St. Patrick's Day

Ölümünü kutluyoruz.

 

The Grave of Keats - Oscar Wilde

Rid of the world's injustice, and his pain,

He rests at last beneath God's veil of blue.

Taken from life when life and love were new

The youngest of the martyrs here is lain,

    Fair as Sebastian, and as early slain.

    No cypress shades his grave, no funeral yew,

    But gentle violets weeping with the dew

Weave on his bones an ever-blossoming chain.

O proudest heart that broke for misery !

    O sweetest lips since those of Mitylene !

    O poet-painter of our English Land !

Thy name was writ in water - it shall stand :

    And tears like mine will keep thy memory green,

As Isabella did her Basil-tree.

ROME

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock - Thomas Stearns Eliot

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma percioche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

 

The Sick Rose - William Blake

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy;
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy

In Society - Allen Ginsberg

I walked into the cocktail party
room and found three or four queers
talking together in queertalk.
I tried to be friendly but heard

myself talking to one in hiptalk.

"I;m glad to see you," he said, and

looked away. "Hmn," I mused. The room

was small and had a double-decker

bed in it, and cooking apparatus:

icebox, cabinet, toasters, stove;

the hosts seemed to live with room

enough only for cooking and sleeping.

My remark on this score was understood

but not appreciated. I was

offered refreshments, which I accepted.

I ate a sandwich of pure meat; an

enormous sandwich of human flesh,

I noticed, while I was chewing on it,

it also included a dirty asshole.

More company came, including a

fluffy female who looked like

a princess. She glared at me and

said immediately: "I don't like you,"

turned her head away, and refused

to be introduced. I said, "What!"

in outrage. "Why you shit-faced fool!"

This got everybody's attention.

"Why you narcissistic bitch! How

can you decide when you don't even

know me," I continued in a violent

and messianic voice, inspired at

last, dominating the whole room

Endymion - Book 1

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:

Its loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing

A flowery band to bind us to the earth,

Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth

Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,

Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways

Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,

Some shape of beauty moves away the pall

From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,

Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon

For simple sheep; and such are daffodils

With the green world they live in; and clear rills

That for themselves a cooling covert make

'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,

Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:

And such too is the grandeur of the dooms

We have imagined for the mighty dead;

All lovely tales that we have heard or read;

An endless fountain of immortal drink,

Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.

...

John Keats

The Divine Image - William Blake

To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love

All pray in their distress;

And to these virtues of delight

Return their thankfulness.

For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love

Is God, our father dear,

And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love

Is Man, his child and care.

For Mercy has a human heart,

Pity a human face,

And Love, the human form divine,

And Peace, the human dress.

Then every man, of every clime,

That prays in his distress,

Prays to the human form divine,

Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.

And all must love the human form,

In heathen, Turk, or Jew;

Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell

There God is dwelling too.