Wednesday, February 24, 2010

lately it seems like my friends have turned to ghosts

Jonas posted one of his favorite poems just recently, so I decided to do the same. I'm not known for my appreciation of poetry, and with good reason, but I do like Thomas Hardy (just his poems - his novels are garbage) and John Donne, the latter of whom is responsible for "The Apparition," aka the most epic I-will-stalk-you-from-the-grave poem ever composed by man.

WHEN by thy scorn, O murd'ress, I am dead,
And that thou thinkst thee free
From all solicitation from me,
Then shall my ghost come to thy bed,
And thee, feign'd vestal, in worse arms shall see :
Then thy sick taper will begin to wink,
And he, whose thou art then, being tired before,
Will, if thou stir, or pinch to wake him, think
          Thou call'st for more,
And, in false sleep, will from thee shrink :
And then, poor aspen wretch, neglected thou
Bathed in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lie,
          A verier ghost than I.
What I will say, I will not tell thee now,
Lest that preserve thee ; and since my love is spent,
I'd rather thou shouldst painfully repent,
Than by my threatenings rest still innocent.

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