A personal project where I attempt to match one of my images with a piece of pro's by a famous writer.
I have also used AI generated poems to some images.
"Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;.
His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,.
And be among her cloudy trophies hung"
John Keats, . “Ode on Melancholy.”
"Into my heart an air that kills
Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows;
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?
From yon far country blows;
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?
That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again."
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again."
A E Houseman
"With milk-white harts upon an ivory sled
Thou shalt be drawn amidst the frozen pools,
And scale the icy mountains' lofty tops,
Which with thy beauty will be soon resolved."
Thou shalt be drawn amidst the frozen pools,
And scale the icy mountains' lofty tops,
Which with thy beauty will be soon resolved."
"Hugest of living creatures, on the deep
Stretch'd like a promontory sleeps or swims,
And seems a moving land, and at his gills
And seems a moving land, and at his gills
Draws in, and at his trunk spouts out a sea."
"The Stately Homes of England,
How beautiful they stand,
To prove the upper classes
Have still the upper hand;"
How beautiful they stand,
To prove the upper classes
Have still the upper hand;"
Noel Coward
"Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run."
Andrew Marvell
"But there's a tree, of many one,
A single field which I have have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:"
A single field which I have have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:"
William Wordsworth
"When you were a tadpole and I was a fish
In the Paleozoic time,
And side by side on the ebbing tide
We sprawled through the ooze and slime,"
In the Paleozoic time,
And side by side on the ebbing tide
We sprawled through the ooze and slime,"
Langdon Smith
"Yet ever and anon a trumpet sounds
From the hid battlements of Eternity;
Those shaken mists a space unsettle, then
Round the half-glimpsèd turrets slowly wash again"
Francis Thompson
High flight
"Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of – wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air...."
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of – wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air...."
John Gillespie Magee Jr.
Moorland Veil
The moorland sighs, a breath of grey,
As mist descends and steals the day.
A ghostly shroud, a silver sheet,
Where ancient stones and wild paths meet.
As mist descends and steals the day.
A ghostly shroud, a silver sheet,
Where ancient stones and wild paths meet.
AI generated
Dead trees dancing.
In a forest where shadows silently creep,
Stand the dead trees, in their eternal sleep.
No leaves to flutter, no branches to sway,
Yet in the moonlight, they dance anyway.
Stand the dead trees, in their eternal sleep.
No leaves to flutter, no branches to sway,
Yet in the moonlight, they dance anyway.
Their skeletal forms, with a ghostly grace,
Move to the rhythm of time's slow pace.
Roots still anchored, though life has fled,
In the dance of the dead, they find their thread.
Move to the rhythm of time's slow pace.
Roots still anchored, though life has fled,
In the dance of the dead, they find their thread.
The wind whispers secrets through hollowed bark,
A haunting melody in the night's dark.
Branches reach out, like fingers so thin,
In a dance of the past, where memories begin.
A haunting melody in the night's dark.
Branches reach out, like fingers so thin,
In a dance of the past, where memories begin.
Though life has left, their spirit remains,
In the silent dance, they break their chains.
For even in death, there's beauty to see,
In the dance of the dead trees, wild and free.
In the silent dance, they break their chains.
For even in death, there's beauty to see,
In the dance of the dead trees, wild and free.
AI generated
Cathedral Buttresses
In ancient stone, they rise and stand, Guardians of a sacred land. With arms outstretched, they hold the weight, Of dreams and prayers, they consecrate.
Silent sentinels of time, Echoes of a grand design. Through wars and peace, they’ve seen it all, Yet never once did they fall.
Their shadows cast on hallowed ground, A testament to strength profound. In arches high and columns tall, They whisper tales of one and all.
Majestic, strong, and ever true, They frame the sky, a timeless view. Cathedral buttresses, bold and grand, Eternal guardians of the land.
AI generated
The train journey.
As the steam train chugs along the rugged Scottish landscape, the rhythmic clatter of wheels on tracks creates a symphony of motion. The train weaves through verdant hills and ancient glens, its plume of smoke trailing like a whisper of history.
Through the window, a breathtaking vista unfolds. The serene Scottish lake, nestled amidst towering mountains, mirrors the world above. The water's surface is a canvas, capturing the fleeting moments of the train's journey. Trees, their branches swaying gently in the breeze, cast delicate shadows upon the lake, creating a dance of light and dark.
The train's reflection glides across the water, a ghostly apparition that seems to merge with the landscape. The shimmering image of the locomotive, with its billowing steam, is both ethereal and tangible. As the train moves, the reflections shift and change, painting a dynamic portrait of nature and machine in perfect harmony.
The lake's stillness contrasts with the train's motion, offering a moment of tranquility amidst the journey. The reflections in the water are a testament to the beauty of Scotland, a land where history and nature intertwine. As the train continues its passage, the reflections fade, leaving behind a memory of a fleeting, yet timeless, connection between the traveler and the land.
AI generated
Mount Ranier
Majestic peak that pierces azure skies,
With snowy crown that gleams in morning light,
Your grandeur stirs the soul and awes the eyes,
A beacon bold, a symbol of pure might.
AI Generated
Stogumber station.
In the heart of England's verdant land, Where fields of green and meadows stand, A quaint station, quiet and serene, Nestled in a pastoral scene.
The platform waits, a silent host, For trains that come and go like ghosts. The signal box, with weathered wood, Stands guard as it always should.
The whistle blows, a distant sound, Echoing through the hills around. The station master's gentle smile, Greets travelers who rest awhile.
The village near, with cobbled streets, Where life and nature gently meet. A place where time seems to stand still, And every breath is calm and still.
Oh, English rural station fair, Your charm and grace beyond compare. A haven in the countryside, Where peace and beauty both reside.
AI Generated
Minehead Woolworths
In the heart of a bustling street, A shop stands still, its fate to meet. Once alive with chatter and cheer, Now whispers of an end draw near.
Shelves once filled with treasures bright, Now empty, fading from the light. The bell above the door, now mute, Echoes memories, bittersweet.
The shopkeeper, with weary eyes, Remembers days of bustling buys. Each corner holds a tale untold, Of dreams and hopes, now growing old.
The sign outside, worn and frayed, Announces closure, plans delayed. A final sale, a last goodbye, As patrons pass with heavy sigh.
In the twilight, the shop will fade, A relic of the past, displayed. But in its walls, the stories stay, Of a shop that lived, then slipped away.
AI generated
Exmoor snow
The road winds through the hills and vales, \
A journey paused, as winter prevails,
Yet beauty blooms in cold's embrace,
A snowbound road, a timeless place.
AI generated
"In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago."
Frosty wind made moan
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago."
Christina Georgina Rossetti
Scillies sandy beaches.
Footprints trace a fleeting path,
Along the shore, in nature's bath.
In Sandy's haven, peace is found,
Where ocean's song is all around.
AI generated
The rainbow
The rain departs, the sun returns,
And in its glow, the rainbow burns.
A fleeting glimpse, a magic sight,
In Lakeland's land, pure and bright.
AI generated,
"Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high
There's a land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby
Way up high
There's a land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby
Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true"
Skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true"
Yip Harburg
The scarlet feather
Upon the ground, a crimson feather lies,
A relic from a bird of scarlet hue.
It drinks from puddles 'neath the azure skies,
Reflecting in the water's mirror true.
AI generated
“I’m a feather for each wind that blows,”
William Shakespeare's play, The Winter's Tale
The winter birch.
Upon the frozen ground, the birch doth stand,
It's silver bark a beacon in the cold.
With branches bare, it reaches forth its hand,
A silent witness to the winter's hold.
AI generated
Bubbly cloudsI
In skies where clouds do dance and play,
A bubbly scene, both bright and gray.
They drift and float, a gentle sway,
In the embrace of a new day.
AI generated
"Bring me my Bow of burning gold:
Bring me my arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!"
‘The Rich Man In His Castle’
The rich man in his castle,
The poor man at his gate,
God made them, high or lowly,
And ordered their estate.
The poor man at his gate,
God made them, high or lowly,
And ordered their estate.
Cecil Frances Alexander
"Needs no show of mountain hoary,
Winding shore or deepening glen,
Where the landscape in its glory
Teaches truth to wandering men:
Give true hearts but earth and sky,
And some flowers to bloom and die,
Homely scenes and simple views
Lowly thoughts may best infuse."
John Keble
"Something nasty in the woodshed"
Stella Gibbons (Cold comfort farm)
The woodpile
Stacked with care, each log aligned,
A symphony of wood combined,
Through seasons' change, it holds its place,
A rustic charm, a warm embrace.
AI generated