Yeats followed by Blake...
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I love Blake, Donne, Emily Dickinson, Poe, Robert Frost etcetera, VERY much, but although I haven't read that many poems of his, I must say that
-ee cummings-
really 'stands out', and is really special, and my favourite.
I love Kipling,Dickinson, and Poe is good :)
(i am new at poetry so i dont know much bout it :s)
RAINER MARIA RILKE...translated by Mitchell
I never had one favourite.
Mácha, Pushkin, Lermontov, Byron, Milton, DANTE (:D If I have to choose "the" poet, it would be him), ... Depending upon my whims.
Does anyone know how I could get in touch with the modern, British poet - William Wordsworth? He is the grandson of the famous poet from the past also known as William Wordsworth. Thanks.
Dorothea
Although I haven't read much into the realm of poetry, I have read a few poems. Due to my interest in Ancient Roman history, I came across a biography on the Roman poet, Catullus. Despite some of his more explicit material, I do enjoy his poetry.
Also, when I searched authors that have the same birthday as I do, I came back with one result: Walt Whitman. I've read very few of his poems, but I did enjoy them nonetheless.
Personally, I love Emily Dickinson because her work is so bursting with passion and yet so tightly controlled.
W.B. Yeats, Lord Byron, Blake, William Carlos Williams and Pablo Neruda. Oh and my Grandfather.:) In that order...hehe.
Goethe, followed by Leopardi.
I am a very great fan of Keats, Byron, etc. as well as James Joyce, E.E Cummings, and Cynewulf.
And if sonwriters are being taken into account (as I saw previously) then I would profess my love of Cobain.
Dante and Poe, some Donne...
does any enjoy the work of philip larkin , im very fond of all his work.
Many, many favourites, so I shall not mention them all. But, one of favourite poems has to be 'A Dream Within A Dream' by Edgar Allen Poe.
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?