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I know this will seem a bit out of the ordinary.....but I found this poem in a book and I really loved it. So, it is my pleasure to relay "Thanatopsis" by William Cullen Bryant to you through my website. It's a wonderful poem on living and dying. So, I do hope you enjoy it as much as I did reading it and writing it on this page for you.
Hey, for all of you that visited my page while it had code on the bottom, sorry about that. I had a little problem that day while using the program, and it did some funky stuff. So, for all of you that were confused, please excuse the little mistake. I'm hoping it never occurs again! Thanks for visiting my web page. Oh! There's another version when you click here HERE!!!!! . It's a bit more up to date, and it has some better stolen.....I mean borrowed graphics. Now, on to my page. Have fun. I promise to change the poems soon!
THANATOPSIS
To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visable forms, she speaks
A various languages; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pale,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart-
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around-
Earth and her waters, and the depths of the air-
Comes a voice- Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground.
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exsist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix forever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treds upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold.
Yet not to thine eternal resting place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor could thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shall lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world- with kings,
The powerful of the earth- the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulcher. The Hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun-the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods- rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, poured around all,
Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste-
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun.
The planets are, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes;
That slumber in the bosom. Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings- yet the dead are there;
And millions in the solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep- the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solumn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And makes their bed with thee. As long as the train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the grey-headed man-
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side.
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaultering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
LALALALALALALALA.....Okay, that was just for a little break between poems. I don't think it to be appropriate to totally depress you without an intermission.
It was many and many year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;-
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee-
With a love that the wingėd seraphs of Heaven
Coverted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre,
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half as happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in Heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:-
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:-
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea-
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Well, Now that everybody is somewhat depressed, sign my guestbook please. I would like to know what you thought of this poem. I'm kind of depressed; so, I decided this was the thing my page needed for now. I hate life.
PEOPLE!!! Please sign my guestbook. SIGN IT and MAKE ME HAPPY!!!!!!!
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And now, a link to the top of the page!!!!
