I The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat, They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five-pound note. The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar, "O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are! What a beautiful Pussy you are!"
II Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing! O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?" They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-Tree grows And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.
III "Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will." So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill. They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon, They danced by the light of the moon.
--Edward Lear, "The Owl and the Pussy-Cat"
On Oct 12, 2013, at 8:53 PM, "JOANNA A." <123hop at comcast.net> wrote:
> Tropical. Think tropical.
>
> Joanna
>
> ----- Original Message -----
> [A poet even more unfashionable than Pound, but no knives, tho' much gray, I suppose...]
>
> ...There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
> There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
> Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me---
> That ever with a frolic welcome took
> The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
> Free hearts, free foreheads---you and I are old;
> Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
> Death closes all; but something ere the end,
> Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
> Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.
> The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
> The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
> Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends.
> 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
> Push off, and sitting well in order smite
> the sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
> To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
> Of all the western stars, until I die.
> It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
> It may be that we shall touch the Happy Isles,
> And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
> Though much is taken, much abides; and though
> We are not now that strength which in old days
> Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are---
> One equal temper of heroic hearts,
> Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
> To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
>
> [from Tennyson's Ulysses, 1842]
>
>
> On Oct 12, 2013, at 6:41 PM, "JOANNA A." <123hop at comcast.net> wrote:
>
>> Yes. That's very good. But I need one with a little less gray and no sharp knives.
>>
>> Joanna
>>
>> ----- Original Message -----
>>
>> Too ashamed to say why, but does anyone happen to think of a good/short poem or
>> part of a poem that talks about sailing or sailing ships or the lure of the sea?
>>
>>
>> Thanks,
>>
>> Joanna
>>
>> *****************
>> Probably the most famous one is John Masefield's "Sea Fever": "I must go down to the sea again,...", etc.
>>
>> Ji,m
>>
>
>
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