I really like the poets that I've found, especially the poets Siegfried Sassoon, Aleister Crowley, and William Noel Hodgson. Their poems are all really-really good! Their poems are deep and emotional and they speak the truth that comes straight from the heart. Their poetry is powerful because it comes from their personal experiences. Their poetry comes from what they've seen and what they've learned and what they feel. Some of their poem are worded simply, while other use really fancy words and phrases, but they're all written really skillfully and they all have a really good rhythm and beat that pull you along as you get deeper and deeper.
I think the poem that I've found that I like the most is this one right here by Siegfried Sassoon. Every time I read it I go '...man that's deep........'
Before Action
By all the glories of the day
And the cool evening's benison
By that last sunset touch that lay
Upon the hills when day was done,
By beauty lavishly outpoured
And blessings carelessly received,
By all the days that I have lived
Make me a soldier, Lord.
And the cool evening's benison
By that last sunset touch that lay
Upon the hills when day was done,
By beauty lavishly outpoured
And blessings carelessly received,
By all the days that I have lived
Make me a soldier, Lord.
By all of all man's hopes and fears
And all the wonders poets sing,
The laughter of unclouded years,
And every sad and lovely thing;
By the romantic ages stored
With high endeavour that was his,
By all his mad catastrophes
Make me a man, O Lord.
And all the wonders poets sing,
The laughter of unclouded years,
And every sad and lovely thing;
By the romantic ages stored
With high endeavour that was his,
By all his mad catastrophes
Make me a man, O Lord.
I, that on my familiar hill
Saw with uncomprehending eyes
A hundred of thy sunsets spill
Their fresh and sanguine sacrifice,
Ere the sun swings his noonday sword
Must say good-bye to all of this; -
By all delights that I shall miss,
Help me to die, O Lord.
Saw with uncomprehending eyes
A hundred of thy sunsets spill
Their fresh and sanguine sacrifice,
Ere the sun swings his noonday sword
Must say good-bye to all of this; -
By all delights that I shall miss,
Help me to die, O Lord.
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