Petraverd
Reaction score
0

Profile posts Latest activity Postings About

  • It is Poem in Your Pocket day again! Here is my poem for you (sorry it is a little long). :)

    Robin Hood

    To a Friend

    No! those days are gone away,
    And their hours are old and gray,
    And their minutes buried all
    Under the down-trodden pall
    Of the leaves of many years:
    Many times have winter’s shears,
    Frozen North, and chilling East,
    Sounded tempests to the feast
    Of the forest’s whispering fleeces,
    Since men knew nor rent nor leases.

    No, the bugle sounds no more,
    And the twanging bow no more;
    Silent is the ivory shrill
    Past the heath and up the hill;
    There is no mid-forest laugh,
    Where lone Echo gives the half
    To some wight, amaz’d to hear
    Jesting, deep in forest drear.

    On the fairest time of June
    You may go, with sun or moon,
    Or the seven stars to light you,
    Or the polar ray to right you;
    But you never may behold
    Little John, or Robin bold;
    Never one, of all the clan,
    Thrumming on an empty can
    Some old hunting ditty, while
    He doth his green way beguile
    To fair hostess Merriment,
    Down beside the pasture Trent;
    For he left the merry tale
    Messenger for spicy ale.

    Gone, the merry morris din;
    Gone, the song of Gamelyn;
    Gone, the tough-belted outlaw
    Idling in the «grenè shawe;»
    All are gone away and past!
    And if Robin should be cast
    Sudden from his turfed grave,
    And if Marian should have
    Once again her forest days,
    She would weep, and he would craze:
    He would swear, for all his oaks,
    Fall’n beneath the dockyard strokes,
    Have rotted on the briny seas;
    She would weep that her wild bees
    Sang not to her - strange! that honey
    Can’t be got without hard money!

    So it is: yet let us sing,
    Honour to the old bow-string!
    Honour to the bugle-horn!
    Honour to the woods unshorn!
    Honour to the Lincoln green!
    Honour to the archer keen!
    Honour to tight Little John,
    And the horse he rode upon!
    Honour to bold Robin Hood,
    Sleeping in the underwood!
    Honour to Maid Marian,
    And to all the Sherwood-clan!
    Though their days have hurried by,
    Let us two a burden try.

    John Keats.
    I generally am, actually. But you got a poem cause Inky said you liked the one I sent to her. :)
    There once was an equine called Petraverd
    whose protests could not go unheard--
    "Why does no one know
    my horn's indigo???"
    --he'd cry 'til you used the right word.
    In case you return to the roleplay, it has not gotten past the character-day it was on when you last posted.
    ummmm I think I've talked to you less since you got back than I did while you were gone. This is no good. Clearly I need to log on more.
    You'll probably be gone tomorrow by the time I can say this so...
    HAVE A GREAT TRIP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
    To whom it may concern:
    I have stolen your marmelade rolls. Ransom: One glomp. Pay by noon tomorrow or the rolls will die.
  • Loading…
  • Loading…
  • Loading…
Back
Top