شعر إنجليزي

كتبت الشاعرة الأمريكية أدريان ريتش (Adrienne Rich ) هذه القصيدة ونشرتها لأول مرة في مجموعة تحمل نفس الاسم في عام 1973، وتبدأ القصيدة بينما يستعد المتحدث للغوص

;I'd like to be the sort of friend that you have been to me ;I'd like to be the help that you've been always glad to be I'd like to mean as much to you each minute of the day

هي قصيدة من تأليف الشاعرة كارول آن دافي، تصف القصيدة اتصال المتحدثة المتنامي بطريقة والدتها في التحدث، ويقصد بأنها تتكلم مثل والدتها، أنّ بعض الجمل والعبارات الخاصة بأنماط حديث والدتها قد شقت طريقها إلى أفكار المتحدثة الخاصة

أصبح هذا العمل الأكثر شهرة للشاعر الإنجليزي آرثر أوشونيسي، وأصبح محكًا للمثاليين والحالمين منذ نشره لأول مرة في عام 1873، وفي هذه القصيدة تغني جوقة من الفنانين

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

The morning road is thronged with merry boys ;Who seek the water for their Sunday joys

,There was an Indian, who had known no change Who strayed content along a sunlit beach Gathering shells. He heard a sudden strange .Commingled noise: looked up; and gasped for speech

!Good morning, daddy Ain't you heard The boogie-woogie rumble ?Of a dream deferred

Life has dark secrets; and the hearts are few –That treasure not some sorrow from the world ,A sorrow silent, gloomy, and unknown .Yet colouring the future from the past

,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

A married state affords but little ease .The best of husbands are so hard to please

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

,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

You tell me to live each day as if it were my last. This is in the kitchen where before coffee I complain of the day ahead—that obstacle race

Remember how we rowed toward the cottage ,on the sickle-shaped bay that one night after the pub loosed us through its swinging doors

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعر جون مارك جرين، وهي قصيدة حب تتحدث عن المدى الذي سيذهب إليه شخص لآخر.

,All are architects of Fate ;Working in these walls of Time ,Some with massive deeds and great .Some with ornaments of rhyme

;Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest ,Home-keeping hearts are happiest For those that wander they know not where ;Are full of trouble and full of care

Time Is ,Too Slow for those who Wait ,Too Swift for those who Fear

Steaming chip-shop and the red-hot chips And me shaking salt, pepper and vinegar .All over them like I’m some kind of weather

Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die

.been scarred and battered .My hopes the wind done scattered

,Once, I was in New York in Central Park, and I saw an old man in a black overcoat walking a black dog. This was springtime

,No man is an island .Entire of itself ,Each is a piece of the continent .A part of the main

Love the cracks on the walls Of your apartment, and the electric light The current of electricity passed Through the hand on the switch, love the hand

,To look at any thing ,If you would know that thing You must look at it long

The fat cat on the mat may seem to dream of nice mice that suffice ;for him, or cream

I have done one braver thing ,Than all the Worthies did ,And yet a braver thence doth spring .Which is, to keep that hid

ولدت الشاعرة وكاتبة المقالات والروائية أليس ووكر (Alice Walker) في عام 1944، في إيتونتون، جورجيا، لأبوين مزارعين ويلي لي وميني لو غرانت ووكر، وحصلت على بكالوريوس

?What happens to a dream deferred Does it dry up ?like a raisin in the sun —Or fester like a sore