Favorite poet? Favorite poem?

>>9997441
sylvia plath

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Auden.

We would rather be ruined than changed
We would rather die in our dread
Than climb the cross of the moment
And let our illusions die

Homer, The Iliad. I can't read Greek.

>>9997542
god i love that poem good stuff brilliant

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And did those feet in ancient time,
Walk upon Englands[b] mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On Englands pleasant pastures seen!

And did the Countenance Divine,
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of burning gold;
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In Englands green & pleasant Land

>>9997709
kek

I really like Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening"
I know it is entry level, but it gives me peace during tricky times in life, and it reminds me of my duty.

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In futurity
I prophetic see
That the earth from sleep
(Grave the sentence deep)

Shall arise and seek
For her Maker meek;
And the desert wild
Become a garden mild.

In the southern clime,
Where the summer’s prime
Never fades away,
Lovely Lyca lay.

Seven summers old
Lovely Lyca told;
She had wander’d long
Hearing wild birds’ song.

‘Sweet sleep, come to me
Underneath this tree.
Do father, mother, weep?
Where can Lyca sleep?

‘Lost in desert wild
Is your little child.
How can Lyca sleep
If her mother weep?

‘If her heart does ache
Then let Lyca wake;
If my mother sleep,
Lyca shall not weep.

‘Frowning, frowning night,
O’er this desert bright,
Let thy moon arise
While I close my eyes.’

Sleeping Lyca lay
While the beasts of prey,
Come from caverns deep,
View’d the maid asleep.

The kingly lion stood,
And the virgin view’d,
Then he gamboll’d round
O’er the hallow’d ground.

Leopards, tigers, play
Round her as she lay,
While the lion old
Bow’d his mane of gold

And her bosom lick,
And upon her neck
From his eyes of flame
Ruby tears there came;

While the lioness
Loos’d her slender dress,
And naked they convey’d
To caves the sleeping maid.

>>9997577
Homo.

Where should I start with poetry?
What makes a poem good?
Spanish is my native language if that helps.

>>9998712

This should be your canon:

https://www.poemas-del-alma.com/la-cogida-y-la-muerte.htm

A las cinco de la tarde.
Eran las cinco en punto de la tarde.
Un niño trajo la blanca sábana
a las cinco de la tarde.
Una espuerta de cal ya prevenida
a las cinco de la tarde.
Lo demás era muerte y sólo muerte
a las cinco de la tarde.

El viento se llevó los algodones
a las cinco de la tarde.
Y el óxido sembró cristal y níquel
a las cinco de la tarde. (...)

>>9998757

Escucha: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r6cM425IDeM

Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
mi ritrovai per una selva oscura,
ché la diritta via era smarrita.