old age love

[meri_zindagi]

37 minutes ago, Somedude said:

Ok. I saw the msg. I have access to see PMs.

Dno't believe that msg.

Is she lying about you, I didn't believe though.

[meri_zindagi]

6 hours ago, DummyVariable said:

Ode and more specifically “Ode to a Grecian urn” and it's famous words, “ Beauty is truth, truth beauty”. Maybe 🤔

🙏

[meri_zindagi]

6 hours ago, Somedude said:

what sort of peorty? Ballad, sonnet, acrostic, ode..?

Modern sonnet may be... 

[DummyVariable]

22 hours ago, meri_zindagi said:

His eyes were blue, so blue, i always yearn to look into them. his words are magical, he helds me without hesitant, i feel his love, i realize this is what happiness is. My mind whispers this time is finite. 

The longingness i feel for him breaks me. 

Longing for someone is not love. It's pain. We long for anything we want but we dont have. 
 

And you mean pursuing or chasing ?

 

PS: Him and I are fictional. Jus tried to say that way.

So if your partner passes away and you long for them, is it still not love? Have you read “Music, when soft voices die” ? PBS captures the emotion of longing love brilliantly in that poem. There can be different phases and different emotions to it. “The passionate Shepherd” by Marlowe is more of a proposal message, but nevertheless a different manifestation of it. “Ode to a Grecian urn”, I mentioned in my earlier post is about unrequited love. The truth is that it lies in a spectrum. You can’t deny it’s existence by attaching a definitive meaning to it.

[Somedude]

1 hour ago, meri_zindagi said:

Modern sonnet may be... 

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

 

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

 

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

[Somedude]

7 hours ago, DummyVariable said:

Ode and more specifically “Ode to a Grecian urn” and it's famous words, “ Beauty is truth, truth beauty”. Maybe 🤔

Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring’d legend haunt about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal – yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy’d,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy’d,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead’st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e’er return.

O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st,
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty,” – that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

[Somedude]

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

       Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has withered from the lake,

       And no birds sing.

 

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

       So haggard and so woe-begone?

The squirrel’s granary is full,

       And the harvest’s done.

 

I see a lily on thy brow,

       With anguish moist and fever-dew,

And on thy cheeks a fading rose

       Fast withereth too.

 

I met a lady in the meads,

       Full beautiful—a faery’s child,

Her hair was long, her foot was light,

       And her eyes were wild.

 

I made a garland for her head,

       And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;

She looked at me as she did love,

       And made sweet moan

 

I set her on my pacing steed,

       And nothing else saw all day long,

For sidelong would she bend, and sing

       A faery’s song.

 

She found me roots of relish sweet,

       And honey wild, and manna-dew,

And sure in language strange she said—

       ‘I love thee true’.

 

She took me to her Elfin grot,

       And there she wept and sighed full sore,

And there I shut her wild wild eyes

       With kisses four.

 

And there she lullèd me asleep,

       And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!—

The latest dream I ever dreamt

       On the cold hill side.

 

I saw pale kings and princes too,

       Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;

They cried—‘La Belle Dame sans Merci

       Thee hath in thrall!’

 

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,

       With horrid warning gapèd wide,

And I awoke and found me here,

       On the cold hill’s side.

 

And this is why I sojourn here,

       Alone and palely loitering,

Though the sedge is withered from the lake,

       And no birds sing.

[meri_zindagi]

@Somedude Mari meaning evaru cheptaru 🤨

[DummyVariable]

46 minutes ago, meri_zindagi said:

@Somedude Mari meaning evaru cheptaru 🤨

They are meaningful only when you can personally connect with them.

[Somedude]

49 minutes ago, meri_zindagi said:

@Somedude Mari meaning evaru cheptaru 🤨

Lol. Adhi kooda na. First one - She walks in beauty - Its not too archaic to understand.

Second one  Ode to a Grecian urn - its long. @DummyVariable can help

Last one - la belle dame sans merci. Beauty without heart. A ballad. You must have known it from the school days. If not, find the meaning yourself, you will enjoy the process and helps connecting yourself personally to the emotion of the ballad. A Knight narrating his pain after being rejected by a fairy. This is real English classic. If you are a fan of medieval English times, you will like it more.

[Somedude]

18 minutes ago, DummyVariable said:

They are meaningful only when you can personally connect with them.

Very true, right said.

[meri_zindagi]

4 hours ago, DummyVariable said:

So if your partner passes away and you long for them, is it still not love? Have you read “Music, when soft voices die” ? PBS captures the emotion of longing love brilliantly in that poem. There can be different phases and different emotions to it. “The passionate Shepherd” by Marlowe is more of a proposal message, but nevertheless a different manifestation of it. “Ode to a Grecian urn”, I mentioned in my earlier post is about unrequited love. The truth is that it lies in a spectrum. You can’t deny it’s existence by attaching a definitive meaning to it.

So if your partner passes away and you long for them, is it still not love? (it is still longingness only. If a kid for sweets and cries when he can't get them , do you call it love.  what i mean in specific longingness and love are not synonymous, we long for love, if it is reciprocated it makes us feel completed. if not it results in pain)
 Have you read “Music, when soft voices die” ? (just now). PBS captures the emotion of longing love brilliantly in that poem. There can be different phases and different emotions to it. (True. May be Meerabhai's love for Krishna is highest form.)
“The passionate Shepherd” by Marlowe is more of a proposal message, but nevertheless a different manifestation of it. “Ode to a Grecian urn”, I mentioned in my earlier post is about unrequited love. (When you love someone, we long for their company, for their simplest acknowledgement, 

The truth is that it lies in a spectrum. You can’t deny it’s existence by attaching a definitive meaning to it. (I agree. at some point i got convinced myself, when we long for someone it is because of love.)

 

[meri_zindagi]

1 hour ago, Somedude said:

Lol. Adhi kooda na. First one - She walks in beauty - Its not too archaic to understand.

Second one  Ode to a Grecian urn - its long. @DummyVariable can help

Last one - la belle dame sans merci. Beauty without heart. A ballad. You must have known it from the school days. If not, find the meaning yourself, you will enjoy the process and helps connecting yourself personally to the emotion of the ballad. A Knight narrating his pain after being rejected by a fairy. This is real English classic. If you are a fan of medieval English times, you will like it more.

One and three are okay. Second one, seriously its taking hell lot time to get it's actual sense. 

[meri_zindagi]

Does anyone feels heavy hearted going through all this. Tag this post as, not for sensitive hearted, 😋

[DummyVariable]

12 hours ago, meri_zindagi said:

Second one, seriously its taking hell lot time to get it's actual sense. 

It was written by John Keats before his death (aged 25 - a literary giant by that age) and is about art on Grecian urns. These urns have stories painted/sculpted on them.  Some parts of the poem are allegorical and self-referential - others are descriptions of the urn. 

Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal – yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Keats sees a sculpted picture of a boy gazing fondly at a girl and pities him as he can never reach her. The piece of art has frozen his love and he can never express it. The girl, however, is forever beautiful in his gaze. It symbolizes love that never comes into fruition. At certain points in our lives, due to fate, other unfortunate events and social circumstances, we move away from people and they become unreachable. It is only you who cannot see them or talk to them and that emotion of wanting to be with them is never fulfilled. You crave their presence, but you will not get it. Like I have said before, love is for the lucky and others are cursed not to have it.

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;

This is metaphorical and he is actually talking about emotions. You can express liking for a person through words and actions, but what is deep down inside you, only you know. Expressed emotions are sweet, unexpressed emotions are sweeter. 

“Beauty is truth, truth beauty,” – that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

A lot of debate over this. Maybe he means that time is eternal and that the stories on this urn are eternal too and will not fade away just like truth, beauty and love. 

Just a short analysis. Haven't visited this in a long time- probably was 12 when I was made to read it and write 10-page essays on it.