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Poetry meme
When you see this, post your favorite poem in your journal.
Every time I see the poetry meme on my frieds list, I am momentarily tempted to post my actual favourite poem...which is very, very long and you'd hate me for making you scroll past it. But I shall show mercy and post another favourite instead.
I first came across this one in my teens, quoted in a trashy novel. The imagery just catches at my soul. In a way, this hits me in the same place as a good slash fic: not sex, but the tangle of emotions surrounding sex: angst and love and despair and desire all rolled up into a ball and wrapped in beautiful words. It's by Ernest Dowson...and I have no idea what the title means.
Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae
Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee Cynara! in my fashion.
Every time I see the poetry meme on my frieds list, I am momentarily tempted to post my actual favourite poem...which is very, very long and you'd hate me for making you scroll past it. But I shall show mercy and post another favourite instead.
I first came across this one in my teens, quoted in a trashy novel. The imagery just catches at my soul. In a way, this hits me in the same place as a good slash fic: not sex, but the tangle of emotions surrounding sex: angst and love and despair and desire all rolled up into a ball and wrapped in beautiful words. It's by Ernest Dowson...and I have no idea what the title means.
Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae
Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee Cynara! in my fashion.