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Analysis and comments on Ready to Kill by Carl Sandburg

1 2 3 4 [5] 6 7 8

Comment 36 of 76, added on May 27th, 2013 at 2:24 PM.
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TURc1i Very good blog. Great.

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Comment 35 of 76, added on May 25th, 2013 at 10:06 AM.
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5xtFSW Thanks for the article post. Really Great.

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Comment 34 of 76, added on May 25th, 2013 at 8:04 AM.
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AlCQ51 I think this is a real great post.Much thanks again. Will read on...

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Comment 33 of 76, added on May 25th, 2013 at 2:35 AM.
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yUg8Dr Really appreciate you sharing this blog post.Thanks Again. Keep
writing.

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Comment 32 of 76, added on May 14th, 2013 at 9:55 AM.
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f8NLCv Major thankies for the blog article. Awesome.

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Comment 31 of 76, added on May 14th, 2013 at 4:44 AM.
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QE1zwE A big thank you for your blog.Really looking forward to read more.
Great.

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Comment 30 of 76, added on May 13th, 2013 at 9:16 PM.
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DxTR7H Thanks-a-mundo for the article.Much thanks again. Great.

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Comment 29 of 76, added on April 19th, 2013 at 6:02 AM.
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L1PNgP Great, thanks for sharing this blog. Cool.

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Comment 28 of 76, added on March 4th, 2013 at 5:12 AM.
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After I buried my love, in that niratmhge February of 1985, I was alone
and all I wanted was death. it took me 25 years to even try to be alive
again, and some nights its still a struggle. There was a poem that
expressed my feelings and still does on the dark and alien nights where the
love I have now seems far away, and the love I had then seems very close.
No, its not uplifting, but it captured the feelings I had kneeling by that
stone. - The Garden of Proserpine by Algernon Charles SwinburneHere,
where the world is quiet ; Here, where all trouble seemsDead winds’
and spent waves’ riot In doubtful dreams of dreams ;I watch the green
field growingFor reaping folk and sowing,For harvest-time and mowing, A
sleepy world of streams.I am tired of tears and laughter, And men that
laugh and weep ;Of what may come hereafter For men that sow to reap :I
am weary of days and hours,Blown buds of barren flowers,Desires and dreams
and powers And everything but sleep.Here life has death for neighbour,
And far from eye or earWan waves and wet winds labour, Weak ships
and spirits steer ;They drive adrift, and whitherThey wot not who make
thither ;But no such winds blow hither, And no such things grow here.No
growth of moor or coppice, No heather-flower or vine,But bloomless
buds of poppies, Green grapes of Proserpine,Pale beds of blowing
rushesWhere no leaf blooms or blushesSave this whereout she crushes For
dead men deadly wine.Pale, without name or number, In fruitless fields
of corn,They bow themselves and slumber All night till light is born
;And like a soul belated,In hell and heaven unmated,By cloud and mist
abated Comes out of darkness morn.Though one were strong as seven,
He too with death shall dwell,Nor wake with wings in heaven, Nor weep
for pains in hell ;Though one were fair as roses,His beauty clouds and
closes ;And well though love reposes, In the end it is not well.Pale,
beyond porch and portal, Crowned with calm leaves, she standsWho
gathers all things mortal With cold immortal hands ;Her languid lips
are sweeterThan love’s who fears to greet herTo men that mix and meet her
From many times and lands.She waits for each and other, She waits
for all men born ;Forgets the earth her mother, The life of fruits and
corn ;And spring and seed and swallowTake wing for her and followWhere
summer song rings hollow And flowers are put to scorn.There go the
loves that wither, The old loves with wearier wings ;And all dead years
draw thither, And all disastrous things ;Dead dreams of days
forsaken,Blind buds that snows have shaken,Wild leaves that winds have
taken, Red strays of ruined springs.We are not sure of sorrow, And
joy was never sure ;To-day will die to-morrow ; Time stoops to no
man’s lure ;And love, grown faint and fretful,With lips but half
regretfulSighs, and with eyes forgetful Weeps that no loves endure.From
too much love of living, From hope and fear set free,We thank with
brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may beThat no life lives for ever
;That dead men rise up never ;That even the weariest river Winds
somewhere safe to sea.Then star nor sun shall waken, Nor any change of
light :Nor sound of waters shaken, Nor any sound or sight :Nor wintry
leaves nor vernal,Nor days nor things diurnal ;Only the sleep eternal
In an eternal night.

Yuli from Yugoslavia
Comment 27 of 76, added on February 28th, 2013 at 11:52 PM.
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iArhbn I really liked your post. Really Cool.

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Information about Ready to Kill

Poet: Carl Sandburg
Poem: 53. Ready to Kill
Volume: Chicago Poems
- Chicago Poems
Year: 1912
Added: Feb 4 2004
Viewed: 668 times
Poem of the Day: Dec 21 2010


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