شعر إنجليزي

كاتب هذه القصيدة هو الشاعر الأيرلندي سيموس هيني(Seamus Heaney) الحائز على جائزة نوبل، ونُشرت في عام 1966 باعتبارها قصيدة لعنوان كتابه وهو أول كتاب شعر لهيني

كتب ديلان توماس (Dylan Thomas) هذه القصيدة في عام 1945، بناءاً على تجارب الطفولة في مزرعة عمته في ويلز حيث نشأ هناك، وتمتلئ القصيدة بلغة غنائية مكثفة وأوصاف مجازية غنية

كتب الشاعر النيوزيلندي جيمس باكستر (James K. Baxter) هذه القصيدة في القرن العشرين، وتركز القصيدة على شاب مزارع يقف خارج قاعة رقص

هذه القصيده كتبها الشاعر الإنجليزي ألفريد لورد تينيسون ردًا على معركة وقعت خلال حرب القرم في عام(1853-1855) وهي جزيرة تسمى بالقرم

.I am spending my time imagining the worst that could happen I know this is not a good idea, and that being in love, I could be .spending my time going over the best that has been happening

,Tis the year’s midnight, and it is the day’s‘ ;Lucy’s, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks

Driving from my parent’s home to Cochin last Friday ,morning, I saw my mother ,beside me

,He is stark mad, whoever says ,That he hath been in love an hour ,Yet not that love so soon decays ;But that it can ten in less space devour 

,Now thou has loved me one whole day ?Tomorrow when you leav’st, what wilt thou say ?Wilt thou then antedate some new-made vow Or say that now

,My dear Telemachus The Trojan War .is over now; I don't recall who won it The Greeks, no doubt, for only they would leave

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

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

,I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky ;And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by ,And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking .And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking

,People have been trying to kill me since I was born a man tells his son, trying to explain .the wisdom of learning a second tongue It’s an old story from the previous century

Is there a name for that thing ?you do when you are young ,There must be a word for it in some language probably German, or if not just

I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying-- To make you hear. Your ears are soft and small ,And listen to an old man not at all .They want the young men's whispering and sighing

,I loved thee, though I told thee not ,Right earlily and long ,Thou wert my joy in every spot .My theme in every song

Sing a last song ,for the lady who has gone .fertile source of guilt and pain ,The worst birth in the annals of Brooklyn

To fling my arms wide ,In some place of the sun To whirl and to dance

Little maidens, when you look ,On this little story-book Reading with attentive eye ,Its enticing history

We were low on petrol so I said let's freewheel .when we get to the hill It was dawn and the city

.A poem is a gesture toward home .It makes dark demands I call my own :Memory makes demands darker than my own .My last love drove a burgundy car

,My boy, the hero played his part Upon his sleeve; his stripes, his heart And when they marched out on parade My boy, the hero played

As a pale phantom with a lamp ,Ascends some ruin’s haunted stair So glides the moon along the damp .Mysterious chambers of the air

Excuse me Standing on one leg I’m half-caste

All day I hear the noise of waters ,Making moan Sad as the sea-bird is when, going ,Forth alone

,Eternities before the first-born day ,Or ere the first sun fledged his wings of flame ,Calm Night, the everlasting and the same .A brooding mother over chaos lay

!Come to me, O ye children ,For I hear you at your play And the questions that perplexed me .Have vanished quite away

Ojibwa —,The owl    Au The owl    Au

.I should have visited more often .I should have taken the sour pudding they offered .I should have danced that lousy beggar shuffle .I should have painted their rooms in a brighter color