As suggested by Time_Is_Now.   

It all started with a computer game... never did solve the problem of the tower...

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
    Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

    But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
    Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
    A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
    As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
    By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
    And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
    As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
    A mighty fountain momently was forced :
    Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
    Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
    Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail :
    And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
    It flung up momently the sacred river.
    Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
    Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
    Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
    And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
    And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
    Ancestral voices prophesying war !
    The shadow of the dome of pleasure
    Floated midway on the waves ;
    Where was heard the mingled measure
    From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !
    A damsel with a dulcimer
    In a vision once I saw :
    It was an Abyssinian maid,
    And on her dulcimer she played,
    Singing of Mount Abora.
    Could I revive within me
    Her symphony and song,
    To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

I have so many favourite poems I don't know where to start. Housman, Auden, Shakespeare - all glorious, and mostly quite long. Here's a short Housman poem to start with:

Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what towns are those?

That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.

So you've taken the plunge(r) Mary? Good for you: if you leave these things any longer, they just get worse...

When he's gone, get out your copy of the Spring Symphony, and sing along to the last movement!

What, Mary? Not the van Beinum one with Jo Vincent, Ferrier amd Pears, Amsterdam 9 vii 49?

I believe the fa-bourdon to Mary's song traditionally has the words

Thissul cost ya,
Hoo dun that for yu?

Poetry and music is an interesting subject.

I was listening to some songs of Gerald Finzi this morning. This reminded my of the fact that I knew a lot of English poetry (by Thomas Hardy, for instance) long before I discovered that it was set to music by various composers.

With French poetry, it is the other way around. I would never have the known the lovely poetry of  Maurice Carême if I hadn't discovered the songs of Francis Poulenc.

To lower it a bit further, here is Ezra Pound's parody:

Winter is icumen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.
Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver,
Damm you; Sing: Goddamm.
Goddamm, Goddamm, 'tis why I am, Goddamm,
So 'gainst the winter's balm.
Sing goddamm, damm, sing goddamm,
Sing goddamm, sing goddamm, DAMM.