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On Losing A Pencil In French River (Sonnet XIII.)

AH! river named of France, let reason judge,
  My silver-mounted implement to thee,
If I am greatly blameable to grudge,
  Seized, swallow'd, as by ocean, plunderer free;
My only pencil left,— unhappy me!
  Far off, like misadventure chanced before,
And then I lost a gift of love; but see
  What thou hast done by robbing me once more.
Unfurnish'd — but my trifling now is o'er —
  I think of her whose hand the token gave,
When last I left my native Albion's shore,
  In happiest hope since yielded to the grave.
Full many a hundred lines her gift has traced;
Not all, I dare to hope, are wholly waste.

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Comments

1 - 5 of 5
  • hendiadys
    September 17
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    Help!

    Mock heroic. Over-done. Result - corn! Waste of perfectly capable rhythmic and rhyming skills.

  • SadmanJim
    September 16
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    THIS is why I like to click the "old poem of the day" link. It opens me up to poets and poems I have never heard of. It brought a smile to my face actually, as I could almost see the poet grumbling about the lost tool and frantically searching for another. And the humility in the final couplet is just perfect. When I have more time and am not at work, I'll want to check out more of his work.

    Write On!
    jIM


  • Thewordflow
    September 16
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    Beautiful, one of my favourites

  • James Holdaway
    September 16
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    Poetry

    Written when the lyrics of a poem could be adjusted to fit the situation. Beautifully written, with a sad scenario.

  • nsmurty
    September 16
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    "Srirangam Srinivasa Rao ( "SriSri").... a great Telugu poet of last century has said " don't look down upon a pup, a cake of soap or a match stick .... there is no object in nature that could not be a subject of poetry. Like the classicists, one need not be prejudiced against some objects to write poetry. He means that the art poetry lies in the poet and not in his subject.

    We must have lost pencils to the score in our school days. Surely, some of them broken, worn out and rugged at the buts for chewing things out of habit, but coveted them most for they were presented by our friends. Did it ever occur to us to churn out a lovely poem out of that experience(s)?

    As someone has said when asked: "what is the Hallmark of a good poem?", that after reading it "you should feel that you too chould have written it".

    This certainly is one such.

1 - 5 of 5