قصائد أجنبية

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعر عزرا باوند، وهي قصيدة قصيرة لكنها قوية تستخدم التجاور والتباين لإنشاء صورة تشبه الفن للفراولة الحمراء والزرنيخ الأخضر.

—I shall not pass this way again ,Although it bordered be with flowers ,Although I rest in fragrant bowers

Amid the glare of light and song ,And talk that knows not when to cease ,The sullen voices of the throng ,My weary soul cries out for peace

?Have you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree !Tis a marvel of great renown‘ It blooms on the shore of the Lollypop sea ;In the garden of Shut-Eye Town

:The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day ,The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play ,And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same

You are running away from everyone ,who loves you ,from your family .from old lovers, from friends

Two butterflies went out at noon ,And waltzed above a stream Then stepped straight through the firmament ;And rested on a beam

—The Wind — tapped like a tired Man ”And like a Host — “Come in I boldly answered — entered then My Residence within

The Bustle in a House The Morning after Death Is solemnest of industries –Enacted opon Earth

–To fight aloud, is very brave  But gallanter, I know Who charge within the bosom –The Cavalry of Woe

,There’s been a Death, in the Opposite House —As lately as Today  I know it, by the numb look —Such Houses have — alway 

!Some Rainbow – coming from the Fair –Some Vision of the World Cashmere !I confidently see Or else a Peacock’s purple Train

–It sifts from Leaden Sieves  .It powders all the Wood It fills with Alabaster Wool –The Wrinkles of the Road 

:A bird came down the walk ;He did not know I saw He bit an angle-worm in halves .And ate the fellow, raw

I years had been from Home And now before the Door I dared not enter, lest a Face I never saw before

I measure every Grief I meet –With narrow, probing, eyes  –I wonder if It weighs like Mine  .Or has an Easier size

How happy is the little stone ,That rambles in the road alone ,And doesn’t care about careers ;And exigencies never fears

–I dwell in Possibility  –A fairer House than Prose  –More numerous of Windows  –Superior – for Doors 

I died for beauty, but was scarce ,Adjusted in the tomb When one who died for truth was lain .In an adjoining room

Apparently with no surprise To any happy Flower –The Frost beheads it at it’s play –In accidental power

,A drop fell on the apple tree ;Another on the roof ,A half a dozen kissed the eaves .And made the gables laugh

How happy I was if I could forget To remember how sad I am Would be an easy adversity But the recollecting of Bloom

—From Blank to Blank A Threadless Way —I pushed Mechanic feet

A light exists in spring Not present on the year .At any other period When March is scarcely here

,The night is darkening round me ;The wild winds coldly blow But a tyrant spell has bound me .And I cannot, cannot go

Often rebuked, yet always back returning ,To those first feelings that were born with me And leaving busy chase of wealth and learning :For idle dreams of things which cannot be

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعرة إميلي برونتي، تقدم القصيدة وصف حالة المتحدث العاطفية والروحية، تابع المزيد من القراءة لتتعرف على شرح القصيدة.   ملخص قصيدة At Castle Wood   إميلي برونتي كانت شاعرة مشهورة على نطاق واسع منذ أن بدأت في كتابة الشعر، مساهماتها في الأدب الإنجليزي مشهورة، عاشت حياة صعبة للغاية وكانت مليئة بالمآسي والمصاعب […]

‘But look at all this beauty’ said the hotel manager’s wife when asked how she could bear to ,live there. True: there was a fine bay

,Oh, a word is a gem, or a stone, or a song ;Or a flame, or a two-edged sword ,Or a rose in bloom, or a sweet perfume

,Smile a little, smile a little  ,As you go along  ,Not alone when life is pleasant