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Oh Hushed October Morning Mild

Robyn

The Phoenix
Staff member
October

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.


~Robert Frost
October 3rd is Poetry Day in the UK. While April is generally the poetry month, nobody should shy away from appreciating a good poem. Every year, the UK will have a different theme and they've done this for the past 25 years! In 2019 the theme is TRUTH.
That's right, this year is the 25th anniversary of National poetry day in the UK.

Let us know in the comments down below what your favourite poem is (or are) and feel free to share you own poetry facts or even a poem you've written~

HAPPY POETING :D
 

V2r2

Roleplaying is like air. Without it, I die.
Hey you with the sad eyes,
Are all your clothes black and oversized?
Hey you with the long, wild hair
You always act as if you don’t care.

Hey you with the ripped up bag
I saw you flinch when they called out ‘fag’
Hey you with the trembling hands
What ever happened to all your friends?

Hey you with bleeding wrists
What’s with the tattoos on you fists?
Hey you with the pocket full of pills
Whatever happened to all your happy thrills?

Oh, that’s right.
You’ve slipped out of sight.
No one sees you crying.
Because on the outside, you stupid fool,
You’re smiling.
 

Robyn

The Phoenix
Staff member
So this is one of my favourite poems, by Samuel Bradford

The warriors ode to death

Come not to me on a bed
Of pale-faced sickness and of pining;
Oh, clasp me close on the battle-field red,
Midst warrior's shouts, and armour shining!
Let me not have priest nor bell,
Sable pomp, nor voice of wailing;
The roar of the cannon shall be my knell,
And tears with thee are unavailing.
Then clasp me close in the hottest strife,
Where the cut, and the stab, and the shot are rife!

May I fall on some great day,
With Freedom's banner streaming o'er me!
Live but to shout for the victory,
And see the rout roll on before me,
And tyrants, from their greatness torn,
Beneath the scourge of justice smarting,
And gaze on Freedom's glorious morn,
My soul to cheer before departing!
Oh, then my life might melt away;
In visions bright of liberty!
 
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