UNDERGROUND POETRY

A red red Rose

O my Love’s like a red, red rose,

That’s newly sprung in June;

O my Love’s like the melodie,

That’s sweetly play’d in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in love am I;

And I will love thee still, my dear,

Till a’ the stars the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:

I will love thee still, my dear,

While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee well, my only love!

And fare thee well, a while!

And I will come again, my love,

Tho’ it were ten thousand mile!

~ Robert Buns

Lines from Endymion

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:

It’s loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing

A flowery band to bind us to earth,

Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth

Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,

Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkened ways

Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,

Some shape of beauty moves away the pall

From our dark spirits.

~ John Keats

Holy Sonnet

Death be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou think’st thou don’t overthrow

Die not, poor death, nor yet can’t though kill me.

From rest and sleep, then from thee much more must flow;

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and souls’ delivery.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well,

And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally,

And death shall be no more, Death thou shalt die.

~ John Donne

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