قصيدة May the Twenty-third
There never was a finer day ,—And never will be while May is May ;The third, and not the last of its kind But though fair and clear the two behind
There never was a finer day ,—And never will be while May is May ;The third, and not the last of its kind But though fair and clear the two behind
هي قصيدة للشاعر كونراد أيكن، تحتوي القصيدة على تعبيرات عن الحالة العقلية للمتحدث لأنه موجود في المنفى على بقعة قطعة أرض.
You would have understood each other well And proved to us how periods of art Are less important than the personal .Worlds that each painter makes from mind and heart
‘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
,Dear love, where the red lilies blossomed and grew ;The white snows are falling ,And all through the wood, where I wandered with you ;The loud winds are calling
,By channels of coolness the echoes are calling ;And down the dim gorges I hear the creek falling It lives in the mountain, where moss and the sedges ;Touch with their beauty the banks and the ledges
.At evening, something behind me ,I start for a second, I blench .or staggeringly halt and burn .I do not know my age
:Silent is the house: all are laid asleep ,One alone looks out o’er the snow-wreaths deep Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze
,Now thou art risen, and thy day begun.How shrink the shrouding mists before thy face !As up thou spring’st to thy diurnal race ,How darkness chases darkness to the west !As shades of light on light rise radiant from thy crest
Lana Turner has collapsed! I was trotting along and suddenly it started raining and snowing and you said it was hailing
.Look, my love, on the wall, and here, at this Eastern picture :How still its scene, and neither of sleep nor waking ,No shadow falls from the tree or the golden mountain ,The boats on the glassy lake have no reflection .No echo would come if you blew a horn in those valleys
One summer afternoon when nothing much was happening, they were standing around a tractor beside the barn while a horse in the field poked his head between two strands
There are too many waterfalls here; the crowded streams ,hurry too rapidly down to the sea and the pressure of so many clouds on the mountaintops
.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
’.Twill take some getting.’ ‘Sir, I think ’twill so” The old man stared up at the mistletoe That hung too high in the poplar’s crest for plunder
,I dreaded that first Robin, so ,But He is mastered, now ,I’m accustomed to Him grown —He hurts a little, though
هي قصيدة للشاعرة كريستينا روسيتي، تتحدث القصيدة عن الجمال الفائق للسحب وأقواس قزح مقارنة بالسفن والجسور.
Down valley a smoke haze Three days heat, after five days rain Pitch glows on the fir-cones Across rocks and meadows .Swarms of new flies
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
I am so small walking on the beach .at night under the widening sky The wet sand quickens beneath my feet .and the waves thunder against the shore
هي قصيدة للشاعر ديفيد هربرت لورانس، تصف هذه القصيدة ساحة معركة مغطاة بالثلوج والصمت الذي حوصر فيه خلال الحرب العالمية الأولى.
The gray path glided before me ;Through cool, green shadows Little leaves hung in the soft air ;Like drowsy moths
هي قصيدة للشاعرة كارول آن دافي تستكشف هذه القصيدة فرحة الأمومة والطفل والسعادة التي تجلبها من خلال النور، يصور الرمز الدافئ الفرح الذي تجلبه ابنتها لدافي
هي قصيدة للشاعر ديليب تشيتري، تعبر القصيدة عن الفصل بين الأجيال بين الأب والأطفال من خلال صور حية تصنع مشهدًا مفجعًا للأب، إنه غير سعيد في حياته، والعلاقة التي يرغب فيها مع الأطفال الذين يحبهم ينكرها هؤلاء الأطفال
هذه القصيدة التي علمتها لنفسي أن أعيش ببساطة جميلة وبسيطة تمامًا مثل الحياة التي تروج لها مؤلفتها، كتبت آنا أخماتوفا الكاتبة الروسية الشهيرة هذه السطور الجميلة التي تحتفل بالمتعة الصغيرة في الحياة
After a while you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand .and chaining a soul
,There’s one rides very sagely on the road .Showing that he affects the gravest mode ,Another rides tantivy, or full trot .To show much gravity he matters not
Fairer through Fading — as the Day —Into the Darkness dips away —Half Her Complexion of the Sun —Hindering — Haunting — Perishing
,Dream-singers ,Story-tellers ,Dancers —Loud laughers in the hands of Fate
تستكشف هذه القصيدة بقلم كارول آن دافي اللحظة التي تمت فيها صياغة مصطلح الحنين، في أعقاب الحروب الصليبية للمرتزقة السويسريين في القرن السابع عشر، إنها تتبع طريق (mercenaries)