poem read at the funeral in movie Four weddings and a funeral?
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"Funeral Blues" - W.H. Auden\n\nStop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,\nPrevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,\nSilence the pianos and with muffled drum\nBring out the coffin, let the mourners come.\n\nLet aeroplanes circle moaning overhead\nScribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.\nPut crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,\nLet the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.\n\nHe was my North, my South, my East and West,\nMy working week and my Sunday rest,\nMy noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;\nI thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.\n\nThe stars are not wanted now; put out every one,\nPack up the moon and dismantle the sun,\nPour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;\nFor nothing now can ever come to any good.
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In the poem "Music I Heard", written by Conrad Aiken, the love expressed is different. The character of the poem is a man, that is speaking about his loved one. Full of memories, he has flashbacks of when the loved one was around him and his belongings. After the loved person left, he is lonely. The memories are coming back to him in the quote (line #5), " Your hands one touched this table and this silver". He misses her and the good times they had together. He wants to have her come back to him. She is now only in his heart full of past memories.\n\nThe feeling that love brings in this poem is sadness. The sadness of missing the loved one is great. He is lonely and full of memories that still light up his hopes for having her come back. He remembers her actions and what she touched, but only the memories are left. The sadness is expressed in this quote (line # 3-4) by the character. "Now that I am without you all is desolate;/ and all that was once so beautiful is dead." He misses her a lot, and does not like things that much as he did when she was around.
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hereThe Final Flight\n\n\n\nDon't grieve for me, for now I'm free,\nI'm following the path God laid for me.\nI took his hand when I heard his call,\nI turned my back and left it all.\n\n\n\nI could not stay another day,\nTo laugh, to love, to work, to play.\nTasks left undone must stay that way,\nI've found that peace at the end of the day.\n\n\n\nIf my parting has left a void,\nThen fill it with remembered joy.\nA friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss,\nAh, yes, these things too I will miss.\n\n\n\nBe not burdened with times of sorrow,\nI wish you the sunshine of tomorrow.\nMy Life's been full, I savoured much,\nGood friends, good times, a loved one' touch.\n\n\n\nPerhaps my time seemed all too brief,\nDon't lengthen it now with undue grief.\nLift up your heart and share with me,\nGod wanted me now, He set me free.\n\n\n\nAuthor: Unknown\n\n\n is one, i will keep looking for you!
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The duke killed her. Great poem, btw.
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my favorite poem...\n\ni carry your heart with me(i carry it in\nmy heart)i am never without it(anywhere\ni go you go,my dear; and whatever is done\nby only me is your doing,my darling)\ni fear\nno fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want\nno world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)\nand it's you are whatever a moon has always meant\nand whatever a sun will always sing is you\n\nhere is the deepest secret nobody knows\n(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud\nand the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows\nhigher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)\nand this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart\n\ni carry your heart(i carry it in my heart) \n\n~ee cummings\n\nanother one that is quite good...though not really about love...\n\ni like my body when it is with your\nbody. It is so quite new a thing.\nMuscles better and nerves more.\ni like your body. i like what it does,\ni like its hows. i like to feel the spine\nof your body and its bones, and the trembling\n-firm-smooth ness and which i will\nagain and again and again\nkiss, i like kissing this and that of you,\ni like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz\nof your electric fur, and what-is-it comes\nover parting flesh ... And eyes big love-crumbs,\n\nand possibly i like the thrill\n\nof under me you so quite new \n\n~ee cummings
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SONNET 29 PARAPHRASE \nWhen, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, When I've run out of luck and people look down on me, \nI all alone beweep my outcast state All alone I lament my fate as an outcast* \nAnd trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries And pray to heaven but my cries go unheard \nAnd look upon myself and curse my fate, And look at myself, cursing my fate, \nWishing me like to one more rich in hope, Wishing I were like one* who had more hope in life \nFeatured like him, like him with friends possess'd, Wishing I looked like him; wishing I were surrounded by friends, \nDesiring this man's art and that man's scope, I desire this man's art and that man's range*, \nWith what I most enjoy contented least; I am least contented with what I used to enjoy most. \nYet in these thoughts myself almost despising, But in this mood almost despising myself, \nHaply I think on thee, and then my state, I think of you and then my state of sadness \nLike to the lark at break of day arising Like the lark at the break of day, rises \nFrom sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; From the gloomy earth and I sing hyms to heaven; \nFor thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings For thinking of your love brings such happiness to mind \nThat then I scorn to change my state with kings. That then I would not change my state with kings. \nANALYSIS\n\n\n[Line 2]* - The poet's 'outcast state' is possibly a reference to his lack of work as a player due to the closing of the theatres in 1592. It also could be a reference to the attack on Shakespeare at the hands of Robert Greene (see below). \n\n[Line 5]* - Sometimes editors report that, in lines 5 and 6, the poet is referring to his friend, likely the Earl of Southampton. However, if lines 13 and 14 are addressed to the friend, then the previous reference to the friend in lines 5 and 6 seems out of place and illogical. It makes more sense to assume that lines 5 and 6 are not addressed to one person in particular, in keeping with the later references to "this man's art" and "that man's scope". \n\n[Line 7]* - "range" = "range of opportunity". \n\nSonnet 29 shows us the poet at his most insecure and troubled. He feels himself unlucky, disgraced, and jealous of those around him. What is causing the poet's anguish one can only guess, but an examination of the circumstances surrounding his life at the time he wrote sonnet 29 could help us to understand his depression. In 1592, the London theatres closed due to a severe outbreak of the plague. Although it is possible that Shakespeare toured the outlying areas of London with acting companies like Pembroke's Men or Lord Strange's Men, it seems more likely that he left the theatre entirely during this time, possibly to work on his non-dramatic poetry. The closing of the playhouses made it hard for Shakespeare and other actors of the day to earn a living. With plague and poverty threatening his life, it is only natural that he felt "in disgrace with fortune". Moreover, in 1592 there came a scathing attack on Shakespeare by dramatist Robert Greene, who wrote in a deathbed diary: "There is an upstart crow, beautified with our feathers, that with his Tygers heart wrapt in a Players hide supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you; and, being an absolute Johannes Factotum, is in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a country." Shakespeare was deeply disturbed by this assault, feeling disgraced in "men's eyes" as well as fortune's.\n\nThe poet is so forlorn that even the passion for his profession as an actor seems to have died (8). But the sonnet ends with a positive affirmation that all is not lost -- that the poet's dear friend can compensate for the grief he feels. See the analysis of Sonnet 30 for more information.
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"Confessional poetry" is highly autobiographical, marked by irony and lyrical emotion, and often dwells on themes of madness and death.\n\nTry reading Anne Sexton or Sylvia Plath...  Robert Lowell or Hart Crane.  \n\nAll of which committed suicide.\n\nHere is one of my favorites...\n\nThe Ballad Of The Lonely Masturbator\nAnne Sexton.\n\n\nThe end of the affair is always death. \nShe's my workshop. Slippery eye, \nout of the tribe of myself my breath \nfinds you gone. I horrify \nthose who stand by. I am fed. \nAt night, alone, I marry the bed. \n\nFinger to finger, now she's mine. \nShe's not too far. She's my encounter. \nI beat her like a bell. I recline \nin the bower where you used to mount her. \nYou borrowed me on the flowered spread. \nAt night, alone, I marry the bed. \n\nTake for instance this night, my love, \nthat every single couple puts together \nwith a joint overturning, beneath, above, \nthe abundant two on sponge and feather, \nkneeling and pushing, head to head. \nAt night, alone, I marry the bed. \n\nI break out of my body this way, \nan annoying miracle. Could I \nput the dream market on display? \nI am spread out. I crucify. \nMy little plum is what you said. \nAt night, alone, I marry the bed. \n\nThen my black-eyed rival came. \nThe lady of water, rising on the beach, \na piano at her fingertips, shame \non her lips and a flute's speech. \nAnd I was the knock-kneed broom instead. \nAt night, alone, I marry the bed. \n\nShe took you the way a women takes \na bargain dress off the rack \nand I broke the way a stone breaks. \nI give back your books and fishing tack. \nToday's paper says that you are wed. \nAt night, alone, I marry the bed. \n\nThe boys and girls are one tonight. \nThey unbutton blouses. They unzip flies. \nThey take off shoes. They turn off the light. \nThe glimmering creatures are full of lies. \nThey are eating each other. They are overfed. \nAt night, alone, I marry the bed.
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Edgar Allen Poe's Lenore:\n\nLenore\n\n   Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!\n   Let the bell toll!- a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;\n   And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?- weep now or nevermore!\n   See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!\n   Come! let the burial rite be read- the funeral song be sung!-\n   An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young-\n   A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.\n\n   "Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,\n   And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her- that she died!\n   How shall the ritual, then, be read?- the requiem how be sung\n   By you- by yours, the evil eye,- by yours, the slanderous tongue\n   That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?"\n\n   Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song\n   Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong.\n   The sweet Lenore hath "gone before," with Hope, that flew beside,\n   Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy\n        bride.\n   For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies,\n   The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes\n   The life still there, upon her hair- the death upon her eyes.\n\n   "Avaunt! avaunt! from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven-\n   From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven-\n   From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of\n        Heaven!\n   Let no bell toll, then,- lest her soul, amid its hallowed mirth,\n   Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damned Earth!\n   And I!- to-night my heart is light!- no dirge will I upraise,\n   But waft the angel on her flight with a Paean of old days!"
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I dont know the poem.  But I think its beautiful.  Seems like an interesting topic, poem.
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May be at wikipedia.com and type in ..........poem
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I am so sorry to hear this. My thoughts and prayers are with your brother you and his family.\n\nDo not stand at my grave and weep\nI am not there; I do not sleep.\nI am a thousand winds that blow,\nI am the diamond glints on snow,\nI am the sun on ripened grain,\nI am the gentle autumn rain.\nWhen you awaken in the morning's hush\nI am the swift uplifting rush\nOf quiet birds in circled flight.\nI am the soft stars that shine at night.\nDo not stand at my grave and cry,\nI am not there; I did not die.
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T’is neither here nor there." - (Act IV, Scene III).\n\n"I will wear my heart upon my sleeve for daws to peck at". - (Act I, Scene I). \n\n"To mourn a mischief that is past and gone is the next way to draw new mischief on". - (Act I, Scene III).\n\n"The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief". - (Act I, Scene III).
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A Sorrow Too Deep for Tears \n a sorrow too deep for tears\na sorrow built up by fears\n\na sorrow created from a lye\na sorrow I cannot cry\n\na sorrow that just isn't fair\na sorrow that I can't bare \n\na sorrow that has scarred my mind\na sorrow that will never unwind\n\na sorrow that can't be real\na sorrow too hard to describe how I feel\n\na sorrow too deep for tears \nBy MixedEmotion17 \n\n\n© 2004 MixedEmotion17 (All rights reserved)\n \n \nor: The River, Part II \n- Too Deep for Tears\nI only hope that I can scratch the surface of the feeling behind this idea. I finally found the source for the words in the scene from A River Runs through It that I mentioned a couple weeks ago. The beauty of the language, the subject matter and the fact that the scene begins with Norman and Paul's dad (the Preacher) reading from a book led me to believe it was one of the Psalms that I didn't know. Turns out, it's a collage of verses taken from a William Wordsworth poem called "Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood".\n\nIn the movie, the scene sets up as Norman has just received a letter from the University of Chicago accepting him as an instructor and a graduate student. As he walks into the house, he hears his father in the study reading aloud:\n\nOur birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:\nThe Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, \nHath had elsewhere its setting, \nAnd cometh from afar: \nNot in entire forgetfulness, \nAnd not in utter nakedness, \nBut trailing clouds of glory do we come \nFrom God, who is our home\nNothing can bring back the hour \nNorman begins reciting some of the same lines by memory, and he and his father trade lines back and forth...\n\nOf splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; \nWe will grieve not, rather find \nStrength in what remains behind; \nIn the primal sympathy \nWhich having been must ever be; \nIn the soothing thoughts that spring \nOut of human suffering; \nIn the faith that looks through death\nThanks to the human heart by which we live, \nThanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, \nTo me the meanest flower that blows can give \nAnd they complete the last line in unison...\n\nThoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.\nThe lines used in the movie leave out a fair amount of Wordsworth's original and they have a different emphasis than the entire poem as a result. To me, the scene speaks of the ways of emotional expression among the men of the old West - the attitude that there are things that are shared with little outward emotion because the emotions are "too deep for tears". But in the mutual relationship with that poem, Norman and his father connect with each other and with their shared experience in a way that leaves no doubt of the depth of their love for each other. This scene cuts to the core of the pride of the father in a successful son and the respect and love of the son for the father's guidance in reaching that success.\n\nMy father and I went through many years of not understanding each other and not communicating well. For quite some time we didn't have anything at all to say to each other. There are good reasons for this from each of our viewpoints, even though it's a situation that we both wish could have come out differently. But in the past few years, we've both made the effort to close those gaps and put aside the old injuries. And in doing so, we can now communicate honestly and fearlessly with each other.\n\nThe last significant piece in the rebuilding of this relationship was when I finally came out to him a few months ago. He really already knew, but also knew that it was not a conversation he could force on me. More than any other of my family and friends, he was the one dropping hints about his suspicions and about being OK with it.\n\nI've expressed my amazement in a previous post about how peaceful and clear Dad has become these last few months. And
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Poem by W.H. Auden\n\nStop all the Clocks.\n\nStop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,\nPrevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,\nSilence the pianos and with muffled drum\nBring out the coffin, let the mourners come.\nLet aeroplanes...\n\nFor the rest visit...\nhttp://www.npr.org/programs/death/readings/poetry/aude.html
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Just fyi I found the poem its\n"I carry your heart" by E E Cummings
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"If" by Rudyard Kipling! Superb! \nA great poem to take you through the bad times, and make you learn more in good times!\n\n----\n\nIf you can keep your head when all about you \nAre losing theirs and blaming it on you; \nIf you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, \nBut make allowance for their doubting too; \nIf you can wait and not be tired by waiting, \nOr, being lied about, don't deal in lies, \nOr, being hated, don't give way to hating, \nAnd yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; \n\nIf you can dream - and not make dreams your master; \nIf you can think - and not make thoughts your aim; \nIf you can meet with triumph and disaster \nAnd treat those two imposters just the same; \nIf you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken \nTwisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, \nOr watch the things you gave your life to broken, \nAnd stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools; \n\nIf you can make one heap of all your winnings \nAnd risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, \nAnd lose, and start again at your beginnings \nAnd never breath a word about your loss; \nIf you can force your heart and nerve and sinew \nTo serve your turn long after they are gone, \nAnd so hold on when there is nothing in you \nExcept the Will which says to them: "Hold on"; \n\nIf you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, \nOr walk with kings - nor lose the common touch; \nIf neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; \nIf all men count with you, but none too much; \nIf you can fill the unforgiving minute \nWith sixty seconds' worth of distance run - \nYours is the Earth and everything that's in it, \nAnd - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
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Poetry which tells a story such As Eve of St.Agnes, Endymion, Paradise Lost, etc.