The "I Didn't Comment in Another Thread" Thread
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darjr
I crit!
Not all of us can be good at this posting thing.
Bolares
Hero
Well... at least you try
darjr
I crit!
Thank you Yolares.
Bolares
Hero
You're spending too much time on twitter...
Snarf Zagyg
Notorious Liquefactionist
Eltab
Lord of the Hidden Layer
You don't actually hate bards, you are just trying to drive off the competition.
Search your feelings, you know this to be true.
A matching service find for Snarf?
(aka The Genius of the Vague, by Don Marquis)
SHE came at twilight yestere'en,
With eyes profound and sad,
And murmured, "You must choose between
The Shadow and the Shad!"
"What mean you, cryptic visitor,
Who come to me uncalled?"
She answered, "Ned and Isidor
And Thomas, too are bald!"
"I know they are," I said, "but why
Should that so sadden you?"
She wiped a wan and wistful eye
And smelled a sprig of rue.
"Oh, sounds," she said, "oh, sounds and scents!
And, oh! forgotten years"—
Beneath her shrouding filaments
She shed, I think, some tears.
"But what are you," I asked of her,
"Who waver through the gloom
As cheerful as a sepulcher,
As genial as a tomb?"
"I am," she said, "the friend of Potes;
And sometimes I'm the plague
Who gets their gay, Parnassian goats:
The Genius of the Vague!
"Vers libre, or straight old-fashioned rime,
Ode, sonnet, song, ballade,
I've saved from failure many a time
With nonsense quaint and odd;
"When feeling fails, or thought or trope,
When meaning peaks and pines,
Do not, therefore, abandon hope,
But pull some mystic lines—
"Oh, seas and shores," she said, "and dreams,
Echo and Afterwhile!
And souls and sorrows, gulls and gleams!"—
She smiled a pensive smile—
"Oh, you must choose between," she said,
"The Filbert and the Fly!"—
I looked, and she had vanishèd;
She left behind a Sigh.
(aka The Genius of the Vague, by Don Marquis)
SHE came at twilight yestere'en,
With eyes profound and sad,
And murmured, "You must choose between
The Shadow and the Shad!"
"What mean you, cryptic visitor,
Who come to me uncalled?"
She answered, "Ned and Isidor
And Thomas, too are bald!"
"I know they are," I said, "but why
Should that so sadden you?"
She wiped a wan and wistful eye
And smelled a sprig of rue.
"Oh, sounds," she said, "oh, sounds and scents!
And, oh! forgotten years"—
Beneath her shrouding filaments
She shed, I think, some tears.
"But what are you," I asked of her,
"Who waver through the gloom
As cheerful as a sepulcher,
As genial as a tomb?"
"I am," she said, "the friend of Potes;
And sometimes I'm the plague
Who gets their gay, Parnassian goats:
The Genius of the Vague!
"Vers libre, or straight old-fashioned rime,
Ode, sonnet, song, ballade,
I've saved from failure many a time
With nonsense quaint and odd;
"When feeling fails, or thought or trope,
When meaning peaks and pines,
Do not, therefore, abandon hope,
But pull some mystic lines—
"Oh, seas and shores," she said, "and dreams,
Echo and Afterwhile!
And souls and sorrows, gulls and gleams!"—
She smiled a pensive smile—
"Oh, you must choose between," she said,
"The Filbert and the Fly!"—
I looked, and she had vanishèd;
She left behind a Sigh.
Last edited:
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