شعر إنجليزي

Often I think of the beautiful town ;That is seated by the sea Often in thought go up and down ,The pleasant streets of that dear old town

.Death is nothing at all .I have only slipped away to the next room .I am I and you are you ,Whatever we were to each other .That, we still are

I will not shoot myself In the head, and I will not shoot myself In the back, and I will not hang myself ,With a trashbag, and if I do

O sweet illusions of song ,That tempt me everywhere In the lonely fields, and the throng !Of the crowded thoroughfare

يصف المتحدث في القصيدة الإحساس بالدهشة والاكتشاف الذي اختبره أثناء استكشاف الآبار القديمة عندما كان طفلاً، وتحتفل القصيدة بفرح المغامرة للطفولة

,In Ocean’s wide domains ,Half buried in the sands ,Lie skeletons in chains .With shackled feet and hands

,Who’s for the game, the biggest that’s played ?The red crashing game of a fight ?Who’ll grip and tackle the job unafraid ?And who thinks he’d rather sit tight

Those old Winnebago men .Knew what they were singing

أدا ليمون (Ada Limón) هي مؤلفة كتاب (Lucky Wreck) في عام 2006، وكتاب (This Big Fake World)، و (Sharks in the Rivers) في عام 2010، و (Bright Dead Things) في عام 2015

The first of the undecoded messages read: "Popeye sits ,in thunder ,Unthought of. From that shoebox of an apartment ".From livid curtain's hue, a tangram emerges: a country

I read of a man who stood to speak At the funeral of a friend He referred to the dates on the tombstone From the beginning...to the end

!His Grace! impossible! what dead !Of old age too, and in his bed ?And could that mighty warrior fall !And so inglorious, after all

There are times when the mind“ knows no wholeness. It sees the moon broken in the branches, the finch’s shadow .as something terribly severed, black blood

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

,Up the ash tree climbs the ivy ,Up the ivy climbs the sun ,With a twenty-thousand pattering ,Has a valley breeze begun

Dear love, for nothing less than thee ;Would I have broke this happy dream It was a theme ,For reason, much too strong for fantasy

,The shadow of the Venetian blind on the painted wall ,Shadows of the snake-plant and cacti, the plaster animals Focus the tragic melancholy of the bright stare .Into nowhere, a hole like the black holes in space

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

,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

,If by dull rhymes our English must be chain’d And, like Andromeda, the sonnet sweet ;Fetter’d, in spite of painéd loveliness ,Let us find out, if we must be constrain’d

,To one who has been long in city pent Tis very sweet to look into the fair‘ And open face of heaven,—to breathe a prayer .Full in the smile of the blue firmament

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

.I had a beautiful dream I was dancing with a tree Sandra Cisneros— :Some things on this earth are unspeakable —Genealogy of the broken

I do not know if the world has lied I have lied I do not know if the world has conspired against love I have conspired against love

,I thank you, kind and best beloved friend ,With the same thanks one murmurs to a sister ,When, for some gentle favor, he hath kissed her ,Less for the gifts than for the love you send

When I get to be a colored composer I'm gonna write me some music about Daybreak in Alabama And I'm gonna put the purtiest songs in it

There's a breathless hush on the freeway tonight Beyond the ledges of concrete Restaurants fall into dreams With candlelight couples

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعر جون كيتس، يخاطب الشاعر عبر هذه السونيتة نهر النيل مباشرة على غرار قصائده العظيمة مثل قصيدة الخريف أو القصيدة على جرة إغريقية، يبدو أنّ الشاعر قد استيقظ من أحلام اليقظة بسحر النيل وبدأ يفكر في الجمال الطبيعي للنهر.

,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

,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