Another meme modification...

[conuly]

There's one going around now that has people guessing songs by lyrics you post in your journal. Unfortunately, I tend to listen to "classical" music (actually, most of it is Baroque....) and don't often have words to post.

So I decided to go with somewhat snobby option two and just post lines from poems I like and have memorized. One point for guessing the poet, one for guessing the title, three for guessing both. Winner gets a whole lot of points.

1. Tyger, Tyger, burning bright!

2. The little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near

3. Prophet, said I, thing of evil! Prophet still if bird or devil!

4. Cannon to the right of them! Cannon to the left of them!

5. The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

6. The lark, still bravely singing flies, scarce heard amidst the guns below

Be warned, my punctuation is erratic.

7. Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows

8. He thinks too much, such men are dangerous

9. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight?

10. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace!

Comments

[conuly]

One more time and I spill the entire poem. This is getting silly.

[eofs.livejournal.com]

Gnargh.

Forgive me - it's 0130 and I had my war literature exam almost a year ago (23rd of June, so that's... 349 days ago) ;0)

I'm vaguely thinking of a poem that includes a line about the rats having cosmopolitan sympathies and dust from a shell covering a poppy. Which, actually, might be Break of Day... But no, I can remember the formatting of Break of Day... on the page, and it wasn't the same as the cosmopolitan symathies one. No, I don't think it is that one...

For the Fallen by Lawrence Binyon is in my head, but just because I like the title and how it sounds with his name.

*Wracks brain*

I wanna say it's Owen or Sassoon for some reason, but I think that's just because I studied more of theirs than anyone else's. Argh! I don't want to give up, but this is driving me mad. Someone else needs to get it, put me out of my misery ;0)

[conuly]

In Flanders Field, the poppies grow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place, and in the sky
The lark, still bravely singing flies
Scarce heard amidst the guns below.

We are the dead, short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders field.

Take up our quarrel with the foe
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch, be yours to hold it high
If you break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders field

He wasn't a poet, he was, I believe, an army doctor.

[eofs.livejournal.com]

Argh! Of course. It's a beautiful poem. "We are the dead, short days ago we lived felt dawn, saw sunset glow" is one of my favourite war lit extracts in fact.

The worst bit is that I actually *went* to the In Flanders Field Museum in Ypres last March. I remember one exhibit displayed that poem alongside one in French and another English one I have forgotten. The area had a low ceiling and was darkly lit (they might have been projected onto the walls and for some reason I'm getting feelings of ascetate.) There were perspex pillars with barbed wire and such - dry ice filled them and the colours of lighting on them changed colours.