شعر إنجليزي

,There's just no accounting for happiness or the way it turns up like a prodigal who comes back to the dust at your feet .having squandered a fortune far away

Still, I keep myself, I take to bed. One lung is red. Cut red .flowers hung in pink water

,When it was bitter in New York City I would go out with my mother ,past the icy buildings stay against her, just behind her

,In the Shreve High football stadium ,I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville ,And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood ,And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعر جيمس شويلر مكتوبة عن جمال العالم الطبيعي، مع التركيز على كيف أنها عابرة دائمًا، دائمًا ما تبدو رؤية الصور الجميلة مؤقتة للشاعر، مثل تلاشي النهار والليل دائمًا في بعضهما البعض

,I hear an army charging upon the land :And the thunder of horses plunging, foam about their knees ,Arrogant, in black armour, behind them stand .Disdaining the reins, with fluttering whips, the charioteers

,But who art thou, with curious beauty graced‘ O woman, stamped with some bright heavenly seal ’?Why go thy feet on wings, and in such haste ,I am that maid whose secret few may steal‘

He poured the coffee Into the cup He put the milk Into the cup of coffee

.He was seven and I was six, my Brendon Gallacher .He was Irish and I was Scottish, my Brendon Gallacher .His father was in prison; he was a cat burglar .My father was a Communist Party full-time worker

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

The child is not dead the child raises his fists against his mother who screams Africa screams the smell of freedom and heather in the locations of the heart under siege

.The skin cracks like a pod .There never is enough water

Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle That while you watched turned to pieces of snow Riding a gradient invisible .From silver aslant to random, white, and slow

,The ribs and terrors in the whale  ,Arched over me a dismal gloom  ,While all God’s sun-lit waves rolled by  .And left me deepening down to doom 

No permanence is ours; we are a wave :That flows to fit whatever form it finds Through day or night, cathedral or the cave .We pass forever, craving form that binds

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعر هربرت ويليامز، وهي قصيدة تتحدث عن التضاؤل التدريجي للغة والثقافة التقليدية في ويلز.

River! That in silence windest ,Through the meadows, bright and free Till at length thy rest thou findest !In the bosom of the sea

;The night is come, but not too soon ,And sinking silently All silently, the little moon .Drops down behind the sky

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

,A gentle boy, with soft and silken locks ,A dreamy boy, with brown and tender eyes ,A castle-builder, with his wooden blocks .And towers that touch imaginary skies 

,Tell me not, in mournful numbers !Life is but an empty dream  ,For the soul is dead that slumbers .And things are not what they seem

Is it so far from thee ,Thou canst no longer see ,In the Chamber over the Gate ,That old man desolate

Happy those early days! when I .Shined in my angel infancy Before I understood this place ,Appointed for my second race

,It passed like the breath of the night-wind away  ;It fled like a mist at the dawn of the day  ,It lasted its moment, then backward was hurled .Another increase to the age of the world 

—I saw the civil sun drying earth’s tears ,Her tears of joy that only faster flowed ,Fain would I stretch me by the highway side ,To thaw and trickle with the melting snow

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

Packed in my mind lie all the clothes ,Which outward nature wears And in its fashion’s hourly change .It all things else repairs

,I have known hours built like cities House on grey house, with streets between ,That lead to straggling roads and trail off ;Forgotten in a field of green

The bell-rope that gathers God at dawn  Dispatches me as though I dropped down the knell  Of a spent day – to wander the cathedral lawn  .From pit to crucifix, feet chill on steps from hell 

Dai K lives at the end of a valley. One is not quite sure whether it has been drowned or not. His Mam .Loves him too much and his Dada drinks As for his girlfriend Blodwen, she's pregnant. So