شعر إنجليزي

Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die

,Ysinno cut the bamboo near Haniketta  And from those wattles made his hut And had nothing to cover it with, nothing Like a hundred and sixty .Bales of straw

,Do you give yourself to me utterly Body and no-body, flesh and no-flesh ,Not as a fugitive, blindly or bitterly ?But as a child might, with no other wish

Three weeks gone and the combatants gone returning over the nightmare ground we found the place again, and found .the soldier sprawling in the sun

I did not live until this time ,Crowned my felicity ,When I could say without a crime .I am not thine, but thee

The bus sweeps past the swinging trees And the road unwinds long and cold The chassis creaks with the load .And jolts to a halt by the road

In western lands beneath the Sun ,the flowers may rise in Spring ,the trees may bud, the waters run .the merry finches sing

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

,All that is gold does not glitter“ ;Not all those who wander are lost ,The old that is strong does not wither .Deep roots are not reached by the frost

The clothes-line is a Rosary ;Of household help and care Each little saint the Mother loves .Is represented there

,If the year is meditating a suitable gift I should like it to be the attitude ,of my great- great- grandmother ,legendary devotee of the arts

.Once the world was perfect, and we were happy in that world .Then we took it for granted .Discontent began a small rumble in the earthly mind .Then Doubt pushed through with its spiked head

.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

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعر جون أبديك، في هذه القصيدة أشاد الشاعر بمهارات روجر بوبو في العزف على التوبا أو البوق ووصف شعبيته في جميع أنحاء العالم.   ملخص قصيدة Recital   نُشرت قصيدة جون أبدايك هذه لأول مرة في العدد العاشر ليونيو 1961 من مجلة نيويوركر، ساهم أبدايك بانتظام في هذه المجلة منذ عام 1954، […]

(After Raymond Carver’s Hummingbird) ”Suppose I said the word “springtime ”and I wrote the words “king salmon on a piece of paper

.All I can do is curse, complain I told you the flames would come and the small towns blaze. Though !Precious little you did about it

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

,How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth !Stol’n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year

,Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir ,Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine ,With a cargo of ivory ,And apes and peacocks .Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine

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

Give me your patience, sister, while I frame ;Exact in capitals your golden name Or sue the fair Apollo and he will Rouse from his heavy slumber and instill

,O soft embalmer of the still midnight ,Shutting, with careful fingers and benign ,Our gloom-pleas’d eyes, embower’d from the light :Enshaded in forgetfulness divine

It keeps eternal whisperings around Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell Gluts twice ten thousand Caverns, till the spell .Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound

There was the summer. There ,Warm hours of leaf-lipped song .And dripping amber sweat O sweet to see

,I am two fools, I know For loving, and for saying so ;In whining poetry ,But where’s that wiseman, that would not be I

When my grave is broke up again ,Some second guest to entertain ,For graves have learn’d that woman head) (To be to more than one a bed

;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

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

;Thou Winter, thou art keen, intensely keen ,Thy cutting frowns experience bids me know ,For in thy weather days and days I’ve been ,As grinning north-winds horribly did blow

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