"dunnest" poems
Thump, thump, thump
Thy heart hath been cast in the dunnest depths of hell
Where all is horrid, and none doth fair well
Thump, thump, thump
Cause teen doth thee, nay!
For teen done unto me, is not as such unto they
Thump, thump, thump
And louder and louder grows the melody of thy temperament
And not four, three, two, but one doth descend from the firmament
Thump, thump, thump
To bringeth peace to the wretched, woeful pentameter
And wish dismemberment upon thy casted phenyl ether
Thump, thump, thump
The hurtling, the hurtling, it grow’st, ever so behooved!
Make it stop, my dearly beloved!
Thump, thump, thump
O, that cursed noise! Let it be dispelled!
Wish I not to feel! To hear! To hell, be it! To hell!
Thump, thump, thump
O, I beg of thee, let thy ***** heave one last time!
Let thy heart love once more, bittersweet as thyme!
Thump, thump, thump
I can go on no longer, I’m sure of it now! Tear my mind from its host!
O, please, my love, my one and only, let it be death’s turn to boast!
Thump, thump, thump
O yes, yes, I wish such upon thyself, for glee I hath not!
In thought, in feeling, I am most distraught
Thump, thump, thump
Can not the same be said for thee?
Mine own love, mine own lady! End thy teen and let it beest seen!
Thump, thump, thump
I wish this odious hurtling beest heard nay more!
O! Mercifully, shalt death’s hands cradle thee, and bring peace? Nevermore!
Thump, thump, thump
M’lady, my everything, say what you will
But pain any less seems rather fittingly ill!
Thump, thump, thump
To leave behind what ye hath built,
Arm in arm did we, as one; it would hurt more than a sword through that drum, deep to the hilt
Thump, thump, thump
O, let still it be heard! For cease, it shall not!
And lest not, we bethink our final bethought
Thump, thump, thump
For forever in my heart lives thee
And forever will thou be cherished, my fair lady
Thump, thump, thump
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 1:19 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]
Except for the title none of this is mine; the direct quotation following is from Shakespeare:
Jill Macbeth
…Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full
Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood,
Stop up th’ access and passage to remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
Th’ effect and it! Come to my woman’s *******
And take my milk for gall, your murd’ring ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature’s mischief! Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark
To cry, “Hold, hold!”
-Macbeth I.v.41-62
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Macbeth, by William Shakespeare
Jun 28, 2024
Jun 28, 2024 at 12:22 PM UTC