POEMS (or other sundry quotes) that remind you of ASOIAF

[ravenous reader]

20 hours ago, Cridefea said:

Great work RR!! I loved the Eliot's love song. And it's great the parallelism Stannis/Macbeth ...

Thanks Cridefea, I appreciate the enthusiasm!  

20 hours ago, Cridefea said:

Yes, I think Peach it's very symbolic, in asoiaf too! It's interesting that in China the peach represents immortality while there are so much blood/juice symbolism here. Medioeval/Persian(?) gardens seems to help the symbolism of good health/lust//sin etc.

Curiousity of the day : I haven't noticed it before you wrote it,  Peach in italian is Pesca but in many italian dialects is persica (southern dialects) or persiga (in my dialect). Thank you!

Between the rise of the uccello and the fall of the persiga, we are having new insights!  

20 hours ago, Cridefea said:

On 4/11/2017 at 11:36 PM, ravenous reader said:

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse 
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, 
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. 
Ma percioche giammai di questo fondo

Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero, 
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

so much fire here

In the same canto there is this: 

Quote

E il Mastin Vecchio e il Nuovo, che fecer di Montagna il mal governo, là dove soglion fan d'i denti succhio.

Mastin in italian is The Hound (the old and the new) and Montagna is the Mountain:

We're lucky to have you point out these things in Italian -- that's an amazing catch!  GRRM is even alluding to Dante...

 It can't be coincidence that the 'Mountain' was killed by the 'Hound'.  Must be foreshadowing!

20 hours ago, Cridefea said:

Quote

The old mastiff of Verrucchio and the young, 

That tore Montagna in their wrath, still make,

Where they are wont, an augre of their fangs.        45

  “Lamone’s city, and Santerno’s,  range

Under the lion of the snowy lair, 

Inconstant partisan, that changeth sides,

Or ever summer yields to winter’s frost.

 

[LiveFirstDieLater]

Are you my Mother?

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Are_You_My_Mother%3F

Are you the Three Eyed Crow?

[ravenous reader]

5 minutes ago, LiveFirstDieLater said:

Are you my Mother?

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Are_You_My_Mother%3F

Are you the Three Eyed Crow?

Hi @LiveFirstDieLater -- welcome to our poetry thread!  

Great catch -- I think it's also related to Beric the multiply newborn fire-hatchling's bewilderment:

Quote

A Storm of Swords - Arya VII

It was a jest, Arya knew, but Thoros did not laugh. He put a hand on Lord Beric's shoulder. "Best not to dwell on it."

"Can I dwell on what I scarce remember? I held a castle on the Marches once, and there was a woman I was pledged to marry, but I could not find that castle today, nor tell you the color of that woman's hair. Who knighted me, old friend? What were my favorite foods? It all fades. Sometimes I think I was born on the bloody grass in that grove of ash, with the taste of fire in my mouth and a hole in my chest. Are you my mother, Thoros?"

Arya stared at the Myrish priest, all shaggy hair and pink rags and bits of old armor. Grey stubble covered his cheeks and the sagging skin beneath his chin. He did not look much like the wizards in Old Nan's stories, but even so . . .

P.S.  I'm glad your thread has been revived -- it's one of the best questions!

[Cridefea]

46 minutes ago, LiveFirstDieLater said:

Are you my Mother?

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Are_You_My_Mother%3F

Are you the Three Eyed Crow?

Yeah!

or jon in search of his mother ... 

Anyway I didn't know this story, thanks it can be useful!

1 hour ago, ravenous reader said:

Between the rise of the uccello and the fall of the persiga, we are having new insights!  

ahahahah a whole new world!!

1 hour ago, ravenous reader said:

We're lucky to have you point out these things in Italian -- that's an amazing catch!

1 hour ago, ravenous reader said:

It can't be coincidence that the 'Mountain' was killed by the 'Hound'.  Must be foreshadowing!

Now I wanna re-read my old school book! LoL

[LiveFirstDieLater]

1 hour ago, ravenous reader said:

Hi @LiveFirstDieLater -- welcome to our poetry thread!  

Great catch -- I think it's also related to Beric the multiply newborn fire-hatchling's bewilderment:

P.S.  I'm glad your thread has been revived -- it's one of the best questions!

First, I like the thread... it's a fun question.

Second I should have given some reasoning:

The mother in the story leaves her egg behind and leaves.

The child wakes up (hatches) but doesn't no how to fly and it's mother is gone.

So it wanders around asking everyone "are you my mother?" Without any recognition of what species he is or that he's different from them, he just want to find an answer. 

He doesn't know what he is and confuses himself as other species.

In ASoIaF it would be like confusing a raven for a crow...

"Did you ever see a three-eyed crow?" 

"No." She laughed. "And I can't say I'd want to." Osha kicked open the door to his bedchamber and set him in his window seat, where he could watch the yard below.

 

Bran was suddenly uncertain. "Are you the three-eyed crow?" He can't be the three-eyed crow. 

"I don't think so." The fat man rolled his eyes, but there were only two of them. "I'm only Sam. Samwell Tarly. Let me out, it's hurting me." He began to struggle again.

 

Meera's gloved hand tightened around the shaft of her frog spear. "Who sent you? Who is this three-eyed crow?"

"A friend. Dreamer, wizard, call him what you will. The last greenseer." The longhall's wooden door banged open. Outside, the night wind howled, bleak and black. The trees were full of ravens, screaming. Coldhands did not move.

"A monster," Bran said.

The ranger looked at Bran as if the rest of them did not exist. "Your monster, Brandon Stark."

"Yours," the raven echoed, from his shoulder. Outside the door, the ravens in the trees took up the cry, until the night wood echoed to the murderer's song of "Yours, yours, yours."

"Jojen, did you dream this?" Meera asked her brother. "Who is he?

 

What is he? What do we do now?"

 

"We go with the ranger," said Jojen. "We have come too far to turn back now, Meera. We would never make it back to the Wall alive. We go with Bran's monster, or we die."

 

 

"No. They killed him long ago. Come now. It is warmer down deep, and no one will hurt you there. He is waiting for you."

"The three-eyed crow?" asked Meera. 

"The greenseer." And with that she was off, and they had no choice but to follow. Meera helped Bran back up onto Hodor's back, though his basket was half-crushed and wet from melting snow. Then she slipped an arm around her brother and shouldered him back onto his feet once more. His eyes opened. "What?" he said. "Meera? Where are we?" When he saw the fire, he smiled. "I had the strangest dream."

 

"Are you the three-eyed crow?" Bran heard himself say. A three-eyed crow should have three eyes. He has only one, and that one red. Bran could feel the eye staring at him, shining like a pool of blood in the torchlight. Where his other eye should have been, a thin white root grew from an empty socket, down his cheek, and into his neck. 

"A … crow?" The pale lord's voice was dry. His lips moved slowly, as if they had forgotten how to form words. "Once, aye. Black of garb and black of blood." The clothes he wore were rotten and faded, spotted with moss and eaten through with worms, but once they had been black. "I have been many things, Bran. Now I am as you see me, and now you will understand why I could not come to you … except in dreams. I have watched you for a long time, watched you with a thousand eyes and one. I saw your birth, and that of your lord father before you. I saw your first step, heard your first word, was part of your first dream. I was watching when you fell. And now you are come to me at last, Brandon Stark, though the hour is late."

[ravenous reader]

38 minutes ago, LiveFirstDieLater said:

The mother in the story leaves her egg behind and leaves.

The child wakes up (hatches) but doesn't no how to fly and it's mother is gone.

So it wanders around asking everyone "are you my mother?" Without any recognition of what species he is or that he's different from them, he just want to find an answer. 

He doesn't know what he is and confuses himself as other species.

In ASoIaF it would be like confusing a raven for a crow...

"Did you ever see a three-eyed crow?" 

That's a great point.  You could say Bran went on a 'wild goose chase' for the 'three-eyed crow' in this 'fowl'-- and foul -- adventure!

Who in your opinion these days is the likeliest candidate for the three-eyed crow?

There's also the tale of 'The Elephant's Child' by Kipling which I brought up earlier in this thread, in which the insatiably curious child is determined to find out from everyone he meets what the crocodile eats, so as instructed by everyone (after he's been spanked by them first for his naughtiness in daring to inquire into such a taboo subject), he goes to the 'great grey-green greasy Limpopo River' to find out...  Like the bird in the story who is unaware of the species he's looking for, this protagonist also doesn't know what a crocodile looks like!

Here's an excerpt from that story (oh, btw it comes from a story collection for children entitled the 'Just So Stories', as in the Braavosian idiom):

Quote

...at last he came to the banks of the great grey-green, greasy Limpopo River, all set about with fever-trees, precisely as Kolokolo Bird had said.

Now you must know and understand, O Best Beloved, that till that very week, and day, and hour, and minute, this 'satiable Elephant's Child had never seen a Crocodile, and did not know what one was like. It was all his 'satiable curtiosity.

The first thing that he found was a Bi-Coloured-Python-Rock-Snake curled round a rock.

''Scuse me,' said the Elephant's Child most politely, 'but have you seen such a thing as a Crocodile in these promiscuous parts?'

'Have I seen a Crocodile?' said the Bi-Coloured-Python-Rock-Snake, in a voice of dretful scorn. 'What will you ask me next?'

''Scuse me,' said the Elephant's Child, 'but could you kindly tell me what he has for dinner?'

Then the Bi-Coloured-Python-Rock-Snake uncoiled himself very quickly from the rock, and spanked the Elephant's Child with his scalesome, flailsome tail.

'That is odd,' said the Elephant's Child, 'because my father and my mother, and my uncle and my aunt, not to mention my other aunt, the Hippopotamus, and my other uncle, the Baboon, have all spanked me for my 'satiable curtiosity--and I suppose this is the same thing.'

So he said good-bye very politely to the Bi-Coloured-Python-Rock-Snake, and helped to coil him up on the rock again, and went on, a little warm, but not at all astonished, eating melons, and throwing the rind about, because he could not pick it up, till he trod on what he thought was a log of wood at the very edge of the great grey-green, greasy Limpopo River, all set about with fever-trees.

But it was really the Crocodile, O Best Beloved, and the Crocodile winked one eye--like this!

''Scuse me,' said the Elephant's Child most politely, 'but do you happen to have seen a Crocodile in these promiscuous parts?'

Then the Crocodile winked the other eye, and lifted half his tail out of the mud; and the Elephant's Child stepped back most politely, because he did not wish to be spanked again.

'Come hither, Little One,' said the Crocodile. 'Why do you ask such things?'

''Scuse me,' said the Elephant's Child most politely, 'but my father has spanked me, my mother has spanked me, not to mention my tall aunt, the Ostrich, and my tall uncle, the Giraffe, who can kick ever so hard, as well as my broad aunt, the Hippopotamus, and my hairy uncle, the Baboon, and including the Bi-Coloured-Python-Rock-Snake, with the scalesome, flailsome tail, just up the bank, who spanks harder than any of them; and so, if it's quite all the same to you, I don't want to be spanked any more.'

'Come hither, Little One,' said the Crocodile, 'for I am the Crocodile,' and he wept crocodile-tears to show it was quite true.

Then the Elephant's Child grew all breathless, and panted, and kneeled down on the bank and said, 'You are the very person I have been looking for all these long days. Will you please tell me what you have for dinner?'

'Come hither, Little One,' said the Crocodile, 'and I'll whisper.'

 

[ravenous reader]

Dany's elusive 'Lemon Tree':

 

Lemon Tree

When I was just a lad of ten, my father said to me
"Come here and take a lesson from the lovely lemon tree"
"Don't put your faith in love, my boy" my father said to me
"I fear you'll find that love is like the lovely lemon tree"

Lemon tree, very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat
Lemon tree, very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat

One day beneath the lemon tree, my love and I did lie
A girl so sweet that when she smiled, the stars rose in the sky
We passed that summer lost in love, beneath the lemon tree
The music of her laughter hid my father's words from me

Lemon tree, very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat
Lemon tree, very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat

One day she left without a word, she took away the sun
And in the dark she left behind, I knew what she had done
She left me for another, it's a common tale but true
A sadder man, but wiser now, I sing these words to you

Lemon tree, very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat
Lemon tree, very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat

Written by Will Holt 

 

 

 

 

 

And about that 'red door,' courtesy of @Pain killer Jane for the brilliant reference:

 

Paint It Black

The Rolling Stones

I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colours anymore, I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes

I see a line of cars and they're all painted black
With flowers and my love, both never to come back
I see people turn their heads and quickly look away
Like a newborn baby, it just happens everyday

I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and must have it painted black
Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts
It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black

No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue
I could not foresee this thing happening to you

If I look hard enough into the setting sun
My love will laugh with me before the morning comes

I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colours anymore, I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes

I wanna see it painted, painted black
Black as night, black as coal
I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky
I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black
Yeah

Songwriters: Keith Richards / Mick Jaggers

 

 

Anyone still sure Dany's story will have a happy ending?  

'Renowned Dany-hater' -- 'it is known'..!

[ravenous reader]

For my dear friend Wizz 

 (@Wizz-The-Smith)

 

-- the 'long delirious, burning blue' reminds me of the 'calling of the bloody blue', and the comet scratching at the face of God:

 

'An Airman’s Ecstasy'  or '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.  Hovering there

I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air;

Up, up the long delirious, burning blue

I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace,

Where never lark nor even eagle flew;

And while, with silent lifting mind I’ve trod

The high, untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

 

-- John Gillespie Magee, Jr

 

That poem is almost better than this more well-known poem:

 

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death

W. B. Yeats, 1865 - 1939

I know that I shall meet my fate   
Somewhere among the clouds above;   
Those that I fight I do not hate   
Those that I guard I do not love;   
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,   
No likely end could bring them loss   
Or leave them happier than before.   
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,   
Nor public man, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight   
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;   
I balanced all, brought all to mind,   
The years to come seemed waste of breath,   
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

 

 

And sometimes you don't even need to leave the ground in order to fly; in fact, you don't even need to be human:

 

 

[Wizz-The-Smith]

8 hours ago, ravenous reader said:

For my dear friend Wizz 

 (@Wizz-The-Smith)

 

-- the 'long delirious, burning blue' reminds me of the 'calling of the bloody blue', and the comet scratching at the face of God:

 

'An Airman’s Ecstasy'  or '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.  Hovering there

I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air;

Up, up the long delirious, burning blue

I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace,

Where never lark nor even eagle flew;

And while, with silent lifting mind I’ve trod

The high, untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

 

-- John Gillespie Magee, Jr

Thank you. 

The 'long delirious, burning blue' had me thinking of you and @Pain killer Jane regards the 'calling of the bloody blue'.  And 'slipping' the bonds of earth to dance in the skies reminded me of Bran.  I love this poem. 

Thank you for the link and Yeats poem as well, that's beautiful. 

[ravenous reader]

3 hours ago, Wizz-The-Smith said:

13 hours ago, ravenous reader said:

-- the 'long delirious, burning blue' reminds me of the 'calling of the bloody blue', and the comet scratching at the face of God:

 

'An Airman’s Ecstasy'  or '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.  Hovering there

I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air;

Up, up the long delirious, burning blue

I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace,

Where never lark nor even eagle flew;

And while, with silent lifting mind I’ve trod

The high, untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

 

-- John Gillespie Magee, Jr

Thank you. 

The 'long delirious, burning blue' had me thinking of you and @Pain killer Jane regards the 'calling of the bloody blue'.  And 'slipping' the bonds of earth to dance in the skies reminded me of Bran.  I love this poem. 

Thank you for the link and Yeats poem as well, that's beautiful. 

Yes, 'slipping the bonds of earth' to dance the skies on 'laughter-silvered wings' is very evocative of our kissed-by-fire Bran, the laughing sweet summer child, winged wolf, with his love of climbing on high, leading him later to achieve transcendence over his crippling (the 'surly bonds') via magic...'sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds'... (what do you think @Meera of Tarth?):

Quote

A Game of Thrones - Catelyn II

Bran can bridge that distance. He is a sweet boy, quick to laugh, easy to love. 

The final few lines of the poem are devastatingly beautiful and hint darkly, despite all the references to sunlight, at the danger inherent in these giddy Promethean activities like greenseeing.  'I've trod the high, untrespassed sanctity of space' inevitably raises the abomination of skinchanging Hodor in which Bran is dabbling with increasing frequency.  He's arguably 'trespassing' on something sacred by 'treading' on another human being in this way.

You know that according to my 'Deep Impact Drogon' theory -- or more accurately, 'whimsical musings' -- that this is also how I expect Bran to die -- on a final flight of no return, skinchanging Drogon to the stars to intercept the comet/meteor?  Together, our beloved naughty boys Bran and Drogon will 'touch the face of god' and go out in a blaze of glory!

About the fraught enterprise of  'touching the face of god':

 

Duino Elegies

The First Elegy [excerpt]

Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels' hierarchies?

and even if one of them pressed me suddenly against his heart:
I would be consumed in that overwhelming existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we are still just able to endure,

and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Every angel is terrifying.

-- Rainer Maria Rilke

Translated by Stephen Mitchell

 

Duineser Elegien  

DIE ERSTE ELEGIE

 

WER, wenn ich schriee, hörte mich denn aus der Engel
Ordnungen? und gesetzt selbst, es nähme
einer mich plötzlich ans Herz: ich verginge von seinem
stärkeren Dasein. Denn das Schöne ist nichts
als des Schrecklichen Anfang, den wir noch grade ertragen,
und wir bewundern es so, weil es gelassen verschmäht,
uns zu zerstören. Ein jeder Engel ist schrecklich.

 

And this myth:

Quote

Semele in Greek Mythology

The legendary character Semele played a significant role in Greek mythology. Because Semele was the mother of the god Dionysos, knowing her story is an essential part of understanding the nature of the Greek god of wine and the theater.

In mythology, Semele was the daughter of Cadmus and Harmonia. Scholars agree that the name Semele is not a native Greek word, and several compelling theories about the origin of this name have been offered over the years. One possibility is that Semele is derived from the Thracian/Phrygian name Zemelo (an earth goddess).

And while there is some controversy about the precise origin of this legendary figure, one thing about Semele is certain - her story. For Semele’s tale was quite popular in Greek myth.

According to the legend, Semele was one of the many love interests of Zeus. Indeed, Zeus engaged in an affair with this lovely mortal despite the fact that his wife Hera was aware of her husband’s treachery. Hera was so angry with Zeus’s infidelity that she decided to get her revenge. And in this case, Hera’s target was the unfortunate Semele.

So the Queen of the Olympian gods disguised herself and appeared to Semele one day. Hera made Semele doubt her lover’s claims to immortality, and convinced the poor mortal woman to demand proof of his divinity. Unfortunately, Semele accepted this piece of deadly advice. The next time she was visited by Zeus, she requested that she be granted whatever she asked of him. Zeus reluctantly agreed. And so Semele ordered Zeus to reveal himself in all of his divine glory. As much as Zeus wanted to resist, he could not - and when the god showed himself to the woman, she was incinerated by the heat of his thunderbolts.

Semele, who was pregnant at the time, died immediately. But Zeus rescued the unborn child and placed him in his thigh. When the child was ready to be born, the immortal Dionysos emerged.

From:  http://www.mythography.com/myth/welcome-to-mythography/greek-legends/legends-2/semele/

 

[Meera of Tarth]

3 hours ago, ravenous reader said:

Yes, 'slipping the bonds of earth' to dance the skies on 'laughter-silvered wings' is very evocative of our kissed-by-fire Bran, the laughing sweet summer child, winged wolf, with his love of climbing on high, leading him later to achieve transcendence over his crippling (the 'surly bonds') via magic...'sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds'... (what do you think @Meera of Tarth?):

The final few lines of the poem are devastatingly beautiful and hint darkly, despite all the references to sunlight, at the danger inherent in these giddy Promethean activities like greenseeing.  'I've trod the high, untrespassed sanctity of space' inevitably raises the abomination of skinchanging Hodor in which Bran is dabbling with increasing frequency.  He's arguably 'trespassing' on something sacred by 'treading' on another human being in this way.

You know that according to my 'Deep Impact Drogon' theory -- or more accurately, 'whimsical musings' -- that this is also how I expect Bran to die -- on a final flight of no return, skinchanging Drogon to the stars to intercept the comet/meteor?  Together, our beloved naughty boys Bran and Drogon will 'touch the face of god' and go out in a blaze of glory!

About the fraught enterprise of  'touching the face of god':

 

Duino Elegies

The First Elegy [excerpt]

Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels' hierarchies?

and even if one of them pressed me suddenly against his heart:
I would be consumed in that overwhelming existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we are still just able to endure,

and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Every angel is terrifying.

-- Rainer Maria Rilke

Translated by Stephen Mitchell

 

Duineser Elegien  

DIE ERSTE ELEGIE

 

WER, wenn ich schriee, hörte mich denn aus der Engel
Ordnungen? und gesetzt selbst, es nähme
einer mich plötzlich ans Herz: ich verginge von seinem
stärkeren Dasein. Denn das Schöne ist nichts
als des Schrecklichen Anfang, den wir noch grade ertragen,
und wir bewundern es so, weil es gelassen verschmäht,
uns zu zerstören. Ein jeder Engel ist schrecklich.

 

And this myth:

 

oh yes....that reminds me of Bran in many ways..----though I don't know if the ending could be so tragic for Bran, but it's powerful

I particularly read this part as a metaphore of his "trips" through the weirwood trees....

And while, with silent lifting mind I’ve trod

The high, untrespassed sanctity of space

[Pain killer Jane]

So while this is not a short poem this is an epic poem.  

 

Here at least
we shall be free; the Almighty hath not built
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:
Here we may reign secure, and in my choice
to reign is worth ambition though in Hell:
Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.

-Paradise Lost, Book I, Lines 258-263

Quote

The Skirling Pass was really a series of passes, a long twisting course that went up around a succession of icy wind-carved peaks and down through hidden valleys that seldom saw the sun. Apart from his companions, Jon had glimpsed no living man since they'd left the wood behind and begun to make their way upward. The Frostfangs were as cruel as any place the gods had made, and as inimical to men. The wind cut like a knife up here, and shrilled in the night like a mother mourning her slain children. What few trees they saw were stunted, grotesque things growing sideways out of cracks and fissures. Tumbled shelves of rock often overhung the trail, fringed with hanging icicles that looked like long white teeth from a distance.

Yet even so, Jon Snow was not sorry he had come. There were wonders here as well. He had seen sunlight flashing on icy thin waterfalls as they plunged over the lips of sheer stone cliffs, and a mountain meadow full of autumn wildflowers, blue coldsnaps and bright scarlet frostfires and stands of piper's grass in russet and gold. He had peered down ravines so deep and black they seemed certain to end in some hell, and he had ridden his garron over a wind-eaten bridge of natural stone with nothing but sky to either side. Eagles nested in the heights and came down to hunt the valleys, circling effortlessly on great blue-grey wings that seemed almost part of the sky. Once he had watched a shadowcat stalk a ram, flowing down the mountainside like liquid smoke until it was ready to pounce.

-Jon VI, aCoK

Quote

Their host gave a nasty smile, showing a mouthful of broken brown teeth. "And what would we do there, serve you at supper? We're free folk here. Craster serves no man."

"These are bad times to dwell alone in the wild. The cold winds are rising."

.............................................................................

"Let them rise. My roots are sunk deep." Craster grabbed a passing woman by the wrist. "Tell him, wife. Tell the Lord Crow how well content we are."

The woman licked at thin lips. "This is our place. Craster keeps us safe. Better to die free than live a slave."

"Slave," muttered the raven.

....................................................

Dolorous Edd was feeding the horses. "Give the wildling an axe, why not?" He pointed out Mormont's weapon, a short-hafted battle-axe with gold scrollwork inlaid on the black steel blade. "He'll give it back, I vow. Buried in the Old Bear's skull, like as not. Why not give him all our axes, and our swords as well? I mislike the way they clank and rattle as we ride. We'd travel faster without them, straight to hell's door. Does it rain in hell, I wonder? Perhaps Craster would like a nice hat instead."

Jon smiled. "He wants an axe. And wine as well."

-Jon III, aCoK

Quote

Stonesnake warmed his hands over the fire. "What waits beyond the pass?"

"The free folk."

-Jon VI, aCoK

So while Paradise Lost is not a short poem, it is an epic poem which is what ASOIF is emulating.( @ravenous reader at times I like to think that if the books were set to music I would imagine it to be Vivaldi's Four Season which he himself wrote poems for).

The famous line about serving in heaven versus reigning in hell is embodied in the Freefolk. As Jon points out that it is a wondrous hell but a hell none the less. As is pointed out in Paradise, the choice and the ambition leads them to reign in hell. But GRRM shows that reigning in hell is like being a slave. RR this is why the man with no honor flies high and soars but connotation of lofty honor and chivalry is rooted in a High Lord/Gallant Knight.

[ravenous reader]

On 4/23/2017 at 4:06 PM, Pain killer Jane said:

                                 Better to reign in Hell, than                                      serve in Heaven.

-Paradise Lost, Book I, Lines 258-263

Quote

The Skirling Pass was really a series of passes, a long twisting course that went up around a succession of icy wind-carved peaks and down through hidden valleys that seldom saw the sun. Apart from his companions, Jon had glimpsed no living man since they'd left the wood behind and begun to make their way upward. The Frostfangs were as cruel as any place the gods had made, and as inimical to men. The wind cut like a knife up here, and shrilled in the night like a mother mourning her slain children. What few trees they saw were stunted, grotesque things growing sideways out of cracks and fissures. Tumbled shelves of rock often overhung the trail, fringed with hanging icicles that looked like long white teeth from a distance.

Yet even so, Jon Snow was not sorry he had come. There were wonders here as well. He had seen sunlight flashing on icy thin waterfalls as they plunged over the lips of sheer stone cliffs, and a mountain meadow full of autumn wildflowers, blue coldsnaps and bright scarlet frostfires and stands of piper's grass in russet and gold. He had peered down ravines so deep and black they seemed certain to end in some hell, and he had ridden his garron over a wind-eaten bridge of natural stone with nothing but sky to either side. Eagles nested in the heights and came down to hunt the valleys, circling effortlessly on great blue-grey wings that seemed almost part of the sky. Once he had watched a shadowcat stalk a ram, flowing down the mountainside like liquid smoke until it was ready to pounce.

-Jon VI, aCoK

Quote

Their host gave a nasty smile, showing a mouthful of broken brown teeth. "And what would we do there, serve you at supper? We're free folk here. Craster serves no man."

"These are bad times to dwell alone in the wild. The cold winds are rising."

.............................................................................

"Let them rise. My roots are sunk deep." Craster grabbed a passing woman by the wrist. "Tell him, wife. Tell the Lord Crow how well content we are."

The woman licked at thin lips. "This is our place. Craster keeps us safe. Better to die free than live a slave."

"Slave," muttered the raven.

....................................................

Dolorous Edd was feeding the horses. "Give the wildling an axe, why not?" He pointed out Mormont's weapon, a short-hafted battle-axe with gold scrollwork inlaid on the black steel blade. "He'll give it back, I vow. Buried in the Old Bear's skull, like as not. Why not give him all our axes, and our swords as well? I mislike the way they clank and rattle as we ride. We'd travel faster without them, straight to hell's door. Does it rain in hell, I wonder? Perhaps Craster would like a nice hat instead."

Jon smiled. "He wants an axe. And wine as well."

-Jon III, aCoK

Quote

Stonesnake warmed his hands over the fire. "What waits beyond the pass?"

"The free folk."

-Jon VI, aCoK

So while Paradise Lost is not a short poem, it is an epic poem which is what ASOIF is emulating.( @ravenous reader at times I like to think that if the books were set to music I would imagine it to be Vivaldi's Four Season which he himself wrote poems for).

The famous line about serving in heaven versus reigning in hell is embodied in the Freefolk. As Jon points out that it is a wondrous hell but a hell none the less. As is pointed out in Paradise, the choice and the ambition leads them to reign in hell. But GRRM shows that reigning in hell is like being a slave.

Do you think GRRM's 'rain in hell' is a pun on Milton's 'reign in hell'?!

For some reason, I can't but help thinking of:

'Under the sea, no one wears hats...'

!!

Quote

RR this is why the man with no honor flies high and soars but connotation of lofty honor and chivalry is rooted in a High Lord/Gallant Knight.

I don't understand what you mean by this?

 

There's no such thing as 'freedom'.  Valar morghulis...

 

 

 

Gotta Serve Somebody

Bob Dylan

You may be an ambassador to England or France
You may like to gamble, you might like to dance
You may be the heavyweight champion of the world
You may be a socialite with a long string of pearls

But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes
Indeed you're gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you're gonna have to serve somebody

You might be a rock 'n' roll addict prancing on the stage
You might have drugs at your command, women in a cage
You may be a business man or some high-degree thief
They may call you doctor or they may call you chief

But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes you are
You're gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you're gonna have to serve somebody

You may be a state trooper, you might be a young Turk
You may be the head of some big TV network
You may be rich or poor, you may be blind or lame
You may be living in another country under another name

But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes you are
You're gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you're gonna have to serve somebody

You may be a construction worker working on a home
You may be living in a mansion or you might live in a dome
You might own guns and you might even own tanks
You might be somebody's landlord, you might even own banks

But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes
You're gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you're gonna have to serve somebody

You may be a preacher with your spiritual pride
You may be a city councilman taking bribes on the side
You may be workin' in a barbershop, you may know how to cut hair
You may be somebody's mistress, may be somebody's heir

But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes
You're gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you're gonna have to serve somebody

Might like to wear cotton, might like to wear silk
Might like to drink whiskey, might like to drink milk
You might like to eat caviar, you might like to eat bread
You may be sleeping on the floor, sleeping in a king-sized bed

But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes
Indeed you're gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you're gonna have to serve somebody

You may call me Terry, you may call me Timmy
You may call me Bobby, you may call me Zimmy
You may call me R.J., you may call me Ray
You may call me anything but no matter what you say

Still, you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes
You're gonna have to serve somebody
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you're gonna have to serve somebody

Songwriters: Bob Dylan

[ravenous reader]

I seem to be on a Bob Dylan tangent; but, hey, it's OK, he's this year's Nobel Prize winner for Literature -- so it's all very 'canonical' -- a designation that would make him cringe; but hey, nevermind Bob, we can't always get what we want...

 

 

A Dance with Dragons - Bran III

Old Nan had told him the same story once, Bran remembered, but when he asked Robb if it was true, his brother laughed and asked him if he believed in grumkins too. He wished Robb were with them now. I'd tell him I could fly, but he wouldn't believe, so I'd have to show him. I bet that he could learn to fly too, him and Arya and Sansa, even baby Rickon and Jon Snow. We could all be ravens and live in Maester Luwin's rookery.

That was just another silly dream, though. Some days Bran wondered if all of this wasn't just some dream. Maybe he had fallen asleep out in the snows and dreamed himself a safe, warm place. You have to wake, he would tell himself, you have to wake right now, or you'll go dreaming into death. Once or twice he pinched his arm with his fingers, really hard, but the only thing that did was make his arm hurt. In the beginning he had tried to count the days by making note of when he woke and slept, but down here sleeping and waking had a way of melting into one another. Dreams became lessons, lessons became dreams, things happened all at once or not at all. Had he done that or only dreamed it?

 

 

Series of Dreams

Bob Dylan

I was thinking of a series of dreams
Where nothing comes up to the top
Everything stays down where it's wounded
And comes to a permanent stop
Wasn't thinking of anything specific
Like in a dream, when someone wakes up and screams
Nothing too very scientific
Just thinking of a series of dreams

Thinking of a series of dreams
Where the time and the tempo fly
And there's no exit in any direction
'Cept the one that you can't see with your eyes
Wasn't making any great connection
Wasn't falling for any intricate scheme
Nothing that would pass inspection
Just thinking of a series of dreams

Dreams where the umbrella is folded
Into the path you are hurled
And the cards are no good that you're holding
Unless they're from another world

In one, the surface was frozen
In another, I witnessed a crime
In one, I was running, and in another
All I seemed to be doing was climb
Wasn't looking for any special assistance
Not going to any great extremes
I'd already gone the distance
Just thinking of a series of dreams

Dreams where the umbrella is folded
Into the path you are hurled
And the cards are no good that you're holding
Unless they're from another world

I'd already gone the distance
Just thinking of a series of dreams

Songwriters: Bob Dylan

 

ETA: This song also reminds me of the most important prophecy, in case you missed it:

 

A Game of Thrones - Catelyn II

Bran can bridge that distance. He is a sweet boy, quick to laugh, easy to love. 

 

 

 

 

[Cridefea]

Another song-writer, very famous in Italy, considered a poet : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fabrizio_De_André

He wrote many ballads and chanson, with a "medieval sounds" and "present" topics. I could post tons of song by De Andrè but I choose this one (it is based on a poem Ballade des pendus) because it reminds me all the hanged in asoiaf and in particular Brienne's chapters, LSH and the BwB.

Quote

Ballata degli impiccati - Fabrizio De André

Tutti morimmo a stento

ingoiando l'ultima voce

tirando calci al vento

vedemmo sfumar la luce.

 

L'urlo travolse il sole,

l'aria divenne stretta

cristalli di parole

l'ultima bestemmia detta.

 

Prima che fosse finita

ricordammo a chi vive ancora

che il prezzo fu la vita

per il male fatto in un'ora.

 

Poi scivolammo nel gelo

di una morte senza abbandono

recitando l'antico credo

di chi muore senza perdono.

 

Chi derise la nostra sconfitta

e l'estrema vergogna ed il modo

soffocato da identica stretta

impari a conoscere il nodo.

 

Chi la terra ci sparse sull'ossa

e riprese tranquillo il cammino

giunga anch'egli stravolto alla fossa

con la nebbia del primo mattino.

 

La donna che celò in un sorriso

il disagio di darci memoria

ritrovi ogni notte sul viso

un insulto del tempo e una scoria.

 

Coltiviamo per tutti un rancore

che ha l'odore del sangue rappreso

ciò che allora chiamammo dolore

è soltanto un discorso sospeso.

Quote

Ballad of the hanged  - Fabrizio De Andrè

We all died with difficulty

swallowing the last voice

kicking in the wind

we saw the light fade.
 

The scream swept away the sun

the air became close

crystals of words

the last blasphemy pronunced
 

Before it was over

we reminded those still living

that the price was life

for the evil done in an hour.

 

Then we slipt away in the cold

of a death without abandon

reciting the ancient creed

of those who die without forgiveness.

 

Who laughed at our defeat

and the extreme shame and the way,

soffocated by an identical grip

learn to know the knot.

 

Who spread the earth on our bones

and peacefully resumed the path

comes too twisted to the grave

with the early morning fog.

 

The woman who hid in a smile

the discomfort of giving us memory

finds on her face every night

an insult of time and a dross.

 

We nurse a grudge for everyone,

which has the smell of curdled blood.

what we once called pain

is just a conversation left hanging

Here's other translations in other languages: https://www.antiwarsongs.org/canzone.php?id=5625&lang=it

 

[Dorian Martell's son]

This one made me think of the CTOF 

 

 

 

Dance of the Heart

A woman 
Dances alone
Among the trees
In white
Against the pink petals
Of the ancient
Sakura trees

Her raven black hair
Swirling in the gentle breeze
As the petals dance with her
Soft 
Fragile
Tender

Branches sway in the breeze
As if conducting 
Music to her heart

Her love flowed with her movement
Her soul sang out 
Her voice carried on the breeze
Until night fall

Clouds roll in as it rains
The gentle rain falling on the blossoms
But where was she
She was crying
Her tears were the rain

A stone rested among the trees
A gentle rustle moved the petals
Revealing her name
Her body rested there 
Her favorite place

So she is seen dancing 
By day
By night she cried
As the trees
Contined to play
To her dance of her heart.
-Semerian Perez

[ravenous reader]

On 5/2/2017 at 5:52 PM, Cridefea said:

Another song-writer, very famous in Italy, considered a poet : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fabrizio_De_André

He wrote many ballads and chanson, with a "medieval sounds" and "present" topics. I could post tons of song by De Andrè but I choose this one (it is based on a poem Ballade des pendus) because it reminds me all the hanged in asoiaf and in particular Brienne's chapters, LSH and the BwB.

Quote

Ballata degli impiccati - Fabrizio De André

Tutti morimmo a stento

ingoiando l'ultima voce

tirando calci al vento

vedemmo sfumar la luce.

 

L'urlo travolse il sole,

l'aria divenne stretta

cristalli di parole

l'ultima bestemmia detta.

 

Prima che fosse finita

ricordammo a chi vive ancora

che il prezzo fu la vita

per il male fatto in un'ora.

 

Poi scivolammo nel gelo

di una morte senza abbandono

recitando l'antico credo

di chi muore senza perdono.

 

Chi derise la nostra sconfitta

e l'estrema vergogna ed il modo

soffocato da identica stretta

impari a conoscere il nodo.

 

Chi la terra ci sparse sull'ossa

e riprese tranquillo il cammino

giunga anch'egli stravolto alla fossa

con la nebbia del primo mattino.

 

La donna che celò in un sorriso

il disagio di darci memoria

ritrovi ogni notte sul viso

un insulto del tempo e una scoria.

 

Coltiviamo per tutti un rancore

che ha l'odore del sangue rappreso

ciò che allora chiamammo dolore

è soltanto un discorso sospeso.

Quote

Ballad of the hanged  - Fabrizio De Andrè

We all died with difficulty

swallowing the last voice

kicking in the wind

we saw the light fade.
 

The scream swept away the sun

the air became close

crystals of words

the last blasphemy pronunced
 

Before it was over

we reminded those still living

that the price was life

for the evil done in an hour.

 

Then we slipt away in the cold

of a death without abandon

reciting the ancient creed

of those who die without forgiveness.

 

Who laughed at our defeat

and the extreme shame and the way,

soffocated by an identical grip

learn to know the knot.

 

Who spread the earth on our bones

and peacefully resumed the path

comes too twisted to the grave

with the early morning fog.

 

The woman who hid in a smile

the discomfort of giving us memory

finds on her face every night

an insult of time and a dross.

 

We nurse a grudge for everyone,

which has the smell of curdled blood.

what we once called pain

is just a conversation left hanging

Here's other translations in other languages: https://www.antiwarsongs.org/canzone.php?id=5625&lang=it

Thanks cara @Cridefea -- what a beautiful poem-song, and I loved the elegiac music    It is a delight, thanks to you, to learn some more Italian culture besides the obligatory 'uccello'...  P.S.  What kind of Italian dialect is that?

The 'conversation left hanging' with the subsequent vicious cycle of 'curse' vs. 'counter-curse'...as the hanged men also curse the ones who hang them (what I've termed, referencing the Prologue, 'counter-mocking'), fueling the vicious cycle of war, is a bitter indictment of humanity's inability to listen to each other, with the resultant misunderstandings and brutality resulting from those broken conversations -- on both sides, i.e. the condemned men and the ones who condemn them.  There are no real winners of 'the game' here.

It reminds me of these passages from ASOIAF, and the famous one from Macbeth which follows:

Quote

A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys VI

"The Yunkai'i resumed their slaving before I was two leagues from their city. Did I turn back? King Cleon begged me to join with him against them, and I turned a deaf ear to his pleas. I want no war with Yunkai. How many times must I say it? What promises do they require?"

"Ah, there is the thorn in the bower, my queen," said Hizdahr zo Loraq. "Sad to say, Yunkai has no faith in your promises. They keep plucking the same string on the harp, about some envoy that your dragons set on fire."

"Only his tokar was burned," said Dany scornfully.

 

Quote

The World of Ice and Fire - The Fall of the Dragons: The Year of the False Spring

As cold winds hammered the city, King Aerys II turned to his pyromancers, charging them to drive the winter off with their magics. Huge green fires burned along the walls of the Red Keep for a moon's turn. Prince Rhaegar was not in the city to observe them, however. Nor could he be found in Dragonstone with Princess Elia and their young son, Aegon. With the coming of the new year, the crown prince had taken to the road with half a dozen of his closest friends and confidants, on a journey that would ultimately lead him back to the riverlands. Not ten leagues from Harrenhal, Rhaegar fell upon Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, and carried her off, lighting a fire that would consume his house and kin and all those he loved—and half the realm besides.

But that tale is too well-known to warrant repeating here.

 

 

SEYTON

The queen, my lord, is dead.

MACBETH

She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

 

-- William Shakespeare

From:  Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5

[ravenous reader]

On 5/2/2017 at 8:14 PM, Dorian Martell's son said:

This one made me think of the CTOF 

 

 

 

Dance of the Heart

A woman 
Dances alone
Among the trees
In white
Against the pink petals
Of the ancient
Sakura trees

Her raven black hair
Swirling in the gentle breeze
As the petals dance with her
Soft 
Fragile
Tender

Branches sway in the breeze
As if conducting 
Music to her heart

Her love flowed with her movement
Her soul sang out 
Her voice carried on the breeze
Until night fall

Clouds roll in as it rains
The gentle rain falling on the blossoms
But where was she
She was crying
Her tears were the rain

A stone rested among the trees
A gentle rustle moved the petals
Revealing her name
Her body rested there 
Her favorite place

So she is seen dancing 
By day
By night she cried
As the trees
Contined to play
To her dance of her heart.
-Semerian Perez

Thank you for sharing your 'sensitive side' with us, Dorian..!  

The preternatural 'rustling' reminds me of Bran, for obvious reasons... (in addition to your and MacGregor's dancing back and forth, 'rustling each other's jimmies', an idiom in which I've recently been schooled by @Illyrio Mo'Parties!)

The musical heart beat of the greenseer orchestrating the 'song of the earth' from the heart of the heart trees can be found in the sound announcing itself to Theon as he kneels at the heart tree, about to receive the mystical communion from Bran... 'Boom-DOOM, Boom-DOOM, Boom-DOOM' -- echoing the systole and diastole of the relentless ebb-and-flow, rise-and-fall of our troubled hearts in conflict with ourselves...

Quote

A Dance with Dragons - A Ghost in Winterfell

In the godswood the snow was still dissolving as it touched the earth. Steam rose off the hot pools, fragrant with the smell of moss and mud and decay. A warm fog hung in the air, turning the trees into sentinels, tall soldiers shrouded in cloaks of gloom. During daylight hours, the steamy wood was often full of northmen come to pray to the old gods, but at this hour Theon Greyjoy found he had it all to himself.

And in the heart of the wood the weirwood waited with its knowing red eyes. Theon stopped by the edge of the pool and bowed his head before its carved red face. Even here he could hear the drumming, boom DOOM boom DOOM boom DOOM boom DOOM. Like distant thunder, the sound seemed to come from everywhere at once.

The night was windless, the snow drifting straight down out of a cold black sky, yet the leaves of the heart tree were rustling his name. "Theon," they seemed to whisper, "Theon."

 

Here is another poem by Tennyson, since you appear to like him, which evokes the same sort of music, promising life and doom at once, which reminds me of the elusive 'horn of winter' or 'horn of Joramun' (or even the three long blasts on the Night's Watch horn signifying the advent of the Others); as well as GRRM's penchant for poetically echoing onomatopoeic incantations in threes (e.g. Patchface's 'oh oh oh', the Raven's 'corn corn corn,' etc....)

 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)

                  from The Princess

        The splendor falls on castle walls 
            And snowy summits old in story ; 
        The long light shakes across the lakes, 
            And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
    Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 
    Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, 
              dying.

        O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear, 
            And thinner, clearer, farther going! 
        O, sweet and far from cliff and scar 
            The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! 
    Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying, 
    Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, 
              dying.

        O love, they die in yon rich sky, 
            They faint on hill or field or river ; 
        Our echoes roll from soul to soul, 
            And grow for ever and for ever. 
    Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 
    And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, 
              dying.

 

---

The above song appears between the third and fourth parts of The Princess. It is listed under a variety of names in various anthologies, including: Splendor Falls, Blow, Bugle, Blow, He Hears the Bugle at Killarney, and Bugle Song.

[Bluetiger]

Johan Wolfgang von Goethe,

 Erlkönig

Who rides there so late through the night dark and drear?
The father it is, with his infant so dear;
He holdeth the boy tightly clasp'd in his arm,
He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm.

"My son, wherefore seek'st thou thy face thus to hide?"
"Look, father, the Erl-King is close by our side!
Dost see not the Erl-King, with crown and with train?"
"My son, 'tis the mist rising over the plain."

"Oh, come, thou dear infant! oh come thou with me!
For many a game I will play there with thee;
On my strand, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold,
My mother shall grace thee with garments of gold."

"My father, my father, and dost thou not hear
The words that the Erl-King now breathes in mine ear?"
"Be calm, dearest child, 'tis thy fancy deceives;
'Tis the sad wind that sighs through the withering leaves."

"Wilt go, then, dear infant, wilt go with me there?
My daughters shall tend thee with sisterly care;
My daughters by night their glad festival keep,
They'll dance thee, and rock thee, and sing thee to sleep."

"My father, my father, and dost thou not see,
How the Erl-King his daughters has brought here for me?"
"My darling, my darling, I see it aright,
'Tis the aged grey willows deceiving thy sight."

"I love thee, I'm charm'd by thy beauty, dear boy!
And if thou'rt unwilling, then force I'll employ."
"My father, my father, he seizes me fast,
For sorely the Erl-King has hurt me at last."

The father now gallops, with terror half wild,
He grasps in his arms the poor shuddering child;
He reaches his courtyard with toil and with dread, –
The child in his arms finds he motionless, dead.

***

My mother shall grace thee with garments of gold...

Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds...

[ravenous reader]

5 minutes ago, Blue Tiger said:

Johan Wolfgang von Goethe,

 Erlkönig

Who rides there so late through the night dark and drear?
The father it is, with his infant so dear;
He holdeth the boy tightly clasp'd in his arm,
He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm.

"My son, wherefore seek'st thou thy face thus to hide?"
"Look, father, the Erl-King is close by our side!
Dost see not the Erl-King, with crown and with train?"
"My son, 'tis the mist rising over the plain."

"Oh, come, thou dear infant! oh come thou with me!
For many a game I will play there with thee;
On my strand, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold,
My mother shall grace thee with garments of gold."

"My father, my father, and dost thou not hear
The words that the Erl-King now breathes in mine ear?"
"Be calm, dearest child, 'tis thy fancy deceives;
'Tis the sad wind that sighs through the withering leaves."

"Wilt go, then, dear infant, wilt go with me there?
My daughters shall tend thee with sisterly care;
My daughters by night their glad festival keep,
They'll dance thee, and rock thee, and sing thee to sleep."

"My father, my father, and dost thou not see,
How the Erl-King his daughters has brought here for me?"
"My darling, my darling, I see it aright,
'Tis the aged grey willows deceiving thy sight."

"I love thee, I'm charm'd by thy beauty, dear boy!
And if thou'rt unwilling, then force I'll employ."
"My father, my father, he seizes me fast,
For sorely the Erl-King has hurt me at last."

The father now gallops, with terror half wild,
He grasps in his arms the poor shuddering child;
He reaches his courtyard with toil and with dread, –
The child in his arms finds he motionless, dead.

***

My mother shall grace thee with garments of gold...

Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds...

Hi Niebieski, thanks for posting. 

Do you know, that poem has come up before so it definitely resonates with readers of ASOIAF!  Both Tijgy and Wizz-the-Smith provided musical clips to go with it, each beautiful in its own way...(and in my post I provided a link to the original German text):