Enoch Powell

>>38202586
>Hello robots, I come to you tonight to share some poetry from the politician/classical scholar/theologian Enoch Powell. Some of you may be familiar with his 'Rivers of Blood' speech where he called for the immediate end of all immigration to Britain, and the repatriation of immigrants to their homelands. His devotion to tradition and nation will be appreciated by many here. But he also was a robot who had oneitis multiple times, and wrote poetry about his isolation and despair.

yeah I'm busy

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Oh, not with laurel nor with bay
Nor any leaf of evergreen
Would I be crowned-so crowded are they
That sing a beauty longer seen.

But pluck the leaves that soonest die,
The branches twine that early fade;
For sere and sapless, shrunk and dry,
And these alone, shall give me shade.

No eyes have I but for the sight
Of early bloom that summer drought
Untimely kills; I love the light
That soonest flickers out.

Ok, where's the poetry?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n_g_n_SxVgc

>>38202612
then turn off the light and go to sleep

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I knew not, asked not, never guessed,
While yet I might have healed,
The secret of another breast,
For me concealed.

But now in mine it burns and bleeds,
The wound that will not close again,
And all my agony but feeds
The undying pain.

Too late with open eyes I trace
In every tortured line
Writ large upon another face
A wound like mine.


>>38202596
Not busy enough to reply to a thread you ostensibly have no purpose replying to.

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>>38202638

The years that took my youth away,
They brought to me instead
The hunger that from day to day
On other youth is fed.

But other youth, past saving,
Grows old before my eyes,
And young is still my craving
And still for youth it cries.

So I in young and younger
Must seek my youth in vain;
For time that brought this hunger
Takes not away its pain.

>>38202596
Yeah we all know your schedule is packed with orbiting other men posing as fembots and spamming the board with negro dicks, but no one gives a shit so there's no need to post

Enoch was the man. The last Euro to have any respect for those who came before him. But he wasn't a robot, stop misusing the term. Robots don't have an oneitis, let alone prestige

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Oh I despise myself, whene'er my sense
In thee delights. What have I done with mine,
With my own youth, with my own innocence,
That so I thirst for thine?

>>38202687
Perhaps. But he is still a man we should all respect.

>>38202732
I thought that better wisdom
Had come of all my sighs,
But when I saw your features
And looked you in the eyes
I was no longer wise.

I knew that I must lose you,
I knew my love was vain,
And yet I could no other
But tread the road again
That only leads to pain.

>>38202764
You gave to me your grace and youth,
I breathed your warmer breath,
And in return I'll give you truth-
Whose other name is death

---------

The comrade that is lost to me
Comes not this way again,
But evermore his ghost I see
In others that remain.

>>38202770

Away, away!
Our doom is sealed.
For nevermore
Can time restore
What innocence might yield,
As in the day
When love was play
And ignorance our shield.

But now, away!
'Twere crime to stay;
The mortal words are said:
The question's asked,
Our love unmasked,
And all our joy is dead.

>>38202778
'Tis true I loved you from the first;
Yet had I turned away,
I should have soon forgot my thirst
And happier been today.

For now your face is graven deep
Upon my inward sight,
And when I wake and when I sleep,
I see you day and night;

And since our parting is decreed
By laws we cannot break,
The severed tissues long will bleed
And long the wound will ache.

>>38202793
A scented breeze the morning sends
Through freshening field and tree,
And fair head low to fair head bends
And whispers, Victory.

Scented by lips that lightly part
I feel its honeyed breath:
It fills my ears, and in my heart
It softly whispers, Death.

>>38202800
The young and brave, the strong and sure,
The true, the upright and the pure,
The thief, the coward, the perjurer,
The cuckold, the adulterer,
The men that stood, the men that fled,
They all are here, and all are dead.

'Twas not because he thought it well
That any of them fought and fell;
Far other would have been their choice,
If fate had given them a voice;
But mastered by the might of chance,
They flocked to perish here in France.

>>38202808
Below the turf, his straight limbs lie,
A stone is at his head.
O God of battles, why am I
Alive when he is dead?

---


The rain has blown on and away
And the sweet air is clear
And the sun's yellow fire
Burns on the grass and the stone,
But wasted and spent is the day
And even is here
And hungry yet is my desire.

This longing how shall I still,
That no day is light enough,
No summer long enough,
No life deep enough
To fill,
But no loss is sharp enough,
No labour hard enough,
No hope false enough
To kill?

>>38202813
The autumn leaves that strew the grass,
The flocks of migrant birds,
They all are poems; but alas,
I cannot find the words.

-----


Oh, they be happy that are blind,
Who see not what I cannot teach;
For God made windows in my mind
But locked the door of speech.

---

So soon the summer comes again,
And still I languish here,
My ankle fastened with the chain
I wore last year.

Now green and golden stand the trees
That other folk may see;
And warm and scented springs the breeze
To touch the free.

On hills I shall not climb, the haze
Of evening lingers red,
And grey at morning gleam the ways
I shall not tread.

For all the merry summer through,
As dead men's bones,
I still shall sit and penance do,
A-breaking stones.

>>38202848
The hard-won summer soon is spent,
Its days of blinding beauty gone,
That came and went, came and went,
And I lived on.

With lips athirst and hungry heart
I rose afire to see them come;
I saw them wester and depart,
And still was dumb.

And then I cursed the sunny land,
And better thought it dead,
If I should never understand
The thing they said.

---


Now fate assumes a gentler power,
Us to beguile,
And deep with yellow death aflower
The meadows smile.

Desire no more, they say; desire
Is one with pain:
Unending sorrow is its hire,
Death still the gain.

But whoso hath desire forsworn,
His pain shall cease,
And he into our death reborn
Shall live at peace.

---

Where the rusty mountain rill,
Dripping, dripping from the peat,
Turning all the stones to red,
Dancing down its gravel bed,
Fills the valley with its hum,

There my craving shall be still,
There my craving shall be dumb
And there my heart shall tranquil beat,
Where failure and success are none
And life itself with death is one
And the ends of the world meet.

---

The fields and forest now begin
Mute intercession for our sake,
And blossoms bust, that for our sin
Yearly propitiation make.

They neither grudge nor count the price,
But pitying they return to save
By their immortal sacrifice
Our mortal meanness from the grave.

To eyes and mind and heart they give
What al our wisdom would not buy;
Their life for us they yearly live,
And year by year for us they die.

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>>38202871
And when I felt the noonday overhead,
That gently burnt and bit my hands and face,
I thought at last, Then surely I am dead
And here I lie and slumber all the years.
But someone spoke, and I awoke, in tears.

---

It is not only when I go
On journeys, that I feel
The steel wheels grind and pound below
Along the rails of steel.

Their voices, faint or louder,
I hear them night and day;
They pound my life to powder, they grind my years away.

---

The lights are growing in the west,
Nor yet the east is black;
The sun goes slower down to rest
And brings the summer back.

I hate the growing light of spring,
I hate the lingering sun,
I hate the sights that only bring
Regret for summers done.

Day in, day out, the sunset sky
Renews the grinding pain
Of springs and summers gone that i
Can never live again;

And when the sun below the sea
The clouds with crimson dyes,
I shrink and turn; for there I see
My life that bleeding lies.

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>>38202902
The month that orchards bloom again,
Men greet the summer drawing on,
Yet secretly they count in vain
Their summers that have gone.

And so your coming makes me glad,
With youthful grace that holds the eye,
And yet my heart within is sad
For youth of mine gone by.

---

The trees that now are scattering
Their bloom as thick as snow,
Will stand again another spring
In blossom clad;

To you that were a fairer thing
Than any trees that blow,
The years again will never bring
The bloom you had.

---

The year revolves, the swifts return,
The fields are white with may;
To light the summer on its way
The chestnut candles burn.

But bursting bud and lengthening day
To me are but a sign
Of one that took his youth and mine
And lost them far away.

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>>38202934
To-night along the lime-trees walk
The moveless are is mild,
And quietly wife and husband talk,
As they watch their first-born child.

To-night the young men come from play
With half a serious air,
And lovers in the darkening way
A look more wistful wear.

To-night on years I shall not see
My thought more warmly runs
Clearer tonight is born to me
The murmur of the guns.

---


With twinkling eye the cloudless sky
Looks through the sombre larch,
And rotting mould is turned to gold
By suns of March.

Now tame and wild are all with child;
With vital hope and fire
The world is rife; yet not for life
Is my desire.

But first to close the eyes of those
When brought me to the light,
And then before my youth is o'er
To die in fight.

---

Oh sweet it is to see the sky
Behind the yellow gorse,
And sweet it is to hear the cry
Of swallows in their course,
And sweet upon the windy lea
To shout and leap and run;

But this were sweeter far to me,
Neither to feel nor move nor be
Nor ever see the sun.

---

Master, whose blinded sight
Is eager still;
Master, whose love of light
Age cannot kill;
Time was that I would pray
To have for mine
After as fair a day
Sunset like thine.

But every passing year
That turned a page
Has taught me how to fear
A barren age,
And now I seek to die
Long, long ere then,
And being dead to lie
With the young men.

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>>38202982
How often shall I see them lighten.
The April evening skies?
How often will the hedgerows whiten
Again before my eyes?

How often seeing shall I languish
For beauty not my own?
How often feel the long-drawn anguish
Of innocence outgrown?

How many springs, before my sighing
Is hushed, and healed my sore,
And I in wintry dark am lying?
How many summers more?

---

Sharp rises on the cloudless blue
The knife-edge of the hills,
And boundless sunlight clear and true
The vale beneath them fills.

As clear as light, sharp as a knife
A truth springs in my breast:
There are but two things, death and life,
And death of these is best.

---

The sky is white from east to west,
And bright the day will break;
It lies to me that life is best,
And hearing I awake.

And so from east to west the sky
Will whiten as before
And lie again the selfsame lie,
The day I wake no more.

---

That's all, have a lovely evening gents.