قصائد أجنبية

It is the Harvest Moon! On gilded vanes   And roofs of villages, on woodland crests   And their aerial neighborhoods of nests   Deserted, on the curtained window-panes

,Out of the bosom of the Air       ,Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken ,Over the woodlands brown and bare       ,Over the harvest-fields forsaken

,I thank you, kind and best beloved friend ,With the same thanks one murmurs to a sister ,When, for some gentle favor, he hath kissed her ,Less for the gifts than for the love you send

.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

,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

No riches from his scanty store ;My lover could impart —He gave a boon I valued more !He gave me all his heart

I'd like the memory of me .To be a happy one l'd like to leave an afterglow .Of smiles when day is done

A tulip, just opened, had offered to hold ;A butterfly, gaudy and gay ,And, rocked in a cradle of crimson and gold .The careless young slumberer lay

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعر يوسا بوسون، وهي هايكو ياباني تصور مشهدًا ليليًا مليئًا برائحة شجيرة تسمى الوستارية.

هي قصيدة بقلم الفنان كاتسوشيكا هوكوساي، وهي قصيدة مدروسة عن الكتابة، يستخدم الشاعر استعارة لتصوير كيفية عمل سيرته.

.THE POOL PLAYERS                    .SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL

These islands not picture postcards for unravelling tourist you know these islands real

Morning and island man wakes up to the sound of blue surf in his head the steady breaking and wombing

,For the green turtle with her pulsing burden .in search of the breeding ground .For her eggs laid in their nest of sickness

That spring was late. We watched the sky .and studied charts for shouldering isobars .Birds were late to pair. Crows drank from the lamb's eye

As far as I am concerned .We are driving into oblivion ,On either side there is nothing And beyond your driving .Shaft of light it is black

We once watched a crowd .pull a drowned child from the lake Blue lipped and dressed in water’s long green silk .she lay for dead

I am sitting in the wrong room listening For the wrong baby. I don’t love This baby. She is sleeping a snuffly ;Roseate, bubbling sleep; she is fair

,It takes much time to kill a tree Not a simple jab of the knife Will do it. It has grown ,Slowly consuming the earth

,My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun ;All felled, felled, are all felled Of a fresh and following folded rank Not spared, not one

!Look at the stars! look, look up at the skies  !O look at all the fire-folk sitting in the air  !The bright boroughs, the circle-citadels there  !Down in dim woods the diamond delves! the elves’-eyes 

My own heart let me more have pity on; let ,Me live to my sad self hereafter kind Charitable; not live this tormented mind .With this tormented mind tormenting yet

;Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee  Not untwist — slack they may be — these last strands of man  ;In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can  .Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be 

,Don't knock at my door, little child ,I cannot let you in You know not what a world this is .Of cruelty and sin

There’s an indescribable beauty in union In two beings forming one new being Entering each other’s world Surrendering each other’s selves

,There may be chaos still around the world ;This little world that in my thinking lies For mine own bosom is the paradise .Where all my life’s fair visions are unfurled

When their time comes they fall .without wind, without rain They seep through the trees’ muslin .in a slow fermentation

.It chanced his lips did meet her forehead cool .She had no blush, but slanted down her eye :Shamed nature, then, confesses love can die And most she punishes the tender fool !Who will believe what honours her the most

born 19.6.32—deported 24.9.42 Undesirable you may have been, untouchable you were not. Not forgotten .or passed over at the proper time

,I never saw a Purple Cow ,I never hope to see one