Friday, 12 December 2014

Book-A-Day #11 & #12 | Christmas Classic and Book of Poems

So, I've already failed in keeping up with doing this everyday, whoops! I had a bit of a hectic day trying to do research for an essay (and watching What Happens in Vegas with pizza). But, I'm making up for it today!

Harry Potter will probably always be my most Christmassy of reads. I don't think anybody can read them and not remember the hideous jumpers that the Weasleys receive every year out of the kindness of their mother's heart. Or Harry's invisibility cloak. I also don't think you can read them without wanting to spend a Christmas at Hogwarts. Their Yule Ball and atmosphere is just so lovely. Plus, y'know, the films are always on here in the UK over this period.

Now, Hardy's poems are one of very few books of poems I own, though he's far from my favourite poet. Donne takes that title. I'm gonna leave you guys with my favourite ever poem here, cause I think it's something everyone should get the chance to read. And, if you want to check out something a bit raunchy for a 17th Century poem, go to his "The Flea", or the majority of his short poems!

The Broken Heart

He is stark mad, whoever says,
    That he hath been in love an hour,
Yet not that love so soon decays,
    But that it can ten in less space devour ;
Who will believe me, if I swear
That I have had the plague a year?
    Who would not laugh at me, if I should say
    I saw a flash of powder burn a day?

Ah, what a trifle is a heart,
    If once into love's hands it come !
All other griefs allow a part
    To other griefs, and ask themselves but some ;
They come to us, but us love draws ;
He swallows us and never chaws ;
    By him, as by chain'd shot, whole ranks do die ;
    He is the tyrant pike, our hearts the fry.

If 'twere not so, what did become
    Of my heart when I first saw thee?
I brought a heart into the room,
    But from the room I carried none with me.
If it had gone to thee, I know
Mine would have taught thine heart to show
    More pity unto me ; but Love, alas !
    At one first blow did shiver it as glass.

Yet nothing can to nothing fall,
    Nor any place be empty quite ;
Therefore I think my breast hath all
    Those pieces still, though they be not unite ;
And now, as broken glasses show
A hundred lesser faces, so
    My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,
    But after one such love, can love no more.

What would your choices have been?


No comments:

Post a Comment