Harshal M.

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Original text in yellow, anagram in pink.

Sonnet 106 is anagrammed being relevant to the original in three ways: the first two are the poem itself and the acrostic. In addition to the first letters being an acrostic, each first word is as well, to make a third relevant phrase. Unfortunately, this cannot exist naturally, so I had to create one by myself. The phrase is:
"Guilty of pushing reality early supplies enmity really vast; encourage tide in more entirety."

When in the chronicle of wasted time,
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme,
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights,
Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have expressed,
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring,
And for they looked but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

Guilty folk who best abuse the prize
Of the valuable new day to sweat and hop,
Pushing their bluff to playhouses unwise,
Reality is off; snobbish bite is on top.
Early on is the quiet rise of the sun;
Supplies our help in housework and play.
Enmity is downward, dead, fixed, and precisely done.
Really nothing to nauseate the shy ease of day!
Vast is the noon, working through to ace folk.
Encourage the world to free the right whole.
Tide is about at near-bedtime's yoke,
In which what fun, vivid beam be in control!
More successes heaved, I offer a degree:
Entirety off the spongy Wisdom Tree.

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Sonnet 18 is anagrammed into four short poems discussing each of the four seasons.

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 dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimmed;
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.

SUMMER

On one afternoon day, anybody will
Encounter loose paradise out in time,
Then some heaven has freed the thrill
Enclosed in this open rhyme.



AUTUMN

Some far sunsets are mellow sights
And trees have elegant shades;
These solid gems and wholesome lights
Are in the easy customs nature aids!



WINTER

A gladsome height of mammals' snores
(And those that cross from the north too),
Embody through magic, silvery outdoors
And offer home: this lovable milieu.



SPRING

The blue sky above exhales a silent drift
To redeem a plant's creation,
A radiance must hold too swift
To reach higher, enhanced formation.

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A poem by John Keats.

BRIGHT STAR

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever-or else swoon to death.

DEATH STAR

Skulls of peril, mean tongues of steel,
The deft Dark Side shall engulf that land.
A broken zone is our neat appeal;
Relentless our stout reign shall stand!
War to inherit every affirmative planet,
Assault a target: a damned Rebel bloke.
Raise a bold weapon, it's one towering threat,
Star to fight a powerful, instant stroke!
Men of swiftness and of rich strengths:
Oh, Palpatine resolves our finest rules
Vader will work through to his brilliant lengths,
Intent to swallow the unworthy mutineer fools!
Each inventive point and witting means
Should power the Rebels to smithereens!

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Oscar Wilde's "The Grave of Shelley" anagrammed into a memorial poem to Mick Tully.

Like burnt-out torches by a sick man's bed
Gaunt cypress-trees stand round the sun-bleached stone;
Here doth the little night-owl make her throne,
And the slight lizard show his jewelled head.
And, where the chaliced poppies flame to red,
In the still chamber of yon pyramid
Surely some Old-World Sphinx lurks darkly hid,
Grim warder of this pleasaunce of the dead.
Ah! sweet indeed to rest within the womb
Of Earth, great mother of eternal sleep,
But sweeter far for thee a restless tomb
In the blue cavern of an echoing deep,
Or where the tall ships founder in the gloom
Against the rocks of some wave-shattered steep.

He Died Of ...?

As helpless life's conclusion breezes nigh,
No power charm comes rolling to this bed.
As mourners get absorbed before I die,
Gray content gets known deep in this hard head.
Remotely fresh to crunch me to the Death,
And why the hell at healthful sixty-one?
My elder face takes one mere, feeble breath
My desperate head prepared to ask a ton;
A splendid warmth of strength was up a sleeve
To enter life with rather mirthful birth.
It now depressed me - that's what I believed -
So was it worthwhile, dwelling here on Earth?
The product looks too dreadful here to think,
So just clutch up the harmless glass and drink.

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Five anagrams of the US Pledge of Allegiance.

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation under god, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

Cured plans

I long to be jolly
I want to be glad!
I'm searching for patience
I don't wish to be sad.
Handing difficulties
Is a futile deal,
The truth in that force,
I need to reveal!

THE IDEAL CONTENT

I will be jubilant around the sweet aromas of thought, logical in sight of better discovery, spirited in scale, and peaceful in the land of dignified art.

We, inhabiting Americans, to fulfill a solid region, hatch justice, profit placidity, defend, be good and well, and steer in free evolution, signed that rich tablet to the USA.

Birth of the Elected

I, Washington,
I, Garfield,
I, Cleveland,
I, Taft,
I, Wilson
I, Johnson,
I, Reagan,
understand the helpful, doubtless attitude of good American liberty.

I accept.

Let there be a jolly picnic of space
And let there be a laughing council of life,
Let there be air and water,
And no nation adding strife.

I must do with God. This old visit fit us.

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IS A SPERM LIKE A WHALE?

Shall I compare thee to a sperm whale, sperm?
Thou art more tiny and more resolute:
Rough tides may sway a sea-bound endotherm,
But naught diverts thy uterine commute.
Sometime too fierce the eye of squid may glint
And make a stout cetacean hunter quail;
Methinks ’twould take much more than bilious squint
To shake thee off the cunning ovum’s trail.
Yet still thou art not so unlike, thou two,
Both coursing through a dark uncharted brine
While fore and aft there swims thy fellow crew;
And note this echo, little gamete mine:
As whales spray salty water from their spout,
So with a salty spray dost thou come out.

The humourous rhyme you read today is from our curious "Holy Tango of Literature", a deft museum of work, its content asking the question, "What would happen if all the literature were made from anagram titles of the authors' names?"

Well, the thought here's much noteworthy!

I can quickly check that "IS A SPERM LIKE A WHALE?" anagrams to "WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE"!

Wow, isn't that truly astounding?

Well, it might be!

Okay, I see it's decided then.

The unique sonnet totally studies the sperm's nature in contrast to its mammoth whale counterpart.

Obviously, there's minute resemblance.

Therefore, that poem's scummy and void.

Ooh, that's too bad.

Bye.

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Updated: May 10, 2016


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