قصائد أجنبية

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعر جيمس شويلر مكتوبة عن جمال العالم الطبيعي، مع التركيز على كيف أنها عابرة دائمًا، دائمًا ما تبدو رؤية الصور الجميلة مؤقتة للشاعر، مثل تلاشي النهار والليل دائمًا في بعضهما البعض

/spring came the same way winter left summer will come& summer will leave; slowly& when no one's expecting it/

,This is the place. Stand still, my steed ,Let me review the scene And summon from the shadowy Past .The forms that once have been

,He was reading late, at Richard's, down in Maine ,aged 32? Richard & Helen long in bed .my good wife long in bed ,All I had to do was strip & get into my bed

;The night is come, but not too soon ,And sinking silently All silently, the little moon .Drops down behind the sky

,When the summer harvest was gathered in ,And the sheaf of the gleaner grew white and thin ,And the ploughshare was in its furrow left ,Where the stubble land had been lately cleft

My life has been the poem I would have writ .But I could not both live and utter it

Of the dark past .A child is born With joy and grief .My heart is torn

,They weren’t red nor was I angry but with something five shades lighter .than passion, I plucked the roses bald

By holding my mirror out of the window I see .Clear to the end of the passage .There's a person down there .A prisoner polishing a doorhandle

There is no need they say but the needles still move their rhythms in the working of your hands as easily

when I look into the fragile faces ,of those I love

,It passed like the breath of the night-wind away  ;It fled like a mist at the dawn of the day  ,It lasted its moment, then backward was hurled .Another increase to the age of the world 

Once I lived the life of a millionaire Spending my money and I didn’t care Taking my friends out for a mighty fine time Drinking high priced liquor, champagne and wine

Do you remember that wild stretch of land with the lone tree guarding the point ?from the sharp-tongued sea

.He was seven and I was six, my Brendon Gallacher .He was Irish and I was Scottish, my Brendon Gallacher .His father was in prison; he was a cat burglar .My father was a Communist Party full-time worker

,Like many folk, when first I saddled a rucksack – feeling its weight on my back the way my spine – curved under it like a meridian 

All legendary obstacles lay between ,Us, the long imaginary plain The monstrous ruck of mountains ,And, swinging across the night

I love you as a sheriff searches for a walnut That will solve a murder case unsolved for years Because the murderer left it in the snow beside a window Through which he saw her head, connecting with

A planet doesn’t explode of itself," said drily" .The Martian astronomer, gazing off into the air

هي قصيدة للشاعرة آن برادستريت، وهي قصيدة ذاتية عن الشاعرة، تعلن آن برادستريت نفسها كاتبة انتفاضة في مجال الأدب الإنجليزي في هذه القصيدة، تقدم مقدمة للقراء عملًا أدبيًا

,Do you give yourself to me utterly Body and no-body, flesh and no-flesh ,Not as a fugitive, blindly or bitterly ?But as a child might, with no other wish

,There was a naughty boy ,A naughty boy was he ,He would not stop at home -He could not quiet be

,Gee Gee, your daddy told me how you fare ,Since April stole your song of sweet sixteen ,Your still life, limp and lifeless, lying there ,Another day of June no speech will bring

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

Way Down South in Dixie (Break the heart of me) They hung my black young lover .To a cross roads tree

When ocean-clouds over inland hills ,Sweep storming in late autumn brown ,And horror the sodden valley fills ,And the spire falls crashing in the town

No permanence is ours; we are a wave :That flows to fit whatever form it finds Through day or night, cathedral or the cave .We pass forever, craving form that binds

As every flower fades and as all youth ,Departs, so life at every stage ,So every virtue, so our grasp of truth .Blooms in its day and may not last forever

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