قصيدة The Swan
,Under a wall of bronze Where beeches dip and trail ;Their branches in the water —With red-tipped head and wings
,Under a wall of bronze Where beeches dip and trail ;Their branches in the water —With red-tipped head and wings
You say you love; but with a voice Chaster than a nun’s, who singeth The soft Vespers to herself – While the chime-bell ringeth !O love me truly
.My house is the red earth; it could be the center of the world .I’ve heard New York, Paris, or Tokyo called the center of the world, but I say it is magnificently humble .You could drive by and miss it
(After Raymond Carver’s Hummingbird) ”Suppose I said the word “springtime ”and I wrote the words “king salmon on a piece of paper
,Bathsheba came out to the sun ;Out to our wallèd cherry-trees ,The tears adown her cheek did run ,Bathsheba standing in the sun
How happy is the little stone ,That rambles in the road alone ,And doesn’t care about careers ;And exigencies never fears
In this blue light ,I can take you there snow having made me a world of bone
Six humans trapped by happenstance .In bleak and bitter cold Each one possessed a stick of wood Or so the story’s told
,As virtuous men pass mildly away ,And whisper to their souls to go Whilst some of their sad friends do say :The breath goes now, and some say, No
I scarce believe my love to be so pure ,As I had thought it was Because it doth endure ;Vicissitude, and season, as the grass
,Full of desire I lay, the sky wounding me Each cloud a ship without me sailing, each tree .Possessing what my soul lacked, tranquillity
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
From weariness I looked out on the stars ,And there beheld them, fixed in throbbing joy Nor racked by such mad dance of moods as mars .For us each moment’s grace with swift alloy
;The spring is coming by a many signs ,The trays are up, the hedges broken down That fenced the haystack, and the remnant shines .Like some old antique fragment weathered brown
I have a fairy by my side ,Which says I must not sleep When once in pain I loudly cried ”It said “You must not weep
هي قصيدة كتبتها إنغريد دي كوك تعبر عن الفقر المادي في شكل منزل سيء البناء، على الرغم من أنّ هذه الفكرة قد تبدو أساسية فإنّ الشاعرة لا تناقش فقط السلامة الهيكلية أو عدم وجودها للمنزل المعني.
The soldiers came .and dropped their bombs The soldiers didn’t take long .to bring the forest down
Is it so far from thee ,Thou canst no longer see ,In the Chamber over the Gate ,That old man desolate
في السطور الأولى من هذه القصيدة يبدأ المتحدث بوصف بلغة بسيطة للغاية الطفل الذي فقد كرة يلعب بها، سرعان ما يتضح أنّ هذه الكرة لم تكن شيئًا بسيطًا يمكن استبداله،
There sat down, once, a thing on Henry's heart só heavy, if he had a hundred years more, & weeping, sleepless, in all them time& .Henry could not make good
كاتب هذه القصيدة هو الشاعر "Robert Frost" روبرت فروست، وكتبت هذه القصيدة في عام 1915 في إنجلترا، وهي واحدة من قصائد روبرت فروست الأكثر شهرة في العالم
One the road to the bay was a lake of rushes .Where we bathed at times and changed in the bamboos Now it is rather to stand and say ,How many roads we take that lead to Nowhere
Happy those early days! when I .Shined in my angel infancy Before I understood this place ,Appointed for my second race
هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعر جيمس لاسدون، تصف القصيدة إيمان أحد المتحدثين بالخير العام للعالم والطريقة التي يعتقد أنّ المتشائم يجب أن يعيشها.
A boat, beneath a sunny sky Lingering onward dreamily –In an evening of July
,What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones ,The labor of an age in pilèd stones Or that his hallowed relics should be hid ?Under a star-y pointing pyramid
هذه القصيدة لآدم ثورب (Adam Thorpe) وهي قصيدة محبة مخصصة لوالدة الشاعر، ويستكشف كيف يمكن أن يؤثر فقدان البصر على حياة المرء والإحباط من عدم فهمه
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 الشاعرة جيليان كلارك، تصور القصيدة قصة كلارك وهي تتأمل معرض امرأة من التاريخ القديم تم الكشف عن رفاتها.
,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