Position:Home>Poetry> Do you know a poem that is at least 35 lines long and is easy to memorize?

http://www!.dailypoem!.co!.uk/display!.php!?p!.!.!.

Its by a!.a milne
really easy to memorize
35 lines long
and depending at which year your in it should be fine :DWww@QuestionHome@Com

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heres one u can use for school!. but is it ok if it is more than 35 lines!. well i think its longer then 35 lines!. lets see!.


like a twisted game

boy and girl, the best of friends
from elementary to middle school, from beginning to end!.
through all thoses years their friendship grew!.
they both felt the same but neither knew!.
each waking moment since the day they met!.
they both loved each other sunrise to sunset!.
he was all she had in her life!.
he was the one who kept her from her knife
she was his angel, she made him smile!.
though life threw him curves, she made it all worth while!.
then one day things went terrbly wrong!.
the next few weeks were like a very sad song!.
he made her jealous on the purpose he tried!.
when the girl asked``do u love her!?`` on purpose he lied!.
he played with jealousy like it was a game!.
little did he know things would never be the same!.
his plan was workking but he had no clue!.
how wrong things would go, the damage he would do!.
one night she broke down, feeling very alone!.
just her and the blade, no one else home!.
she disled his #, he answered ``hello``
she told him she loved him and hung up the phone!.
he raced to her house just a minute too late!.
found her lying in blood, with no heart rate!.
beside her was a note, in it was her confession!.
her love for this boy, her only obsession!.
as he read the note her picked up the knife and cried!.
that night they both died!.
she was found in his arms, both of them dead!.
under the note his handrighting said!.!.
``i loved her so, she never knew!. and this time i loved her too!.``



cool its 31!!!!! hope its ok for school!. its a little too sad!. email me at my homepage of what u think of it!. (is it too hard for u i have more)Www@QuestionHome@Com

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Lady Lazarus
Sylvia PlathWww@QuestionHome@Com

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annabel lee
edgar allen poeWww@QuestionHome@Com

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The following poem,by W!.H!.Auden, has about 65 lines but the beauty of it is that it can be divided into several parts and each of these parts still posseses great meanings!.You can choose 35 lines as you wish!.I have also included another poem!.!.!.!.about forty lines!.!.!.by William Buttler Yeats!.

In Memory of W!. B!. Yeats


He disappeared in the dead of winter:
The brooks were frozen, the airports almost deserted,
The snow disfigured the public statues;
The mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day!.
What instruments we have agree
The day of his death was a dark cold day!.

Far from his illness
The wolves ran on through the evergreen forests,
The peasant river was untempted by the fashionable quays;
By mourning tongues
The death of the poet was kept from his poems!.

But for him it was his last afternoon as himself,
An afternoon of nurses and rumours;
The provinces of his body revolted,
The squares of his mind were empty,
Silence invaded the suburbs,
The current of his feeling failed; he became his admirers!.

Now he is scattered among a hundred cities
And wholly given over to unfamiliar affections,
To find his happiness in another kind of wood
And be punished under a foreign code of conscience!.
The words of a dead man
Are modified in the guts of the living!.

But in the importance and noise of to-morrow
When the brokers are roaring like beasts on the floor of the Bourse,
And the poor have the sufferings to which they are fairly accustomed,
And each in the cell of himself is almost convinced of his freedom,
A few thousand will think of this day
As one thinks of a day when one did something slightly unusual!.
What instruments we have agree
The day of his death was a dark cold day!.

II

You were silly like us; your gift survived it all:
The parish of rich women, physical decay,
Yourself!. Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry!.
Now Ireland has her madness and her weather still,
For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives
In the valley of its making where executives
Would never want to tamper, flows on south
From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,
Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,
A way of happening, a mouth!.

III

Earth, receive an honoured guest:
William Yeats is laid to rest!.
Let the Irish vessel lie
Emptied of its poetry!.

In the nightmare of the dark
All the dogs of Europe bark,
And the living nations wait,
Each sequestered in its hate;

Intellectual disgrace
Stares from every human face,
And the seas of pity lie
Locked and frozen in each eye!.

Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night,
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice!.

With the farming of a verse
Make a vineyard of the curse,
Sing of human unsuccess
In a rapture of distress!.

In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountains start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise!.

-- W!.H!. Auden

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 star-lit 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 ****** 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!.

-- William Butler YeatsWww@QuestionHome@Com

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