Monday, April 20, 2009

Poem # 4: To Jane

Monday, April 20, 2009

For our fourth poem, I have chosen one from an author few at the college like. In fact, I consider it part of my life mission to convert Dr. Shank's from her scathing sentiments concerning him. That's right; I'm speaking of Percy Shelley.

"To Jane", by He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-Except-For-5-Seconds-Ago-When-I-Did-Above-In-The-1st-Paragraph.

The keen stars were twinkling
And the fair moon was rising among them,
Dear Jane:
The guitar was tinkling,
But the notes were not sweet till you sung them
As the moon's soft splendor
O'er the faint cold starlight of heaven
Is thrown,
So your voice most tender
To the strings without soul had then given
Its own.

The stars will awaken,
Though the moon sleep a full hour later,
No leaf will be shaken
Whilst the dews of your melody scatter
Though the sound overpowers,
Sing again, with your dear voice revealing
A tone
Of some world far from ours
Where music and moonlight and feeling
Are one.

I DARE you to tell me it's not a good poem. Just try me.


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