Author: molika (---.red.bezeqint.net)
Date: 11-09-02 05:36
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
registration-only forums at:
jollyrogerwest.com Great Books forums,
and booksliterature.com Great Books forums.
Please respect that these are Great Books sites. We far prefer
discussions along the following
How wonderful yellow is. It stands for the sun.
Vincent Van Gogh
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin\'d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see\'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death\'s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see\'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed, whereon it must expire,
Consum\'d with that which it was nourish\'d by.
This thou perceiv\'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.
Henry David Thoreau
To reget deeply is to live afresh.
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it, for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O! if,--I say you look upon this verse,
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse;
But let your love even with my life decay;
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And mock you with me after I am gone.