شعر إنجليزي

,Little think’st thou, poor flower ,Whom I’ve watch’d six or seven days And seen thy birth, and seen what every hour ,Gave to thy growth, thee to this height to raise

All Kings, and all their favourites All glory’ of honors, beauties, wits ,The Sun it selfe, which makes times, as they passe Is elder by a yeare, now, than it was

,Sweetest love, I do not go ,For weariness of thee Nor in hope the world can show ;A fitter love for me

I scarce believe my love to be so pure ,As I had thought it was Because it doth endure ;Vicissitude, and season, as the grass

,Twice or thrice had I loved thee ;Before I knew thy face or name ,So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame ;Angels affect us oft, and worshipped be

,As I went down to Dymchurch Wall I heard the South sing o’er the land I saw the yellow sunlight fall .On knolls where Norman churches stand

,There was such speed in her little body ,And such lightness in her footfall It is no wonder her brown study .Astonishes us all

:A thing of beauty is a joy for ever Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

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

,Just by the wooden brig a bird flew up Frit by the cowboy as he scrambled down To reach the misty dewberry—let us stoop ,And seek its nest—the brook we need not dread

,Some that have deeper digg’d love’s mine than I ;Say, where his centric happiness doth lie ,I have lov’d, and got, and told ,But should I love, get, tell, till I were old

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعر جون بيتجمان، وهي قصيدة فعالة بشكل لا يصدق، في القصيدة يقر المتحدث ويتحدث ضد الطريقة التي يزيل بها التصنيع وصول البشرية إلى التاريخ والطبيعة، ويقصد بالتصنيع النظام الاجتماعي أو الاقتصادي المبني على الصناعات التحويلية.   ملخص قصيدة Inexpensive Progress   ,Encase your legs in nylons Bestride your hills with pylons ;O […]

,It’s awf’lly bad luck on Diana ;Her ponies have swallowed their bits She fished down their throats with a spanner .And frightened them all into fits

,They weren’t red nor was I angry but with something five shades lighter .than passion, I plucked the roses bald

,I have known hours built like cities House on grey house, with streets between ,That lead to straggling roads and trail off ;Forgotten in a field of green

The bell-rope that gathers God at dawn  Dispatches me as though I dropped down the knell  Of a spent day – to wander the cathedral lawn  .From pit to crucifix, feet chill on steps from hell 

Dai K lives at the end of a valley. One is not quite sure whether it has been drowned or not. His Mam .Loves him too much and his Dada drinks As for his girlfriend Blodwen, she's pregnant. So

Once upon a time, in a busy shop In the land of tribes and ancient civilizations …A little girl sat watching in silent resignation

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعر كوباياشي عيسى، وهي هايكو ياباني جميل كتبه أحد أساتذة الهايكو الأربعة العظماء، تتحدث هذه القطعة عما قد يحصل عليه المرء في المقابل عندما يمد يده بحنان.

Happy those early days! when I .Shined in my angel infancy Before I understood this place ,Appointed for my second race

,It passed like the breath of the night-wind away  ;It fled like a mist at the dawn of the day  ,It lasted its moment, then backward was hurled .Another increase to the age of the world 

—I saw the civil sun drying earth’s tears ,Her tears of joy that only faster flowed ,Fain would I stretch me by the highway side ,To thaw and trickle with the melting snow

,I think awhile of Love, and while I think ,Love is to me a world ,Sole meat and sweetest drink And close connecting link

Packed in my mind lie all the clothes ,Which outward nature wears And in its fashion’s hourly change .It all things else repairs

High on a bright and sunny bed A scarlet poppy grew ,And up it held its staring head .And thrust it full in view

,There's just no accounting for happiness or the way it turns up like a prodigal who comes back to the dust at your feet .having squandered a fortune far away

Still, I keep myself, I take to bed. One lung is red. Cut red .flowers hung in pink water

,When it was bitter in New York City I would go out with my mother ,past the icy buildings stay against her, just behind her

,In the Shreve High football stadium ,I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville ,And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood ,And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعر جيمس شويلر مكتوبة عن جمال العالم الطبيعي، مع التركيز على كيف أنها عابرة دائمًا، دائمًا ما تبدو رؤية الصور الجميلة مؤقتة للشاعر، مثل تلاشي النهار والليل دائمًا في بعضهما البعض