Poems and Poetry
Poem is one of the important art forms of literature. There are a number of definitions of poems like Dylan Thomas said that poems made him laugh or cry while according to William Wordsworth poems are "the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." In a nutshell, poem is the easiest way to express your heart's content.
Moreover, everyone perceives it in his/her own way. Some find relief in poems, some restore to them simply for peace, while some read poems for simple aesthetic pleasure.
There are some special features of poems, which make it quite different from other forms of literature. First of all, poems have rhythmic pattern as well as should have to rhyme.
Generally most of the poems follow the same format of rhythm and rhyme. Other essential parts of poems are alliteration, assonance and consonance.
The lines are neatly kitted together so that they express a particular feeling or emotion.
Mydearvalentine.com brings to you some very fine works of english poetry, and we bet you cannot?escape before getting mesmerized.
Poems by Alexander Pushkin;
I loved you; and perhaps I love you still,
The flame, perhaps, is not extinguished; yet
It burns so quietly within my soul,
No longer should you feel distressed by it.
Silently and hopelessly I loved you,
At times too jealous and at times too shy.
God grant you find another who will love you
As tenderly and truthfully as I.
I love you - love you, e'en as I
Rage at myself for this obsession,
And as I make my shamed confession,
Despairing at your feet I lie.
I know, I know - It ill becomes me,
I am too old, time to be wise ...
But how? ... This love - it overcomes me,
A sickness this in passion's guise.
When you are near I'm filled with sadness,
When far, I yawn, for life's a bore.
I must pour out this love, this madness,
There's nothing that I long for more!
When your shirts rustle, when, my angel,
Your girlish voice I hear, when your
Light step sounds in the parlour - strangely,
I turn confused, perturbed, unsure.
Your frown - and I'm in pain, I languish;
You smile - and joy defeats distress;
My one reward for a day's anguish
Comes when your, pale hand, love, I kiss.
When you sit, bent over your sewing,
Your eaes cast down and fine curls blowing.
About your face, with tenderness
I like childlike watch, my heart o'erflowing
With love, in my gaze a caress.
Shall I my jealousy and yearning
Describe, my bitterness and woe
When by yourself on some bleak morning
Off on a distant walk you go,
Or with another spend the evening
And, with him near, the piano play,
Or for Opochka leave, or, grieving
Weep and in silence, pass the day? ...
Alina! Pray relent have mercy!
I dore not ask for love - with all
My many sins, both great and small,
I am perhaps of love unworthy! ...
But if feigned love, if you would
Prefend, you'd easily deceive me,
For happily would I, believe me,
Deceive myself if but I could!
Hymn To The Belly
By Ben Johnson
ROOM! room! make room for the bouncing Belly,
First father of sauce and deviser of jelly;
Prime master of arts and the giver of wit,
That found out the excellent engine, the spit,
The plough and the flail, the mill and the hopper,
The hutch and the boulter, the furnace and copper,
The oven, the bavin, the mawkin, the peel,
The hearth and the range, the dog and the wheel.
He, he first invented the hogshead and tun,
The gimlet and vice too, and taught 'em to run;
And since, with the funnel and hippocras bag,
He's made of himself that now he cries swag;
Which shows, though the pleasure be but of four inches,
Yet he is a weasel, the gullet that pinches
Of any delight, and not spares from his back
Whatever to make of the belly a sack.
Hail, hail, plump paunch! O the founder of taste,
For fresh meats or powdered, or pickle or paste!
Devourer of broiled, baked, roasted or sod!
And emptier of cups, be they even or odd!
All which have now made thee so wide i' the waist,
As scarce with no pudding thou art to be laced;
But eating and drinking until thou dost nod,
Thou break'st all thy girdles and break'st forth a god.
