Monica

My name is Monica. I'm 16 in the tenth grade. I love people with personality, I think it's one of the best things you can have. I love my friends more than anything and don't know what I would do without them. Even if they are weird. ily Aim = princessmoe1991 ((talk to me))
"O, swear not by the moon, the innconstant moon,
That monthly changes in her circle orb,
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable."
-The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet
Yes I do things like quote Shakespear ^^ :]
Ok so I don't write very good poetry, but I applaude those who can. Shakespear I
Annabel Lee
It was many and many a 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 winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew chilling
My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn 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 so hapy 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 ever 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 sea.
-Edgar Allen Poe
Luke Havergal
Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal,-
There where the vines cling crimson on the wall,-
And in the twilight wait for what will come.
The wind will moan, the leaves will whisper some,-
Whisper of her, and strike you as they fall;
But go, and if you trust her she will call.
Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal-
Luke Havergal.
No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies
To rift the fiery night that's in your eyes;
But there, where western glooms are gathering,
The dark will end the dark if anything:
God slays Himself with every leaf that flies,
And hell is more than half of paradise.
No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies-
In eastern skies.
OUt of a grave I come to tell you this,-
Out of a grave I come to quench the kiss
That flames upon your forehead with a glow
That blinds you to the way that you must go.
Yes, there is yet one way to where she is,-
Bitter, but one that faith may never miss.
Out of a grave I come to tell you this-
To tell you this.
There is the western gate, Luke Havergal,
There are the crison leaves upon the wall.
Go,-for the winds are tearing them away,-
Nor think to riddle the dead words they say,
Nor any more to feel them as they fall:
But go! and if you trust her she will call.
There is the western gate, Luke Havergal-
Luke Havergal.
-Edwin Arlington Robinson
Venus Transiens
Tell me,
Was Venus more beautiful
Than you are,
When she topped
The crinkled waves,
Drifting shoreward
On her plaited shell?
Was Botticelli's vision
Fairer than mine;
And were the painted rosebuds
He tossed his lady,
Of better worth
Than the words I blow about you
To cover you too great lovelivess
As with gauze
Of misted silver?
For me,
You stand poised
In the blue and buoyant air,
Cinctured by bright winds,
Treading the sunlight.
And the waves which precede you
Ripple and stir
The sands at my feet.
-Amy Lowell
September,1918
This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;
The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves;
The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leave;
And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows.
Under atree in the park,
Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,
Were carefully gathering red berries
To put in a pasteboard box.
Some day there will be no war.
Then I shall take out this afternoon
And turn it in my fingers,
And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate,
And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves.
To-day I can only gather it
And put it into my lunch-box,
For I have time for nothing
But the endeavour to balance myself
Upon a broken world.
-Amy Lowell
The Captured Goddess
Over the housetops,
Above the rotating chimney-pots,
I have seen a shiver of amethyst,
And blue and cinnamon have flickered
A moment,
At the far end of a dusty street.
Trough sheeted rain
Has come a lustre of crimson,
And I have watched moonbeams
Hushed by a film of palest green.
It was her wings,
Goddess!
Who stepped over the chouds,
And laid her rainbow feathers
Aslant on the currents of the air.
I followed her for long,
With gazing eyes and stumbling feet.
I cared not where she led me,
My eyes wree full of colors:
Saffrons, rubies, the yellows of beryls,
And the indigo-blue of quartz;
Flights of rose, layers of chrysoprase,
Points of orange, spirals of vermilion,
The spotted gold of tiger-lily petals,
The loud pink of bursting hydrangeas.
I followed,
And watched for the flashing of her wings.
In the city I found her,
The narrow-streeted city.
In the markey-place I came upon her,
Bound and trembling.
Her fluted wings were fastened to her sides with cords,
She was naked and cold,
For that day the wind blew
Without sunshine.
Men chaffered for her,
They bargained in silver and gold,
In copper, in wheat,
And called ther bids across the market-place.
The Goddess wept.
HIding my face I fled,
And the grey wind hissed hehind me,
Along the narrow streets.
-Amy Lowell
Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
some say in ice.
From what i've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
-Robert Frost
Helen
All Greece hates
the still eyes in the white face,
the lustre as of olives
where she stands,
and the white hands.
All Greece reviles
the wan face when she smiles,
hating it deeper still
when it grows wan and white,
remembering past enchantments
and past ills.
Greece sees unmoved,
God's daughter, born of love,
the beauty of cool feet
and slenderest knees,
could love indeed the maid,
only if she were laid,
white ash amid funereal cypresses.
-Hilda Doolittle
"Fond pride of dress is sure a very curse;
E'er fancy you consult, consult your purse."
-Benjamin Franklin
anyone lived in a pretty how town
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did.
Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain
children guessed(but only a few
and down the forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more
when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his greif
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her
someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did ther dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream
sars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)
One day anyone deid i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was
all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.
Women and men(both ong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped ther sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain
-E.E. Cummings
Portrait in Georgia
Hair-braided chestnut,
Coiled like a lyncher's rope,
Eyes-fagots,
Lips-old scars, or the first red blisters,
Breath-the last sweet scent of cane,
And her slim body, white as the ash
of black flesh after flame.
-Jean Toomer
Deep huh? lol hope you enjoyed this and if you bothered to take the time to read this far congradulations :] I have just enriched you a bit....feel free to ask for more. I would like that