Author: Mike (81.198.70.---)
Date: 01-20-06 17:51
The former post was off topic and was removed as it was a violation of our
Great Books spirit.
These forums are being phased out & replaced. Join us at our new
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and booksliterature.com Great Books forums.
Please respect that these are Great Books sites. We far prefer
discussions along the following
The Nobel is a ticket to one\'s own funeral. No one has ever done anything after he got it.
T. S. EliotI never can feel certain of any truth but from a clear perception of its Beauty. -John Keats
O! how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give.
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour, which doth in it live.
The canker blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses.
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly
When summer\'s breath their masked buds discloses:
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwoo\'d, and unrespected fade;
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths, are sweetest odours made:
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall vade, by verse distills your truth.
Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,
And I will comment upon that offence:
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt,
Against thy reasons making no defence.
Thou canst not love disgrace me half so ill,
To set a form upon desired change,
As I\'ll myself disgrace; knowing thy will,
I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange;
Be absent from thy walks; and in my tongue
Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell,
Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrong,
And haply of our old acquaintance tell.
For thee, against my self I\'ll vow debate,
For I must ne\'er love him whom thou dost hate.