The sods with our bayonets turning,
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light
And the lanthorn dimly burning.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast,
Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him; 10
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest
With his martial cloak around him.

Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, 15
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

We thought, as we hollow'd his narrow bed
And smooth'd down his lonely pillow,
That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,
And we far away on the billow! 20

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that 's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him—
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

But half of our heavy task was done 25
When the clock struck the hour for retiring;
And we heard the distant and random gun
That the foe was sullenly firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the field of his fame fresh and gory; 30
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone,
But we left him alone with his glory.

Paul Revere's Ride was a deliberate attempt to create an American hero by Longfellow. He took some liberties and ignored the fact that there were others who rode that same night. Still, it worked, until then Revere was not known for much beyond great engraving and silversmithing. He also got the lamps mixed up, or perhaps it just didn't fit poetically if it were two if by land and one if by sea.

Anyway it is a beloved memory from my childhood, my parents would read us poetry from anthology books, AND New England LOVES Revolutionary history anyway, since so much of it happened in our backyards.

Thanks. I'll have to take a look at the book again, but I remember Malcolm Gladwell talking about Revere in "The Tipping Point." I believe Gladwell says that Revere did become well known for his ride, whereas the others were forgotten. Gladwell explains this in terms of Revere being one of those people who are at the center of a large network, well-connected politically and socially. So what he did that night became magnified in importance.

A couple of nice poems from Leigh Hunt, contemporary of John Keats.

310. "Abou Ben Adhem"

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold: -
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said
"What writest thou?" -The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still, and said "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

309. "Jenny Kissed Me"

Jenny kiss'd me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
Say that health and wealth have miss'd me,
Say I'm growing old, but add,
Jenny kiss'd me.