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Favourite Poems or Sayings

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ProfilePosted byOptionsPost Date


SpanishEyes Report 10 Feb 2011 10:23

I am back home now for good, have formally retired so can hopefully restart this thread. i am trying to recall a wonderful poem by Christina Rosetti about a rose. Can anyone help please, and if so please add it to this thread. Have also been wondering if there are some favourite Romantic poems which we could start seeing that we are heading towards valentines day.

I will keep looking to see if anyone replies..I do hope so because it started with such hope



Mauatthecoast Report 10 Feb 2011 11:27

The Rose
by Christina Georgina Rossetti

O Rose, thou flower of flowers, thou fragrant wonder,
Who shall describe thee in thy ruddy prime;
Thy perfect fulness in the summer time;
When the pale leaves blushingly part asunder
And show the warm red heart lies glowing under?
Thou shouldst bloom surely in some sunny clime,
Untouched by blights and chilly Winter's rime,
Where lightninggs never flash, nor peals the thunder.
And yet in happier spheres they cannot need thee
So much as we do with our weight of woe;
Perhaps they would not tend, perhaps not need thee,
And thou wouldst lonely and neglected grow;
And He Who is All-Wise, He hath decreed thee

Have a happy retirement Bridget
Mau x

☺Carol in Dulwich☺

☺Carol in Dulwich☺ Report 10 Feb 2011 11:47

Night Mail
This is the Night Mail crossing the border,
Bringing the cheque and the postal order,
Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,
The shop at the corner and the girl next door.
Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb:
The gradient's against her, but she's on time.
Past cotton-grass and moorland boulder
Shovelling white steam over her shoulder,
Snorting noisily as she passes
Silent miles of wind-bent grasses.

Birds turn their heads as she approaches,
Stare from the bushes at her blank-faced coaches.
Sheep-dogs cannot turn her course;
They slumber on with paws across.
In the farm she passes no one wakes,
But a jug in the bedroom gently shakes.

Dawn freshens, the climb is done.
Down towards Glasgow she descends
Towards the steam tugs yelping down the glade of cranes,
Towards the fields of apparatus, the furnaces
Set on the dark plain like gigantic chessmen.
All Scotland waits for her:
In the dark glens, beside the pale-green sea lochs
Men long for news.

Letters of thanks, letters from banks,
Letters of joy from the girl and the boy,
Receipted bills and invitations
To inspect new stock or visit relations,
And applications for situations
And timid lovers' declarations
And gossip, gossip from all the nations,
News circumstantial, news financial,
Letters with holiday snaps to enlarge in,
Letters with faces scrawled in the margin,
Letters from uncles, cousins, and aunts,
Letters to Scotland from the South of France,
Letters of condolence to Highlands and Lowlands
Notes from overseas to Hebrides
Written on paper of every hue,
The pink, the violet, the white and the blue,
The chatty, the catty, the boring, adoring,
The cold and official and the heart's outpouring,
Clever, stupid, short and long,
The typed and the printed and the spelt all wrong.

Thousands are still asleep
Dreaming of terrifying monsters,
Or of friendly tea beside the band at Cranston's or Crawford's:
Asleep in working Glasgow, asleep in well-set Edinburgh,
Asleep in granite Aberdeen,
They continue their dreams,
And shall wake soon and long for letters,
And none will hear the postman's knock
Without a quickening of the heart,
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?
-- W H Auden

☺Carol in Dulwich☺

☺Carol in Dulwich☺ Report 10 Feb 2011 11:56

I remember this from School in the 1950's


QUINQUIREME of Nineveh from distant Ophir,
Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,
With a cargo of ivory,
And apes and peacocks,
Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,
Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,
With a cargo of diamonds,
Emeralds, amythysts,
Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.

Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack,
Butting through the Channel in the mad March days,
With a cargo of Tyne coal,
Road-rails, pig-lead,
Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.

John Masefield

☺Carol in Dulwich☺

☺Carol in Dulwich☺ Report 10 Feb 2011 12:09


Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.


BarneyKent Report 10 Feb 2011 12:13

A Daffodil. (A.A. Milne).

She wore her yellow sun-bonnet,
She wore her greenest gown;
She turned to the south wind
And curtsied up and down.
She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbour:
"Winter is dead."


Janet Report 10 Feb 2011 14:17

Three weeks ago I became a grandma again to my first grand daughter and this poem kept going through my mind. I wrote it in a school book when I was about 6. With the benefit of the internet I have found it again as I didn't know who had written it.
As a child it seemed such a lovely thought that this grandma would have lollipops ( not that I would be allowed to give them, thinking about the teeth- lol-) and Banbury Cakes, not that I know what they are, but they sounded very nice to me as a child.

The Cupboard


Walter de la Mare (1873 -1956)

I know a little cupboard
With a teeny tiny key,
And there's a jar of Lollypops
For me, me, me.

It has a little shelf, my dear,
As dark as dark can be,
And there's a dish of Banbury Cakes
For me, me, me.

I have a small fat grandmama
With a very slippery knee,
And she's the Keeper of the Cupboard
With the key, key, key.

And when I'm very good my dear
As good as good can be,
There's Banbury Cakes and Lollypops
For me, me, me.


Jeanette Report 10 Feb 2011 15:03

I love Nigglynellies favourie poem The Life That I have,I expect she knows that it was written for Violette Szabo a British spy who was executed by the Nazis which makes it even more sad,sorry folks.
I love poetry and two of my favourites are I Remember,I Remember by Thomas Hood and The Late Passenger by C.S.Lewis


SpanishEyes Report 10 Feb 2011 15:38

Wow! what a great response from everyone, thank you. Jeanette please post you two favourite poetry pieces to share with us all.

I have just come home from shopping and having lunch out, the weather has improved quite a lot and the sun is shining. We had a typical Spanish lunch of 4 or 5 courses and I admit to having 2 large G&Ts as well.

I will look through my books of favourite poems and see what I can post before the day ends.
Bye for now from



MillymollyAmanda Report 10 Feb 2011 15:56

I remember learning this one years ago .

I'am sitting on the door step and i'am eating bread and jam
and i arn't a crying really tho i specks you think i am,

I'am feeling rather lonely and i don't know what to do
cos there's no one here to play with and i've broke my hoop into,

I can hear the others playing but they says they don't want me
cos my legs are rather little and i run so slow you see,

So i'am sitting on the door step and i'am eating bread and jam
and i arn't a crying really tho it feels as if i am .

By ??


Janet Report 10 Feb 2011 16:05

This is from a book called 'The Littlest One' by Marion St John Adcock, published by George G Harrap in 1919.
.....oh that internet........jle


MillymollyAmanda Report 10 Feb 2011 16:14

Yes ,now that rings a bell ....The Littlest One !!

Thank you Janet


LilyL Report 10 Feb 2011 18:20

I found this quotation written by my mother on the back of a photo of my father which I found very moving.

Bill: Oct 1942.

For life is eternal
and love is immortal
and death is only a horizon,
and a horizon is nothing save the
limit of our sight.

My father was killed two months after this was written, I was born five weeks later.


BarneyKent Report 10 Feb 2011 19:07

Sorry to contradict you Jeanette but whilst it is true that the "Life that I have" poem was used by Violette Szabo, it was not written especially for her.
The understanding came about due to the film "Carve her name with pride" which claimed that the poem was the creation of Violette's husband Etienne, but this is not true. The original poem was composed on Christmas Eve 1943 by Leo Marks in memory of his girlfriend Ruth, who had just died in a plane crash in Canada. Marks was a cryptographer and on 24 March 1944, he gave it to Violette Szabo for her personal use as an SOE Agent.

Hope this puts the record straight. This in no way detracts from the bravery of a courageous lady and a very good film.


SpanishEyes Report 11 Feb 2011 07:43

What a wonderful response from people, I am so glad that I came back to this thread.

I am thinking of printing all these poems and making a book out of them to keep as a reminder of how popular poetry remains. If anyone objects to their piece(s0 being downloaded then please just let me know. I will not be doing this for at least a month so plenty of time.

Now I shall go and think which poem or saying I can think of to add on here latter today.

Nigglenellie, what a wonderful personal piece you have and thank you for sharing it. I found it particularly poignant considering where many of our children, brothers & sisters, nephews and nieces, boyfriends and girl friends are currently deployed, including one of my children who has been there and will be going again but hopefully not this year.

Burton. Thank you for clarifying the position about "The life that I Have" I could remember from school days that this was written by someone called Leo but that was all and having been so very busy in the last few months and not to well I simply left it for someone else ....

Have a good day everyone


LilyL Report 12 Feb 2011 09:45

I found this on a headstone years ago, I can't remember exactly where!! but it has always stuck in my mind.

Remember friend as you walk by,
As you are now, so once was I,
As I am now you will surely be,
Prepare thyself to follow me.

A bit sombre maybe, but certainly thought provoking!


Terence Report 12 Feb 2011 19:52


A meeting was held quite far from earth,
"It's time again for another birth,"
Said the Angels to the Lord above
"This Special Child will need much love."

His progress may seem very slow,
Accomplishments he may not show;
And he'll require extra care
From the folks he meets down there.

He may not run or laugh or play.
His thoughts may seem quite far away.
I many ways he won't adapt,
And he'll be known as handicapped.

S let's be careful where he' sent,
We want his llife to be content.
Please, Lord, find the parents who,
Will do this special job for you.

They will not realise right away
The leading role they're asked to play,
But with this child sent from above
Come stronger faith and richer love.

And soon they'll know the privilege given
I caring for the gift from Heaven,
Their precious child so meek and mild,

The above was attributed to one E Massimilla and proved to be very meaningful to my wife and I whilst we had our handicapped son Simon who was born in 1966 and died in 1998.


SpanishEyes Report 13 Feb 2011 02:43


What a beautiful entry, and thank you for sharing why it is so special to you. I would like to print this and leep it with my brothers records. He died at only 3 hours old and before I was born but knew all about him from a very young age, and try to visit his resting place each year in Fingrinhoe Essex, As i do not live in the UK it is not always possible. because he died before he was christened he was not allowed to be buried in concecrated ground but the vicar allowed him to be buried against the church wall.


Terence Report 13 Feb 2011 11:25

I am so glad that you appreciated the poem which has meant so much in the past. I just thought that it might mean something to others. Thanks.


LilyL Report 13 Feb 2011 11:53

I think this poem is quite beautiful and poingnant. How hard it was then, that an unbaptised person couldn't be buried in cosecrated ground. I know of this, because I was very ill when I was a baby, and my mother, in case I died, had me christened in hospital at three weeks old. Obviously I survived, but I know this was a very real concern at the time. Nowadays, this isn't the case, at least not in the Church of England, my stepfather who had not been baptised, was buried with my mother without any question or comment in their Village Graveyard in 1987.