قصائد أجنبية

;Hope was but a timid friend ,She sat without the grated den ,Watching how my fate would tend .Even as selfish-hearted men

;I do not weep; I would not weep :Our mother needs no tears Dry thine eyes, too; ’tis vain to keep .This causeless grief for years

,Shall earth no more inspire thee  ?Thou lonely dreamer now  Since passion may not fire thee  ?Shall Nature cease to bow 

I am the only being whose doom No tongue would ask no eye would mourn I never caused a thought of gloom A smile of joy since I was born

,Make me a grave where’er you will ;In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill  ,Make it among earth’s humblest graves .But not in a land where men are slaves

on my block, a gate on my block, a tree smelling of citrus & jasmine that knocks me back into the arms of my dead

Now watch this autumn that arrives ;In smells. All looks like summer still Colours are quite unchanged, the air .On green and white serenely thrives

Today the children begin to hope for snow .and look in the sky for auguries of it .It is not for such omens that we wait Our world may not be settled by the slow

هي قصيدة للشاعرة إليزابيث جينينغز، تتحدث القصيدة عن التمريض والممرضات، يبدو أنّ الراوي يتعاطف معهم ويثني على العمل الذي يقومون به ولكن يبدو أنه يكافح لفهم كيفية قدرتهم على العمل.

;I kept my answers small and kept them near Big questions bruised my mind but still I let .Small answers be a bulwark to my fear

.At low tide like this how sheer the water is White, crumbling ribs of marl protrude and glare .and the boats are dry, the pilings dry as matches

In the cold, cold parlor my mother laid out Arthur :beneath the chromographs رEdward, Prince of Wales

.What shall we add now? He is dead ,And I who praise and you who blame ,With wash of words across his name

The miller’s wife had waited long ;The tea was cold, the fire was dead And there might yet be nothing wrong

,When Winter’s ahead What can you read in November That you read in April ?When Winter’s dead

The sorrow of true love is a great sorrow :And true love parting blackens a bright morrow Yet almost they equal joys, since their despair Is but hope blinded by its tears, and clear .Above the storm the heavens wait to be seen

;Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest .Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof

–,The glory of the beauty of the morning  ;The cuckoo crying over the untouched dew The blackbird that has found it, and the dove

,I have come to the borders of sleep The unfathomable deep Forest where all must lose

After night’s thunder far away had rolled ,The fiery day had a kernel sweet of cold ,And in the perfect blue the clouds uncurled

Every time the horses turned Instead of treading me down, the ploughman leaned ,Upon the handles to say or ask a word

Only the feathers floating around the hat Showed that anything more spectacular had occurred Than the usual drowning. The police preferred to ignore ,The confusing aspects of the case

هي قصيدة للشاعرة إدنا فنسنت ميلي، تدور القصيدة حول التأثير الجسدي والروحي للخسارة وكيف يمكن تغيير عالم المرء.   ملخص قصيدة Elegy Before Death   هي قصيدة من خمسة مقاطع تتكون من مجموعات من أربعة أسطر، كل سطر من هذه الأسطر له نفس الطول والقصيدة تحمل باستمرار مخطط قافية (ABCB DEFE) طوال الوقت، نُشرت هذه […]

;But, sure, the sky is big, I said ;Miles and miles above my head So here upon my back I’ll lie .And look my fill into the sky

;Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike !Eat I must, and sleep I will, — and would that night were here !But ah! — to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike !Would that it were day again! — with twilight near

I will be the gladdest thing !Under the sun I will touch a hundred flowers .And not pick one

My Love is like to ice, and I to fire How comes it then that this her cold so great ,Is not dissolved through my so hot desire ?But harder grows the more I her entreat

,The press of the Spoon River Clarion was wrecked ,And I was tarred and feathered :For publishing this on the day the Anarchists were hanged in Chicago I saw a beautiful woman with bandaged eyes" .Standing on the steps of a marble temple ,Great multitudes passed in front of her .Lifting their faces to her imploringly

هي واحدة من عدة قصائد من مجموعة ماسترز الرائدة (Spoon River Anthology)، كل قصيدة في هذا المجلد هي ضريح بمعنى كلماتها المكتوبة أو المنطوقة بعد وفاة شخص ما

?Did you give a cheerful greeting to the friend who came along ?Or a churlish sort of "Howdy" and then vanish in the throng ,Were you selfish pure and simple as you rushed along the way