October is here, and Halloween is only a few weeks away! Halloween isn’t the only highlight of this month, however. Many famous poets were born in October as well! Here are just a few of said authors, complete with a sample of their work. Enjoy!
E. E. Cummings
under honest trees,
does.the brain of cleverly-crinkling
-water pursues the angry dream
of the shore. By midnight,
scratches the skin of the organised hills
an edged nothing begins to prune
let’s live like the light that kills
and let’s as silence,
because Whirl’s after all:
(after me)love,and after you.
I occasionally feel vague how
vague idon’t know tenuous Now-
spears and The Then-arrows making do
our mouths something red,something tall
By The Arno
- The oleander on the wall
- Grows crimson in the dawning light,
- Though the grey shadows of the night
- Lie yet on Florence like a pall.
- The dew is bright upon the hill,
- And bright the blossoms overhead,
- But ah! the grasshoppers have fled,
- The little Attic song is still.
- Only the leaves are gently stirred
- By the soft breathing of the gale,
- And in the almond-scented vale
- The lonely nightingale is heard.
- The day will make thee silent soon,
- O nightingale sing on for love!
- While yet upon the shadowy grove
- Splinter the arrows of the moon.
- Before across the silent lawn
- In sea-green vest the morning steals,
- And to love’s frightened eyes reveals
- The long white fingers of the dawn.
- Fast climbing up the eastern sky
- To grasp and slay the shuddering night,
- All careless of my heart’s delight,
- Or if the nightingale should die.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Or a Vision in a Dream. A Fragment
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And ‘mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw;
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ‘twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.