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<blockquote data-quote="TheAuldGrump" data-source="post: 5030170" data-attributes="member: 6957">For Delta Green I have used The Wasteland (T. S. Elliot) and Second Coming (W.B. Yeats).A bit of Browning can also work - and you may want to look around, some of his poems had two different versions, one for public consumption, the other... a trifle bawdy. <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f61b.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":p" title="Stick out tongue&nbsp; &nbsp; :p"&nbsp; data-smilie="7"data-shortname=":p" /> Cooleridge can be useful as well, Ryme of the Ancient Mariner comes to mind.&nbsp; Poe... go for some of his more obscure poems - from&nbsp; The Sleeper as an example:My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleepAs it is lasting, so be deep!Soft may the worms about her creep!Far in the forest, dim and old,For her may some tall vault unfold-Some vault that oft has flung its blackAnd winged panels fluttering back,Triumphant, o'er the crested palls,Of her grand family funerals-Some sepulchre, remote, alone,Against whose portal she hath thrown,In childhood, many an idle stone-Some tomb from out whose sounding doorShe ne'er shall force an echo more,Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!It was the dead who groaned within. The Auld Grump</blockquote>

[QUOTE="TheAuldGrump, post: 5030170, member: 6957"] For Delta Green I have used The Wasteland (T. S. Elliot) and Second Coming (W.B. Yeats). A bit of Browning can also work - and you may want to look around, some of his poems had two different versions, one for public consumption, the other... a trifle bawdy. :p Cooleridge can be useful as well, Ryme of the Ancient Mariner comes to mind. Poe... go for some of his more obscure poems - from The Sleeper as an example: My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep As it is lasting, so be deep! Soft may the worms about her creep! Far in the forest, dim and old, For her may some tall vault unfold- Some vault that oft has flung its black And winged panels fluttering back, Triumphant, o'er the crested palls, Of her grand family funerals- Some sepulchre, remote, alone, Against whose portal she hath thrown, In childhood, many an idle stone- Some tomb from out whose sounding door She ne'er shall force an echo more, Thrilling to think, poor child of sin! It was the dead who groaned within. The Auld Grump [/QUOTE]

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