شعر إنجليزي

Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle That while you watched turned to pieces of snow Riding a gradient invisible .From silver aslant to random, white, and slow

,The ribs and terrors in the whale  ,Arched over me a dismal gloom  ,While all God’s sun-lit waves rolled by  .And left me deepening down to doom 

No permanence is ours; we are a wave :That flows to fit whatever form it finds Through day or night, cathedral or the cave .We pass forever, craving form that binds

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعر هربرت ويليامز، وهي قصيدة تتحدث عن التضاؤل التدريجي للغة والثقافة التقليدية في ويلز.

River! That in silence windest ,Through the meadows, bright and free Till at length thy rest thou findest !In the bosom of the sea

;The night is come, but not too soon ,And sinking silently All silently, the little moon .Drops down behind the sky

The day is done, and the darkness    ,Falls from the wings of Night As a feather is wafted downward    .From an eagle in his flight

,A gentle boy, with soft and silken locks ,A dreamy boy, with brown and tender eyes ,A castle-builder, with his wooden blocks .And towers that touch imaginary skies 

,Tell me not, in mournful numbers !Life is but an empty dream  ,For the soul is dead that slumbers .And things are not what they seem

Is it so far from thee ,Thou canst no longer see ,In the Chamber over the Gate ,That old man desolate

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

,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.

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعرة جوين هاروود، قصيدة مؤثرة عن مدى صعوبة الأمومة، تصف معاناة الأم على حياتها الضائعة.   ملخص قصيدة In The Park   تم نشر هذه القصيدة في عام 1961، إنها قطعة مظلمة تقدم صورة أقل من مثالية للأمومة، عندما نشرت هذه القصيدة، استخدمت اسمًا مستعارًا من الذكور، وهو الأمر الذي أبعدها عن […]

To be in love .Is to touch with a lighter hand .In yourself you stretch, you are well You look at things .Through his eyes .A cardinal is red .A sky is blue

?Oh mother, mother, where is happiness ,They took my lover's tallness off to war Left me lamenting. Now I cannot guess .What I can use an empty heart-cup for

.Abortions will not let you forget ,You remember the children you got that you did not get ,The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair .The singers and workers that never handled the air

.I’ve stayed in the front yard all my life I want a peek at the back .Where it’s rough and untended and hungry weed grows .A girl gets sick of a rose

It was good tonight ,To polish brass with you Our hands slightly gritty With Brasso, as they would feel .If we'd been in the sea, salty

,My box is made of golden oak .my lover’s gift to me He fitted hinges and a lock .of brass and a bright key

They flash upon that inward eye‘ ’which is the bliss of solitude (from ‘The Daffodils’ by William Wordsworth)

Snow falls on the cooling towers .delicately settling on cranes Machinery's old bones whiten; death .settles with its rusts, its erosions

,The wind blew out from Bergen from the dawning to the day ,There was a wreck of trees and fall of towers a score of miles away ,And drifted like a livid leaf I go before its tide .Spewed out of house and stable, beggared of flag and bride  ,The heavens are bowed about my head, shouting like seraph wars