poet

[sweetwater]

Speak not to me of yonder motley masses,
Whom but to see, puts out the fire of Song!
Hide from my view the surging crowd that passes,
And in its whirlpool forces us along!
No, lead me where some heavenly silence glasses
The purer joys that round the Poet throng,—
Where Love and Friendship still divinely fashion
The bonds that bless, the wreaths that crown his passion!
Ah, every utterance from the depths of feeling
The timid lips have stammeringly expressed,—
Now failing, now, perchance, success revealing,—
Gulps the wild Moment in its greedy breast;
Or oft, reluctant years its warrant sealing,
Its perfect stature stands at last confessed!
What dazzles, for the Moment spends its spirit:
What's genuine, shall Posterity inherit.

[Doreen Peri]

Almost flawless iambic pentameter.

Lovely verse.

[Lightning Rod]

my chapeau is off

[mtmynd]

classical styling that delivers.

nice one, sweetwater.

[K&D]

imagine i'm saying this outloud a-la surfer voice

"sweetwater, bringin da historical context to (his/her/Zi's work- way to go sweetwater"

i don't know why that had to be said a-la surfer dude but in my head thats how i would have said it outloud.

your biological male no sweetwater?

also- its always the timid lips....just like the quiet ones and those still waters.

[hester_prynne]

Indeed sweetwater, a sweet river of verse.
H