الشاعر جون دون

,Little think’st thou, poor flower ,Whom I’ve watch’d six or seven days And seen thy birth, and seen what every hour ,Gave to thy growth, thee to this height to raise

All Kings, and all their favourites All glory’ of honors, beauties, wits ,The Sun it selfe, which makes times, as they passe Is elder by a yeare, now, than it was

,Sweetest love, I do not go ,For weariness of thee Nor in hope the world can show ;A fitter love for me

I scarce believe my love to be so pure ,As I had thought it was Because it doth endure ;Vicissitude, and season, as the grass

,Twice or thrice had I loved thee ;Before I knew thy face or name ,So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame ;Angels affect us oft, and worshipped be

,Some that have deeper digg’d love’s mine than I ;Say, where his centric happiness doth lie ,I have lov’d, and got, and told ,But should I love, get, tell, till I were old

Dear love, for nothing less than thee ;Would I have broke this happy dream It was a theme ,For reason, much too strong for fantasy

,Thou art not so black as my heart ;Nor half so brittle as her heart, thou art  ,What would’st thou say ? shall both our properties by thee be spoke ?Nothing more endless, nothing sooner broke—

Stand still, and I will read to thee .A lecture, love, in love’s philosophy ,These three hours that we have spent Walking here, two shadows went

,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

ما هي قصيدة (Go and catch a falling star)؟   ,Go and catch a falling star     ,Get with child a mandrake root ,Tell me where all past years are     ,Or who cleft the devil’s foot ,Teach me to hear mermaids singing ,Or to keep off envy’s stinging             And find             What wind .Serves to […]

Let me pour forth ,My tears before thy face, whilst I stay here ,For thy face coins them, and thy stamp they bear ,And by this mintage they are something worth

,Tis the year’s midnight, and it is the day’s‘ ;Lucy’s, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks

كتب جون دون (John Donne) هذه القصيدة، وهو كاتب وسياسي ومحامي وكاهن من القرن السابع عشر، بمناسبة فراق زوجته آن مور دون في عام 1611، وكان دون ذاهبًا في مهمة دبلوماسية إلى فرنسا.

,No man is an island .Entire of itself ,Each is a piece of the continent .A part of the main

I have done one braver thing ,Than all the Worthies did ,And yet a braver thence doth spring .Which is, to keep that hid

,Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm ,Nor question much ;That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm ;The mystery, the sign, you must not touch

For the first twenty years since yesterday ;I scarce believed thou couldst be gone away ,For forty more I fed on favors past .And forty on hopes that thou wouldst they might last

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعر جون دون، موجهة إلى عاشقة الشاعر، يطلب منها أن تتقبله عند عودته لها، على الرغم من حقيقة أنه سيبدو ويتصرف بشكل مختلف عما كان عليه.   ملخص قصيدة Elegy V His Picture   المعنى من القصيدة هو أنه على الرغم من أنّ طبيعة محبة المتحدث ستتغير، إلا أنه يعتقد بثقة كبيرة […]

?Tis true, ’tis day; what though it be ?O wilt thou therefore rise from me ?Why should we rise, because ’tis light ?Did we lie down, because ’twas night

,As virtuous men pass mildly away ,And whisper to their souls to go Whilst some of their sad friends do say :The breath goes now, and some say, No