terça-feira, 30 de maio de 2017

His Supposed Mistress - Ben Jonson

       












His Supposed Mistress - Ben Jonson

IF I freely can discover
What would please me in my lover,
  I would have her fair and witty,
  Savouring more of court than city;
  A little proud, but full of pity;        5
  Light and humourous in her toying;
  Oft building hopes, and soon destroying;
  Long, but sweet in the enjoying,
Neither too easy, nor too hard:
All extremes I would have barred.        10

She should be allowed her passions,
So they were but used as fashions;
  Sometimes froward, and then frowning,
  Sometimes sickish, and then swowning,
  Every fit with change still crowning.        15
  Purely jealous I would have her;
  Then only constant when I crave her,
  ’Tis a virtue should not save her.
Thus, nor her delicates would cloy me,
Neither her peevishness annoy me.







The Lake Isle of Innisfree William Butler Yeats
Late Leaves Walter Savage Landor
The Little Peach Eugene Field
Move Eastward, Happy Earth Alfred, Lord Tennyson
One Day I Wrote Her Name Upon the Strand Edmund Spenser
The Raven Edgar Allan Poe
The Road Not Taken Robert Frost
Rose and the Cross Aleister Crowley
Sentence Witter Bynner
Success Emily Dickinson
Surgeons Must Be Very Careful Emily Dickinson
To Thomas Butts William Blake
When You Are Old William Butler Yeats
Wild Nights Emily Dickinson







I felt a Funeral, in my Brain - Emily Dickinson

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading - treading - till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through -

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum -
Kept beating - beating - till I thought
My mind was going numb -

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space - began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race,
Wrecked, solitary, here -

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down -
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing - then -




The Chariot - Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible.
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

Edward, Edward - Unknown





Annabel Lee Edgar Allan Poe
The Bells Edgar Allan Poe


I Felt a Funeral in My Brain Emily Dickinson



Short Poetry Collection 003



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