I need to find a poem to read for class. 24 lines, or more but

>>26070323
Just read the lyrics to wayward son.

>>26070323
do a Bowie song, The Man Who Sold The World is pretty easy to remember

>>26070323
Churchgoing by Philip Larkin is a gorgeous masterpiece.
Here's Larkin reading it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5aKknj-q3o

And here's the text: http://www.artofeurope.com/larkin/lar5.htm

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Be an asshole and read the entirety of Paradise Lost to your class; or at least until the teacher stops you.

>>26070323
A poem over 24 lines?

That whittles it down to only about 10,000,000 options.

>>26070323
The Auguries of Innocence, or a long enough part of it.

>Some are born to sweet delight, some are born to endless night.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

The Tyger

>>26070323
Charge of the light brigade is a classic

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.

>>26070413
>24 lines

Literally ONE requirement, and you blew it. s.mh senpai.

>>26070432
Some fucker already took this one.
>>26070436
This too. I was actually gonna do it, but someone beat me to it.

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>WHEN we two parted
>In silence and tears,
>Half broken-hearted
>To sever for years,
>Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
>Colder thy kiss;
>Truly that hour foretold
>Sorrow to this.

>The dew of the morning
>Sunk chill on my brow
>It felt like the warning
>Of what I feel now.
>Thy vows are all broken,
>And light is thy fame:
>I hear thy name spoken,
>And share in its shame.

>They name thee before me,
>A knell to mine ear;
>A shudder comes o'er m
>Why wert thou so dear?
>They know not I knew thee,
>Who knew thee too well:
>Long, long shall I rue thee,
>Too deeply to tell.

>In secret we met
>In silence I grieve,
>That thy heart could forget,
>Thy spirit deceive.
>If I should meet thee
>After long years,
>How should I greet thee?
>With silence and tears.

>>26070454
robots are agro and spazzy, and frequently irrationally proud.

no one has ever accused them of being bright.

>>26070457
How about ozymandias or is it too short?

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Just pick an Emily Dickinson poem; they're pretty easy to memorize

>>26070367
It's actually probably too hard to remember but most of my favourite poems are too short. Nevermind that was a stupid suggestion. A better option for you would be W.B. Yeats. Clear structure and rhymes, very easy to remember. September 1913 would be a good one for you.
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/248410

>>26070323
You could take some excerpts from the Raven, pretty much all of the verses stand on their own.

>>26070508
too short my dude

Anyone take Digging by Heaney?

>>26070356
no pls don't do that

>>26070367
>>26070521
These too are leading options right now. Suggest more similar

>>26070535
Dulce et decorum, wilfred Owen, it's about the horrors of the first world war my man

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! - An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime ...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under I green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, --
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.

>>26070582
WB Yeats works perfectly and they are so wasy to remember

Byzantium

The unpurged images of day recede;
The Emperor's drunken soldiery are abed;
Night resonance recedes, night-walkers' song
After great cathedral gong;
A starlit or a moonlit dome disdains
All that man is,
All mere complexities,
The fury and the mire of human veins.

Before me floats an image, man or shade,
Shade more than man, more image than a shade;
For Hades' bobbin bound in mummy-cloth
May unwind the winding path;
A mouth that has no moisture and no breath
Breathless mouths may summon;
I hail the superhuman;
I call it death-in-life and life-in-death.

Miracle, bird or golden handiwork,
More miracle than bird or handiwork,
Planted on the starlit golden bough,
Can like the cocks of Hades crow,
Or, by the moon embittered, scorn aloud
In glory of changeless metal
Common bird or petal
And all complexities of mire or blood.

At midnight on the Emperor's pavement flit
Flames that no faggot feeds, nor steel has lit,
Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame,
Where blood-begotten spirits come
And all complexities of fury leave,
Dying into a dance,
An agony of trance,
An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve.

Astraddle on the dolphin's mire and blood,
Spirit after spirit! The smithies break the flood,
The golden smithies of the Emperor!
Marbles of the dancing floor
Break bitter furies of complexity,
Those images that yet
Fresh images beget,
That dolphin-torn, that gong-tormented sea.

>>26070598
>>26070602
good shit keep it up

there are million and millions of poems that meet your ONE requirement. And yet, you need to start this thread? How retarded/lazy are you op?

>>26070602
Scratch that, i'm retarded. I meant Sailing to Byzantium, not Byzantium.
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/172063

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go;
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all,
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a large and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

Because I could not stop for Death --
He kindly stopped for me --
The Carriage held but just Ourselves --
And Immortality.

We slowly drove -- He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility --

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess -- in the Ring --
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain --
We passed the Setting Sun --

Or rather -- He passed us --
The Dews drew quivering and chill --
For only Gossamer, my Gown --
My Tippet -- only Tulle --

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground --
The Roof was scarcely visible --
The Cornice -- in the Ground --

Since then -- 'tis Centuries -- and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity --

t. emily dickinson

>>26070323
W.B. Yeats is always nice.

I'm partial to The Second Coming:

TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of i{Spiritus Mundi}
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

>>26070651
Ok here are a few more requirements:
-not too long
-not edgy (actually already mentioned this)
-not shit
-not love/heartbreak poem, would be too awkward for a beta such as myself to read such banter.
-written before 1970
-kill self

>>26070639
Yeats is really your best bet. His poetry is so easy to remember. However, Convergence of twain is also a good choice. It's about the sinking of the titanic. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/176678

>>26070723
Tyger Tyger? exactly 24 lines

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forest of the night
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did He smile his work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

>>26070772
see >>26070457
Someone already used it in the class.

>>26070723
>-not edgy (actually already mentioned this)
Ridiculous, and irrelevant. 'Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening' by Robert Frost, might be the most famous/beloved American poem, and it's about contemplating suicide. Real life isn't 4chan.

>>26070323
Check out Robert Service OP, some of his stuff is shorter but it's mostly entertaining fare based on the experiences he had in WWI and the Yukon gold rush. Good escapism in my opinion. Kipling's work is pretty good too senpai.

>>26070832
edgy =/= relating to suicide

>>26070753
OK, some final suggestions that i think are suitable other than the Yeats, Larkin and Hardy poems i already suggested:
>The Flea- John Donne
>The Anniversarie- Donne
>Out, Out-, Robert Frost
>Pheasant- Plath

Tell your teacher the 24 line restriction is stupid. Length does not make a poem good. My favourite poems are between 10-20 lines, your teacher is an idiot who just wants you to learn something long to make it unnecessarily hard.

>>26070909
>Length does not make a poem good.
>.My favourite poems are between 10-20 lines

kek.

but seriously, there is probably and oratorical component to the asignment and she doesn't want anyone to cop out with a 2 line poem.

>>26070909
I know. I already had a poem in mind, but she rejected, even though it was 26 lines because, 'the lines weren't long enough'

>>26070955
She should really have said 'greater than 10 or 20' really. reading the entirety of 'the raven' would be just as innapropriate as reading a limerick

This might be too long, but The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock by TS Eliot is my favourite poem ever and although its lengthy, the lines flow so naturally from each other that I think learning it wouldn't actually be all that hard.

http://www.bartleby.com/198/1.html

go ee cummings. A lot of his 'lines' are like 3 words.

>>26070955
Come on, a 24 line requirement as a control for the two line poems is pushing it. She probably just wants to pad the class time and set a uselessly difficult learning exercise .

>>26071055

This.

OP, take the piss by memorising the Iliad.

In the original Greek.

>>26071072
OP should find the lost books of the odyssey and memorise them just to fuck with her

>>26071055
>Come on, a 24 line requirement as a control for the two line poems is pushing it.

How is it pushing it?

>Two tears in a bucket/motherfuck it.

done, that's my poem.

you see now?

>>26070323
The ultimate robot poem, Raglan Road by Patrick Kavanagh

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay -
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that's known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay -
When the angel woos the clay he'd lose his wings at the dawn of day.

>>26071166
No i don't. Why should something like Lake Isle of Innisfree or Acquinted with the Night be unacceptable? 15 lines is not 2 lines. The line requirement is too high, and it's that high because the teacher is lazy and wants to spend an entire class (or maybe 2 classes) getting everyone to recite their 30 line poems so she can have some classes where she doesn't have to do anything.

>>26071291
what is so hard hard about >24 lines? Did you anons ride the short bus to school?

>>26071072
I'd do it but shit's due friday.

>>26071314
Dude the assignment is the assignment. You have to draw the line somewhere. And if part of the purpose is oratorical, and the teacher wants the students to practice public speaking, it's not pointless.

>>26071361
I don't think it's oratorical. I'm not really sure though because she through this at us yesterday, and it has nothing to do with this unit. God knows why we're even doing this.

less than 24 lines but beautiful nonetheless. have cried to this

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Wordsworth OLD MAN TRAVELLING; ANIMAL TRANQUILLITY AND DECAY, A SKETCH.

The little hedge-row birds,
That peck along the road, regard him not.
He travels on, and in his face, his step,
His gait, is one expression; every limb,
His look and bending figure, all bespeak
A man who does not move with pain, but moves
With thought--He is insensibly subdued
To settled quiet: he is one by whom
All effort seems forgotten, one to whom
Long patience has such mild composure given,
That patience now doth seem a thing, of which
He hath no need. He is by nature led
To peace so perfect, that the young behold
With envy, what the old man hardly feels.
--I asked him whither he was bound, and what
The object of his journey; he replied
"Sir! I am going many miles to take
"A last leave of my son, a mariner,
"Who from a sea-fight has been brought to Falmouth,
And there is dying in an hospital."

>>26071530
beautiful. many feels

Leaves
Murmuring by miriads in the shimmering trees.
Lives
Wakening with wonder in the Pyrenees.
Birds
Cheerily chirping in the early day.
Bards
Singing of summer, scything thro' the hay.
Bees
Shaking the heavy dews from bloom and frond.
Boys
Bursting the surface of the ebony pond.
Flashes
Of swimmers carving thro' the sparkling cold.
Fleshes
Gleaming with wetness to the morning gold.
A mead
Bordered about with warbling water brooks.
A maid
Laughing the love-laugh with me; proud of looks.
The heat
Throbbing between the upland and the peak.
Her heart
Quivering with passion to my pressed cheek.
Braiding
Of floating flames across the mountain brow.
Brooding
Of stillness; and a sighing of the bough.
Stirs
Of leaflets in the gloom; soft petal-showers;
Stars
Expanding with the starr'd nocturnal flowers.

Thanks for the help senpai

Eldorado by Poe

read them it aint' me