Classic Poetry Aloud

Classic Poetry Aloud

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Classic Poetry Aloud episodes

  • 621: Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe
    Edgar Allan Poe read by Classic Poetry Aloud
    www.classicpoetryaloud.com
    Twitter: @classicpoetry
    Facebook: www.facebook.com/poetryaloud
    Giving voice to the poetry of the past.
    ---------------------------------------------------
    Annabel Lee
    by Edgar Allan Poe (1809 – 1849)
    It was many and many a year ago,
    In a kingdom by the sea,
    That a maiden there lived whom you may know
    By the name of Annabel Lee;
    And this maiden she lived with no other thought
    Than to love and be loved by me.
    I was a child and she was a child,
    In this kingdom by the sea,
    But we loved with a love that was more than love,
    I and my Annabel Lee;
    With a love that the wingèd seraphs of heaven
    Coveted her and me.
    And this was the reason that, long ago,
    In this kingdom by the sea,
    A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
    My beautiful Annabel Lee;
    So that her highborn kinsmen came
    And bore her away from me,
    To shut her up in a sepulchre
    In this kingdom by the sea.
    The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
    Went envying her and me;
    Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
    In this kingdom by the sea)
    That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
    Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
    But our love it was stronger by far than the love
    Of those who were older than we,
    Of many far wiser than we;
    And neither the angels in heaven above,
    Nor the demons down under the sea,
    Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:
    For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
    Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
    In her sepulchre there by the sea,
    In her tomb by the sounding sea.
    Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud, 2007.
    3 min
  • 620. The Snow Storm by Ralph Waldo Emerson
    Ralph Waldo Emerson read by Classic Poetry Aloud
    www.classicpoetryaloud.com
    Twitter: @classicpoetry
    Facebook: www.facebook.com/poetryaloud
    Giving voice to the poetry of the past.
    ------------------------------------------------
    The Snow-Storm
    by Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803 – 1882)
    Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
    Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
    Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
    Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
    And veils the farm-house at the garden's end.
    The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
    Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
    Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
    In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
    Come see the north wind's masonry.
    Out of an unseen quarry evermore
    Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
    Curves his white bastions with projected roof
    Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
    Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
    So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
    For number or proportion. Mockingly,
    On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
    A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn;
    Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall,
    Maugre the farmer's sighs; and at the gate
    A tapering turret overtops the work.
    And when his hours are numbered, and the world
    Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
    Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
    To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
    Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
    The frolic architecture of the snow.
    Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud, 2008.
    3 min
  • 619. If by Rudyard Kipling
    Rudyard Kipling read by Classic Poetry Aloud
    www.classicpoetryaloud.com
    Twitter: @classicpoetry
    Facebook: www.facebook.com/poetryaloud
    Giving voice to the poetry of the past.
    ---------------------------------------------------
    If
    by Rudyard Kipling (1865 - 1936)
    If you can keep your head when all about you
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
    If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
    But make allowance for their doubting too;
    If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
    Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
    Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
    And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
    If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
    If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
    If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
    And treat those two impostors just the same;
    If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
    Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
    And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
    If you can make one heap of all your winnings
    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
    And lose, and start again at your beginnings
    And never breathe a word about your loss;
    If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
    To serve your turn long after they are gone,
    And so hold on when there is nothing in you
    Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
    If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
    Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
    If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
    If all men count with you, but none too much;
    If you can fill the unforgiving minute
    With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
    Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
    And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
    Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud, 2007.
    2 min
  • 618. December by Dollie Radford
    Dollie Radford read by Classic Poetry Aloud
    www.classicpoetryaloud.com
    Twitter: @classicpoetry
    Facebook: www.facebook.com/poetryaloud
    Giving voice to the poetry of the past.
    ---------------------------------------
    December
    by Dollie Radford (1858 – 1920)
    No gardener need go far to find
    The Christmas rose,
    The fairest of the flowers that mark
    The sweet Year's close:
    Nor be in quest of places where
    The hollies grow,
    Nor seek for sacred trees that hold
    The mistletoe.
    All kindly tended gardens love
    December days,
    And spread their latest riches out
    In winter's praise.
    But every gardener's work this month
    Must surely be
    To choose a very beautiful
    Big Christmas tree,
    And see it through the open door
    In triumph ride,
    To reign a glorious reign within
    At Christmas-tide.
    Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud 2009
    2 min
  • 617. The Arrow and the Song by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow read by Classic Poetry Aloud
    www.classicpoetryaloud.com
    Twitter: @classicpoetry
    Facebook: www.facebook.com/poetryaloud
    Giving voice to the poetry of the past.
    --------------------------------------------
    The Arrow and the Song
    by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 – 1882)
    I shot an arrow into the air,
    It fell to earth, I knew not where;
    For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
    Could not follow it in its flight.
    I breathed a song into the air,
    It fell to earth, I knew not where;
    For who has sight so keen and strong
    That it can follow the flight of song?
    Long, long afterward, in an oak
    I found the arrow, still unbroke;
    And the song, from beginning to end,
    I found again in the heart of a friend.
    Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud, 2008.
    1 min
  • 616. Sonnet 18 by William Shakespeare
    William Shakespeare read by Classic Poetry Aloud
    www.classicpoetryaloud.com
    Twitter: @classicpoetry
    Facebook: www.facebook.com/poetryaloud
    Giving voice to the poetry of the past.
    ---------------------------------------------------
    Sonnet 18
    by William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
    Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
    Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
    Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
    And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
    Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
    And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
    And every fair from fair sometime declines,
    By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;
    But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
    Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
    Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
    When in eternal lines to time thou growest;
    So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
    So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
    Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud, 2007.
    1 min
  • 615. For Those Who Fail by Joaquin Miller
    Joaquin Miller read by Classic Poetry Aloud
    www.classicpoetryaloud.com
    Twitter: @classicpoetry
    Facebook: www.facebook.com/poetryaloud
    Giving voice to the poetry of the past.
    ---------------------------------------------------
    For Those Who Fail
    by Joaquin Miller (1837 – 1913)
    "All honor to him who shall win the prize,"
    The world has cried for a thousand years;
    But to him who tries and who fails and dies,
    I give great honor and glory and tears.
    O great is the hero who wins a name,
    But greater many and many a time,
    Some pale-faced fellow who dies in shame,
    And lets God finish the thought sublime.
    And great is the man with a sword undrawn,
    And good is the man who refrains from wine;
    But the man who fails and yet fights on,
    Lo! he is the twin-born brother of mine!
    Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud, 2008.
    1 min
  • 614. Alone by Edgar Allan Poe
    Edgar Allan Poe read by Classic Poetry Aloud
    www.classicpoetryaloud.com
    Twitter: @classicpoetry
    Facebook: www.facebook.com/poetryaloud
    Giving voice to the poetry of the past.
    ---------------------------------------------------
    Alone
    by Edgar Allan Poe(1809 – 1849)
    From childhood's hour I have not been
    As others were; I have not seen
    As others saw; I could not bring
    My passions from a common spring.
    From the same source I have not taken
    My sorrow; I could not awaken
    My heart to joy at the same tone;
    And all I loved, I loved alone.
    Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
    Of a most stormy life- was drawn
    From every depth of good and ill
    The mystery which binds me still:
    From the torrent, or the fountain,
    From the red cliff of the mountain,
    From the sun that round me rolled
    In its autumn tint of gold,
    From the lightning in the sky
    As it passed me flying by,
    From the thunder and the storm,
    And the cloud that took the form
    (When the rest of Heaven was blue)
    Of a demon in my view.
    Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud, 2007.
    2 min
  • 613. The Good-Morrow by John Donne
    John Donne read by Classic Poetry Aloud
    www.classicpoetryaloud.com
    Twitter: @classicpoetry
    Facebook: www.facebook.com/poetryaloud
    Giving voice to the poetry of the past.
    ---------------------------------------------
    The Good-Morrow
    by John Donne (1572 – 1631)
    I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I
    Did, till we lov'd? were we not wean'd till then?
    But suck'd on countrey pleasures, childishly?
    Or snorted we in the seaven sleepers den?
    T'was so; But this, all pleasures fancies bee.
    If ever any beauty I did see,
    Which I desir'd, and got, t'was but a dreame of thee.
    And now good morrow to our waking soules,
    Which watch not one another out of feare;
    For love, all love of other sights controules,
    And makes one little roome, an every where.
    Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,
    Let Maps to other, worlds on worlds have showne,
    Let us possesse one world, each hath one, and is one.
    My face in thine eye, thine in mine appeares,
    And true plaine hearts doe in the faces rest,
    Where can we finde two better hemispheares
    Without sharpe North, without declining West?
    What ever dyes, was not mixt equally;
    If our two loves be one, or, thou and I
    Love so alike, that none doe slacken, none can die.
    Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud, 2007.
    2 min
  • 612. Hope is the Thing with Feathers by Emily Dickinson
    Emily Dickinson read by Classic Poetry Aloud
    www.classicpoetryaloud.com
    Twitter:@classicpoetry
    Facebook: www.facebook.com/poetryaloud
    Giving voice to the poetry of the past.
    ---------------------------------------------------
    Hope is the Thing with Feathers
    by Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886)
    "Hope" is the thing with feathers—
    That perches in the soul—
    And sings the tune without the words—
    And never stops—at all—
    And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
    And sore must be the storm—
    That could abash the little Bird
    That kept so many warm—
    I've heard it in the chillest land—
    And on the strangest Sea—
    Yet, never, in Extremity,
    It asked a crumb—of Me.
    Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud, 2007.
    1 min

About Classic Poetry Aloud

From the publisher's feed

Classic Poetry Aloud gives voice to poetry through podcast recordings of the great poems of the past. Our library of poems is intended as a resource for anyone interested in reading and listening to poetry. For us, it's all about the listening, and how hearing a poem can make it more accessible, as well as heightening its emotional impact.

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