Pity the fool

[Sirius]

He Wonders Whether To Praise Or To Blame Her
--Rupert Brooke



I have peace to weigh your worth, now all is over,
But if to praise or blame you, cannot say.
For, who decries the loved, decries the lover;
Yet what man lauds the thing he's thrown away?

Be you, in truth, this dull, slight, cloudy naught,
The more fool I, so great a fool to adore;
But if you're that high goddess once I thought,
The more your godhead is, I lose the more.

Dear fool, pity the fool who thought you clever!
Dear wisdom, do not mock the fool that missed you!
Most fair, -- the blind has lost your face for ever!
Most foul, -- how could I see you while I kissed you?

So . . . the poor love of fools and blind I've proved you,
For, foul or lovely, 'twas a fool that loved you

Pity the fool that reads my posts on drugs. Your brain will rot and the worms will eat you! Ku!

[UltraBudgie]

that is nice poem good words about love and make clear love is tranformative and not like stuck in amber eternal same same sweet though it may be and if you aren't looking at how you loved 10 or 20 or 30 years ago and seeing the foolish one that you aren't doing it right perhaps! we are here to go

[Sirius]

The USA is besieged from all corners and ripping itself apart

[UltraBudgie]

we were never
outside the asylum
the siege
is an illusion

[Sirius]

The Dead

Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!
There's none of these so lonely and poor of old,
But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.

These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
And sunset, and the colours of the earth.
These had seen movement, and heard music; known
Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.

There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.


https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Dead_(poem)

[andy06shake]

Just popped in to my Mellon when you said "pity the fool". 

[Sirius]

that reminds me of this. Hilarious!

[AlroyFarms]

The Dead

The dead..."smart lad to slip betimes away" 

 
A.E. Housman
To An Athlete Dying Young


The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.

Today, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay,
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears.

Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.

So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl’s.

[AlroyFarms]

Edmund Vance Cooke
How Did You Die?


Did you tackle that trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,
Or a trouble is what you make it,
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that?
Come up with a smiling face.
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to lie there -- that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce;
Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts,
It's how did you fight --  and why?

And though you be done to the death, what then?
If you battled the best you could,
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only how did you die?

[Bootless]

Pity the fool that reads my posts on drugs. Your brain will rot and the worms will eat you! Ku!

But ...
...
never mind, I forgot what I was going to write.
...
or something like that.

-------
But seriously, Thank you very much for posting this poem by Brooke. It's quite awesome. To think: He only lived to be 27!!!

Thinking back on my life, I never would have even begun to understand it until I was 40.