شعر إنجليزي

,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 skin cracks like a pod .There never is enough water

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

,I hear an army charging upon the land :And the thunder of horses plunging, foam about their knees ,Arrogant, in black armour, behind them stand .Disdaining the reins, with fluttering whips, the charioteers

,But who art thou, with curious beauty graced‘ O woman, stamped with some bright heavenly seal ’?Why go thy feet on wings, and in such haste ,I am that maid whose secret few may steal‘

He poured the coffee Into the cup He put the milk Into the cup of coffee

.He was seven and I was six, my Brendon Gallacher .He was Irish and I was Scottish, my Brendon Gallacher .His father was in prison; he was a cat burglar .My father was a Communist Party full-time worker

tonite, thriller was about an old woman, so vain she surrounded herself with many mirrors

The child is not dead the child raises his fists against his mother who screams Africa screams the smell of freedom and heather in the locations of the heart under siege

Praise the restless beds Praise the beds that do not adjust that won't lift the head to feed or lower for shots

Beanville. Tea party. Five black cats & a white boy. Chitlin ,circuit. Gravy-colored suits

.We’re having a Halloween party at school !I’m dressed up like Dracula. Man, I look cool .I dyed my hair black, and I cut off my bangs .I’m wearing a cape and some fake plastic fangs

,They are the raw, monotonous skies The faded placards and iron rails .Passed by in narrow streets of rain Theirs are the indistinct thin cries

?Who would be a turtle who could help it ,A barely mobile hard roll, a four-oared helmet she can ill afford the chances she must take .in rowing toward the grasses that she eats

.I hadn’t met his kind before ,His misericord face – really like a joke on his father – blurred ;as if from years of polish

I cast a backward look—how changed !The scenes of other days I walk, a wearied man, estranged .From youth’s delightful ways

,I’m standing here inside my skin which will do for a Human Remains Pouch .for the moment. Look down there (up here) Quickly. Slowly. This is my front room

Oh button, don’t go thinking we loved pianos .more than elephants, air conditioning more than air We loved honey, just loved it, and went into stores .to smell the sweet perfume of unworn leather shoes

I will go with my Father a-ploughing  ,To the Green Field by the sea  And the rooks and corbies and seagulls  .Will come flocking after me 

Now hardly here and there a hackney-coach  .Appearing, show’d the ruddy morn’s approach  ,Now Betty from her master’s bed had flown  .And softly stole to discompose her own 

.Take back your suit It came when I was weary and distraught ?With hunger. Could I guess the fruit you brought  ,I ate in mere desire of any food

,One need not be a chamber to be haunted ;One need not be a house The brain has corridors surpassing .Material place

,Never trust a mirror ,For the mirror always lies ,It makes you think that all your worth .Can be seen from the outside

—There is a pain—so utter —It swallows substance up —Then covers the Abyss with Trance

—The Trees like Tassels — hit — and swung  There seemed to rise a Tune From Miniature Creatures —Accompanying the Sun 

–The Soul has Bandaged moments  –When too appalled to stir  She feels some ghastly Fright come up –And stop to look at her 

From cocoon forth a butterfly As lady from her door —Emerged — a summer afternoon ,Repairing everywhere