Readings of great or naff poems

Psalm 51 reading. Psalm 51 is a poignant expression of repentance found in the Book of Psalms. Let’s delve into its background and meaning: Authorship and Context: King David, the greatest of Israel’s kings, penned this psalm. The context revolves around David’s grave sins, including adultery, deception, and murder in his relationship with Bathsheba. The incident is recorded in 2 Samuel, chapters 11–12. The Heartfelt Confession: Raw, humble, and honest, Psalm 51 serves as David’s plea for forgiveness and cleansing. It reflects his deep remorse and desire for renewal and restoration. The psalm begins with the words: “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions” (Psalm 51:1, ESV) 1. Key Verses: Verse 2: “Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin!” Verse 10: “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” Verse 17: “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.” Model of Repentance: Both Judaism and Christianity regard David’s confession as a model for repentance. The Midrash Tehillim states that anyone who acknowledges their sin, fears, and prays to God as David did will find forgiveness 2. In summary, Psalm 51 stands as a timeless testament to human frailty, divine mercy, and the transformative power of genuine repentance. It teaches us that even in our deepest failings, we can turn to God with a broken heart and seek His forgiveness and restoration.

Ann was a hero of mine. As would be her daughter. She died pleading the case of her daughter, brother and friends. She saved her daughter. Cruelly murdered on false pretexts, in her life, the legacy of Boleyn is a protestant England and a mighty empire. === By Anne Boleyn(?) O Death, O Death, rock me asleepe, Bring me to quiet rest; Let pass my weary guiltless ghost Out of my careful breast. Toll on, thou passing bell; Ring out my doleful knell; Thy sound my death abroad will tell, For I must die, There is no remedy. My pains, my pains, who can express? Alas, they are so strong! My dolours will not suffer strength My life for to prolong. Toll on, thou passing bell; Ring out my doleful knell; Thy sound my death abroad will tell, For I must die, There is no remedy. Alone, alone in prison strong I wail my destiny: Woe worth this cruel hap that I Must taste this misery! Toll on, thou passing bell; Ring out my doleful knell; Thy sound my death abroad will tell, For I must die, There is no remedy. Farewell, farewell, my pleasures past! Welcome, my present pain! I feel my torment so increase That life cannot remain. Cease now, thou passing bell, Ring out my doleful knoll, For thou my death dost tell: Lord, pity thou my soul! Death doth draw nigh, Sound dolefully: For now I die, I die, I die.

NKJV Jude 24 25 Now to Him who is able to keep you from stumbling, And to present you faultless Before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy, To God our Savior, Who alone is wise, Be glory and majesty, Dominion and [d]power, Both now and forever. Amen.

Romans 8:17 NIV Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory. === We Are Heirs Of The Father We Are Joint-Heirs With The Son. We Are children Of His Kingdom We Are Family, We Are One.

Poem written by DDBall written 27/7/22 for Nagle's Got Talent === I was raised atheist Told of Adam and Eve, Noah and Moses I did not believe God gradually showed himself Jonah ran from God’s task He did not want his people humbled He did not want God’s favour on others God, gradually, showed himself In exile, Jews hungered for home Their best were used and humbled They begged God for help God, gradually, showed himself An entire nation rose to attack Greece Greece survived A lands bridge exists today God, gradually, showed himself Jesus was crucified and wrapped in a sheet After three days, He rose from the dead The sheet exists today. God, gradually, showed himself I found I needed God I can’t do what I want alone I prayed for help God, gradually, showed himself I had rejected God I had spat on God I now embrace God God, gradually, showed himself God, gradually, showed himself God, gradually, showed himself === Notes I chose the Greece example because it has archaeology tying in with the Bible. The Bible has it that a king took his entire nation and court with him, some 20 million to chastise a nation that had dared to resist him. Historically, we know the so called 300 Spartans held a pass and delayed a Persian invasion that would have crushed Greece. The lands bridge that the Persian built for 20 million men women and children still exists today. I chose the shroud of Turin example because I believe it to be real. The shroud is older than the patch which was carbon dated. The weave pattern is consistent with other first century examples. The reason why the image is fixed can be explained in terms of the cleaning fluids known to be used at the time. The Bible presents a good reason to believe that the shroud had been washed before Jesus’ body would have been placed in it.

The fact I cannot sing does not mean I will not William Shakespeare wrote the lyric for his play "As you like it"

"In Flanders Fields" is a war poem in the form of a rondeau, written during the First World War by Canadian physician Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae. He was inspired to write it on May 3, 1915, after presiding over the funeral of friend and fellow soldier Lieutenant Alexis Helmer, who died in the Second Battle of Ypres. According to legend, fellow soldiers retrieved the poem after McCrae, initially dissatisfied with his work, discarded it. "In Flanders Fields" was first published on December 8 of that year in the London magazine Punch. Flanders Fields is a common English name of the World War I battlefields in Belgium and France. It is one of the most quoted poems from the war. As a result of its immediate popularity, parts of the poem were used in efforts and appeals to recruit soldiers and raise money selling war bonds. Its references to the red poppies that grew over the graves of fallen soldiers resulted in the remembrance poppy becoming one of the world's most recognized memorial symbols for soldiers who have died in conflict. The poem and poppy are prominent Remembrance Day symbols throughout the Commonwealth of Nations, particularly in Canada, where "In Flanders Fields" is one of the nation's best-known literary works. The poem is also widely known in the United States, where it is associated with Veterans Day and Memorial Day. Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae (November 30, 1872 – January 28, 1918) was a Canadian poet, physician, author, artist and soldier during World War I, and a surgeon during the Second Battle of Ypres, in Belgium. He is best known for writing the famous war memorial poem "In Flanders Fields". McCrae died of pneumonia near the end of the war. In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie, In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. AUAWN1230421

"Suicide in the Trenches" is one of the many poems the English poet Siegfried Sassoon (1886–1967) composed in response to World War I, reflecting his own notable service in that especially bloody conflict. Sassoon was a brave and gallant upper-class officer who eventually opposed the war, but he never lost his admiration for the common soldiers who had to fight it. Sassoon felt contempt for the political leaders and civilian war hawks who, safe in their power and comfort, sent young men off to die in huge battles that seemed futile and pointless. It was first published February 23, 1918 in Cambridge Magazine, then in Sassoon's collection: Counter-Attack and Other Poems. The poem is written in iambic tetrameter and consists of twelve lines in three stanzas. The poem exemplifies the sensibility of war poets in "avoid[ing] sentimentality and self-pity while describing the realities of war". It tells of the suicide of a young man sent off to war and attacks the "'smug-faced' crowds who greet the returning soldiers". This is one of the poems referenced when Copp states, "It was with poems like these that Sassoon, more than any other trench poet writing in English, brought home to an uninformed public the true reality of the ghastly nature of the war." https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suicide_in_the_Trenches === I knew a simple soldier boy Who grinned at life in empty joy, Slept soundly through the lonesome dark, And whistled early with the lark. In winter trenches, cowed and glum, With crumps and lice and lack of rum, He put a bullet through his brain. No one spoke of him again. You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye Who cheer when soldier lads march by, Sneak home and pray you'll never know The hell where youth and laughter go. === AUAWN1110321

A Bruce Dawe Poem. One of my first putting images to with my reading. Ghost liked it and added his sound track Blood Pressure AUAWN0823110 Bruce Dawe wrote this circa 1956. Materialism was big during the Melbourne Olympics of '56 which saw the intro of TV to Australia. === enter without so much as knocking Memento, homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris. (Epigraph: Remember, man, that thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return.) Blink, blink. HOSPITAL. SILENCE. Ten days old, carried in the front door in his mother's arms, first thing he heard was Bobby Dazzler on Channel 7: Hello, hello hello all you lucky people and he really was lucky because it didn't mean a thing to him then... A year or two to settle in and get acquainted with the set-up; like every other well-equipped smoothly-run household, his included one economy-size Mum, one Anthony Squires- Coolstream-Summerweight Dad, along with two other kids straight off the Junior Department rack. When Mom won the Luck's-A-Fortch Tricky-Tune Quiz she took him shopping in the good-as-new station-wagon (£ 495 dep. at Reno's). Beep, beep. WALK. DON'T WALK. TURN LEFT. NO PARKING. WAIT HERE. NO SMOKING. KEEP CLEAR/OUT/OFF GRASS. NO BREATHING EXCEPT BY ORDER. BEWARE OF THIS. WATCH OUT FOR THAT. My God (beep) the congestion here just gets (beep) worse every day, now what the (beep beep) does that idiot think he's doing (beep beep and BEEP). However, what he enjoyed most of all was when they went to the late show at the local drive-in, on a clear night and he could see (beyond the fifty-foot screen where giant faces forever snarled screamed or make incomprehensible and monstrous love) a pure unadulterated fringe of sky, littered with stars no-one had got around to fixing up yet: he'd watch them circling about in luminous groups like kids at the circus who never go quite close enough to the elephant to get kicked. Anyway, pretty soon he was old enough to be realistic like every other godless money-hungry back-stabbing miserable so-and-so, and then it was goodbye stars and the soft cry in the corner when no-one was looking because I'm telling you straight, Jim, it's Number One every time for this chicken, hit wherever you see a head and kick whoever's down, well thanks for a lovely evening Clare, it's good to get away from it all once in a while, I mean it's a real battle all the way and a man can't help but feel a little soiled, himself, at times, you know what I mean? Now take it easy on those curves, Alice, for God's sake, I've had enough for one night, with that Clare Jessup, hey, ease up, will you, watch it -- Probity & Sons, Morticians, did a really first-class job on his face (everyone was very pleased) even adding a healthy tan he'd never had, living, gave him back for keeps the old automatic smile with nothing behind it, winding the whole show up with a nice ride out to the underground metropolis permanent residentials, no parking tickets, no taximeters ticking, no Bobby Dazzlers here, no down payments, nobody grieving over halitosis flat feet, shrinking gums, falling hair. Six feet down nobody interested. Blink, blink. CEMETERY. Silence.

"Ginger Mick was a likeable rogue who, before he answered the call to arms to defend democracy, sold fresh rabbits in the streets of Melbourne. This book by CJ Dennis tells of his tender love for Rose and his experiences at war in North Africa. The verse is full of humour and pathos and truly captures the spirit of the era. Contents: INTRODUCTION I. DUCK AN' FOWL II. WAR III. THE CALL OF STOUSH IV. THE PUSH V. SARI BAIR VI. GINGER'S COBBER VII. THE SINGING SOLDIERS VIII. IN SPADGER'S LANE IX. THE STRAIGHT GRIFFIN X. A LETTER TO THE FRONT XI. RABBITS XII. TO THE BOYS WHO TOOK THE COUNT XIII. THE GAME XIV. "A GALLANT GENTLEMAN" I suppose you sometimes dream, Bill, in between the scraps out there, Of the land you left behind you when you sailed to do your share: Of Collins-street, or Rundle-street, or Pitt, or George, or Hay, Of the land beyond the Murray, or "along the Castlereagh." And I guess you dream of old days and the things you used to do, And you wonder how 'twill strike you when you've seen this business through, And you try to count your chances when you've finished with the Turk, And swap the gaudy war game for a spell of plain, drab work. Well, Bill, you know just how it is these early days of Spring, When the gilding of the wattle throws a glow on everything. The olden days, the golden days that you remember well, In spite o' war and worry, Bill, are with us for a spell. For the green is on the paddocks, and the sap is in the trees. And the bush birds in the gullies sing the ole, sweet melodies; And we're hoping, as we hearken, that when next the Springtime comes You'll be with us here to listen to that bird-talk in the gums. It's much the same old Springtime, Bill, you recollect of yore; Boronia and daffodils and wattle blooms once more Sling sweetness over city streets, and seem to put to shame The cult of greed and butchery that got you on this game. The same old,sweet September days, and much the same old place; Yet, there's a subtle something, Bill, upon each passing face: A thing that cannot be defined; a look that you put there The day you lobbed upon the beach and charged at Sari Bair. It isn't that we're boasting, lad; we've done with most of that - The froth, the cheers, the flapping flags, the wildy waving hat. Such things are childish memories; we blush to have them told; For we have seen our wounded, Bill, and it has made us old. Nor with a weary child's regret, not with a braggard's pride, But with a grown youth's calm resolve we've laid our toys aside. And it wus you that taught us, Bill, upon that fateful day, That we at last had grown too old for everlasting play. And, as a grown man dreams at times of boyhood days gone by, So shall we, when the mood is here, for carefree childhood sigh. But, as a clean youth looks out on life, clear-visioned and serene, So may we gaze, and ever strive to make our mandood clean. When all the strife is over, Bill, there yet is work to do; And in the bloodless fights to come we shall be needing you. We will be needing you the more for what you've seen and done, For you were born a Builder, lad, and we have just begun. There's been a deal of talk, old mate, of what we owe to you, of what you've braved and done for us, and what we mean to do. We've hailed you as a heroe, Bill, and talked Of just reward, When you have done the job you're at, and laid aside the sword. I guess it makes you think a bit, and weigh this gaudy praise; For even heroes have to eat, and - there are other days: The days to come when we no more need stalwart sons to fight, When the wild excitement's over, and the Leeuwin looms in sight. Then there's another fight to fight, and you will find it tough To doff the khaki for a suit of plain civilian stuff. When all the cheering dies away and hero-worship wanes, You'll have to face the old drab life and fight for other gains; For still your land will need you, as she needs each sturdy son. To fight the fight that never knows the firing of a gun - The quiet fight, the steady fight, when you shall prove your worth, And milk a cow on Yarra Flats or drive a quill in Perth. The gold is on the wattle, Bill; the sap is on the trees, And the bush-birds in the gullies sing the old, sweet melodies; There's a good, green land awaiting you when you come home again To swing a pick at Broken Hill or ride Yarrowie Plain. The streets are gay with daffodils, but, haggard in the sun. A wounded soldier passes; and we know old days are done. For down, deep down inside our hearts, is something you put there The day you landed on the beach and charged at Sari Bair. "Den" Bulletin 23 September 1915, p6 This poem was later published in The Moods of Ginger Mick with the same title but a different emphasis - basically this version shows the letter as being written by Ginger Mick, whereas the book version has it written to Ginger Mick by Bill (the Sentimental Bloke). In addition an entirely new first verse has been added in the book version. This poem was also published in: Favourite Poems of C.J. Dennis

The Pilgrim By John Bunyan https://www.poetryoutloud.org/poem/the-pilgrim/ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/To_Be_a_Pilgrim === AUAWN0413421 === Who would true Valour see Let him come hither; One here will Constant be, Come Wind, come Weather. There’s no Discouragement, Shall make him once Relent, His first avow’d Intent, To be a Pilgrim. Who so beset him round, With dismal Storys, Do but themselves Confound; His Strength the more is. No Lyon can him fright, He’l with a Gyant Fight, But he will have a right, To be a Pilgrim. Hobgoblin, nor foul Fiend, Can daunt his Spirit: He knows, he at the end, Shall Life Inherit. Then Fancies fly away, He’l fear not what men say, He’l labour Night and Day, To be a Pilgrim. === Preacher and writer John Bunyan was born near Bedford in Elstow, England. Bunyan’s Puritan religious conversion, the central event of his life, was marked by an inner voice reciting Scripture, at times reassuring in its promise of salvation, and at times ominous in its threat of damnation. Bunyan came to believe that a greater appreciation of the weight of one’s sin corresponded to greater attention from God, and began to preach in a Baptist congregation. In 1660 the Stuart monarchy was reinstated, outlawing proselytizing by anyone not ordained by the Church of England. Bunyan was jailed for most of the following 12 years, which enabled him to devote himself to his writing.

The Midnight Skaters Edmund Blunden https://allpoetry.com/The-Midnight-Skaters The hop-poles stand in cones, The icy pond lurks under, The pole-tops steeple to the thrones Of stars, sound gulfs of wonder; But not the tallest thee, 'tis said, Could fathom to this pond's black bed. Then is not death at watch Within those secret waters? What wants he but to catch Earth's heedless sons and daughters? With but a crystal parapet Between, he has his engines set. Then on, blood shouts, on, on, Twirl, wheel and whip above him, Dance on this ball-floor thin and wan, Use him as though you love him; Court him, elude him, reel and pass, And let him hate you through the glass. === AUAWN0413321 === Blunden returned to England in 1927. where he returned to military service as a staff member of the Oxford Training Corps and enjoyed his most productive period as an essayist and prose writer, publishing On the Poems of Henry Vaughn (1927), Leigh Hunt’s “Examiner” Examined (1928), and Nature in English Literature (1929), a volume in Leonard and Virginia Woolf’s Hogarth Lectures on English Literature series. Nature in English Literature is much more than literary criticism; it is Blunden’s lay sermon on nature, his affirmation of faith in the spirit of the English countryside, and his argument for the inseparability of English literature from the Englishman’s love of nature. To Blunden, remarks Fussell, “the countryside is magical. It is as precious as English literature, with which indeed it is almost identical. ... To Blunden, both the countryside and English literature are ‘alive,’ and both have ‘feelings.’” https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/edmund-blunden

Dying Speech of an Old Philosopher BY WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44562/dying-speech-of-an-old-philosopher#:~:text=I%20strove%20with%20none%2C%20for,I%20am%20ready%20to%20depart.

The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against Fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings: Sceptre and Crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow; Then boast no more your mighty deeds! Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor-victim bleeds. Your heads must come To the cold tomb: Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in their dust. === AUAWN0412321 https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56372/the-glories-of-our-blood-and-state

poem 'When the Lamp is Shattered' Percy Bysshe Shelley - 1792-1822 === https://poets.org/poem/lines-when-lamp-shattered AUAWN0412421 I When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead— When the cloud is scattered The rainbow's glory is shed. When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remembered not; When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot. II As music and splendor Survive not the lamp and the lute, The heart's echoes render No song when the spirit is mute:— No song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruined cell, Or the mournful surges That ring the dead seaman's knell. III When hearts have once mingled Love first leaves the well-built nest; The weak one is singled To endure what it once possessed. O Love! who bewailest The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier? IV Its passions will rock thee As the storms rock the ravens on high; Bright reason will mock thee, Like the sun from a wintry sky. From thy nest every rafter Will rot, and thine eagle home Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come.

The fact I cannot sing does not mean I will not === https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47423/song-under-the-greenwood-tree https://youtu.be/QpqqIpvkAu4 === Song: “Under the greenwood tree” BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (from As You Like It) Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. AUAWN0322221

A reverse poem by anonymous AUAWN0312121

A reverse poem by Anonymous AUAWN0311121

The fact I cannot sing does not mean I will not === From William Shakespeare's Much ado about Nothing Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never. Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into hey nonny, nonny. Sing no more ditties, sing no more Of dumps so dull and heavy. The fraud of men was ever so Since summer first was leafy. Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into hey, nonny, nonny. === https://youtu.be/8Sm6uoJTS3I https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50653/song-sigh-no-more-ladies-sigh-no-more

“Demons run when a good man goes to war Night will fall and drown the sun When a good man goes to war Friendship dies and true love lies Night will fall and the dark will rise When a good man goes to war Demons run, but count the cost The battle's won, but the child is lost” AUAWN0126221 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Good_Man_Goes_to_War https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/399840-demons-run-when-a-good-man-goes-to-war-night#:~:text=Quotes%20%3E%20Quotable%20Quote-,%E2%80%9CDemons%20run%20when%20a%20good%20man%20goes%20to%20war,fall%20and%20drown%20the%20sun&text=Demons%20run%2C%20but%20count%20the,but%20the%20child%20is%20lost%E2%80%9D

I saw this on Beer and Blood, a German tv miniseries on Octoberfest. Fanny zu Reventlow recites it in the series === I grew tall Over man and animal And I speak Nobody speaks to me I grew too lonely And too tall I wait What am I waiting for The clouds to me are too close I wait Wait Wait For the first blaze === http://www.thenietzschechannel.com/poetry/poetry-dual.htm Pinie und Blitz (1882) Pine and Lightning (1882) This poem (see Nachlass, Sommer-Herbst 1882 3[2]) was written just prior to Nietzsche's Also sprach Zarathustra, 1 (Thus Spoke Zarathustra, 1). It eventually found its way into the book — in a different form — in the chapter, "Vom Baum am Berge" (On the Tree on the Mountainside). In this chapter, Zarathustra advises a dismayed youth who is sitting against a tree, which Zarathustra then anthropomorphizes: "Dieser Baum steht einsam hier am Gebirge; er wuchs hoch hinweg über Mensch und Thier. (This tree stands lonely here in the mountains; he grew high above man and beast.) / Und wenn er reden wollte, er würde Niemanden haben, der ihn verstünde: so hoch wuchs er. (And if he wanted to talk, he would have no one who could understand him: so tall has he grown.) / Nun wartet er und wartet, — worauf wartet er doch? Er wohnt dem Sitze der Wolken zu nahe: er wartet wohl auf den ersten Blitz?" (Now he waits and waits, — yet what is he waiting for? He dwells too close to the seat of the clouds: perhaps he waits for the first lightning?) Hoch wuchs ich über Mensch und Tier; Und sprech' ich — niemand spricht mit mir. Over man and animal, I grew too tall; Now when I speak — no one speaks with me at all. Zu einsam wuchs ich und zu hoch — Ich warte: worauf wart' ich doch? I grew too high and too lonely — I wait: on what do I wait only? Zu nah ist mir der Wolken Sitz, — Ich warte auf den ersten Blitz. Close by, the clouds are sitting: I wait on the first lightning. — Translation by The Nietzsche Channel © 2000. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Friedrich_Nietzsche AUAWN0110321

There are seven parts to this poem. Samuel Taylor Coleridge made this story about a journey by sea to be spiritual, rather than real. A story within a story, an old mariner detains a groom on his wedding day and regales him with a story of the Mariner's disturbing journey, where the Mariner killed an Albatross and so cursed (or damned) the crew to death in strange waters. The Mariner gets back home, but must tell his story to others. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Rime_of_the_Ancient_Mariner AUAWN1231420 === 'I fear thee, ancient Mariner! I fear thy skinny hand! And thou art long, and lank, and brown, As is the ribbed sea-sand. I fear thee and thy glittering eye, And thy skinny hand, so brown.'— Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest! This body dropt not down. Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony. The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I. I looked upon the rotting sea, And drew my eyes away; I looked upon the rotting deck, And there the dead men lay. I looked to heaven, and tried to pray; But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came, and made My heart as dry as dust. I closed my lids, and kept them close, And the balls like pulses beat; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky Lay dead like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet. The cold sweat melted from their limbs, Nor rot nor reek did they: The look with which they looked on me Had never passed away. An orphan's curse would drag to hell A spirit from on high; But oh! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die. The moving Moon went up the sky, And no where did abide: Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside— Her beams bemocked the sultry main, Like April hoar-frost spread; But where the ship's huge shadow lay, The charmèd water burnt alway A still and awful red. Beyond the shadow of the ship, I watched the water-snakes: They moved in tracks of shining white, And when they reared, the elfish light Fell off in hoary flakes. Within the shadow of the ship I watched their rich attire: Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coiled and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire. O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I blessed them unaware: Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I blessed them unaware. The self-same moment I could pray; And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea.

Bible reading for the wedding of some friends. With significant pauses. The marriage went well, with one hitch. === Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 (New International Version) Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up! Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken. http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=ecclesiastes%204:9-12&version=NIV

There are seven parts to this poem. Samuel Taylor Coleridge made this story about a journey by sea to be spiritual, rather than real. A story within a story, an old mariner detains a groom on his wedding day and regales him with a story of the Mariner's disturbing journey, where the Mariner killed an Albatross and so cursed (or damned) the crew to death in strange waters. The Mariner gets back home, but must tell his story to others. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Rime_of_the_Ancient_Mariner AUAWN1231220 === The Sun now rose upon the right: Out of the sea came he, Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea. And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariner's hollo! And I had done a hellish thing, And it would work 'em woe: For all averred, I had killed the bird That made the breeze to blow. Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay, That made the breeze to blow! Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, The glorious Sun uprist: Then all averred, I had killed the bird That brought the fog and mist. 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, That bring the fog and mist. The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, The furrow followed free; We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea. Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 'Twas sad as sad could be; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea! All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink. The very deep did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea. About, about, in reel and rout The death-fires danced at night; The water, like a witch's oils, Burnt green, and blue and white. And some in dreams assurèd were Of the Spirit that plagued us so; Nine fathom deep he had followed us From the land of mist and snow. And every tongue, through utter drought, Was withered at the root; We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot. Ah! well a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung.

Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron Tennyson, FRS (6 August 1809 -- 6 October 1892), much better known as "Alfred, Lord Tennyson," was Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom during much of Queen Victoria's reign and remains one of the most popular poets in the English language.