قصائد أجنبية

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعر فرانك ستيوارت فلينت، يصف فلينت حب أحد المتحدثين لمدينة لندن ووصف جمالها والخوض فيها.   ملخص قصيدة London my beautiful   هي قصيدة من ثلاثة مقاطع مكرسة لمدينة يحبها المتحدث، تتكون القصيدة من مجموعات سطور مرقمة بشكل غير متساو، حيث يحتوي المقطع الأول على اثني عشر سطراً، والثاني ستة، والثالث ستة، […]

,Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea London has swept about you this score years :And bright ships left you this or that in fee

O generation of the thoroughly smug ,and thoroughly uncomfortable ,I have seen fishermen picnicking in the sun ,I have seen them with untidy families

,The last, the very last .So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow Perhaps if the sun's tears would sing …against a white stone

Keep cats if you want to learn to cope with .the otherness of lovers -Otherness is not always neglect 

,Down the long hall she glistens like a star  ,The foam-born mother of Love, transfixed to stone .Yet none the less immortal, breathing on 

.No one could say how the tiger got into the menagerie ,It was too flash, too blue .too much like the painting of a tiger

;TO know just how he suffered would be dear To know if any human eyes were near ,To whom he could intrust his wavering gaze .Until it settled firm on Paradise

,It was not Death, for I stood up –And all the Dead, lie down  It was not Night, for all the Bells .Put out their Tongues, for Noon

,A Route of Evanescence –With a revolving Wheel  A Resonance of Emerald –A Rush of Cochineal 

Fairer through Fading — as the Day —Into the Darkness dips away  —Half Her Complexion of the Sun  —Hindering — Haunting — Perishing 

—An awful Tempest mashed the air —The clouds were gaunt, and few A Black—as of a Spectre’s Cloak .Hid Heaven and Earth from view

–After great pain, a formal feeling comes –The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs ’,The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore ?’And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before

,In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray ;Reckless of the lives wasting there away “!Draw the ponderous bars! open, Warder stern” .He dared not say me nay–the hinges harshly turn

.The evening passes fast away“ ;Tis almost time to rest’ ,What thoughts has left the vanished day ?What feelings in thy breast

?They asked me 'A you sitting down 'Right? This is Universal Lotteries ,they said. 'You've won the top prize .the Ultra-super Global Special

You can invest everything in someone. This one feeling chopping you up. Anyone can go into the night. I just want to be gone. I want to be unknown. There’s a storm coming. Euphoria trapped in a vial ... 

هي قصيدة للشاعرة إيلا ويلر ويلكوكس، تصف القصيدة حقائق الحياة بمصطلحات عالمية ويقلل من تأثيرها من خلال التأكيد على طبيعتها المتكررة.   ملخص قصيدة The Year   هي عبارة عن قصيدة من ستة مقطوعات مقسمة إلى مجموعات من سطرين، والمعروفين أيضًا باسم مقاطع، اختارت ويلكوكس هيكلة هذه القطعة بمخطط قافية متسق، وهي تتبع نمط (aa […]

Methinks, ’tis strange you can’t afford ;One pitying look, one parting word ,Humanity claims this as due ?But what’s humanity to you

,It was only a film Perhaps I shall say later Forgetting the story, left only With bright images- the blazing dawn

When I was happy alone, too young for love Or to be loved in any but a way Cloudless and gentle, I would find the day .Long as I wished its length or web to weave

You are confronted with yourself. Each year .The pouches fill, the skin is uglier You give it all unflinchingly. You stare

.An Owl’s call scrapes the stillness Curtains are barriers and behind them .The beds settle into neat rows .Soon they’ll be ruffled

I caught a tremendous fish and held him beside the boat half out of water, with my hook .fast in a corner of his mouth

.September rain falls on the house In the failing light, the old grandmother sits in the kitchen with the child ,beside the Little Marvel Stove

I am in need of music that would flow ,Over my fretful, feeling fingertips ,Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips .With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow

,I MIND me in the days departed How often underneath the sun With childish bounds I used to run .To a garden long deserted

,Dead ! One of them shot by the sea in the east .And one of them shot in the west by the sea Dead ! both my boys ! When you sit at the feast

;I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless  ,That only men incredulous of despair  Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air 

Right now two black people sit in a jury room in Southern California trying to persuade nine white people that what they saw when four white