quinta-feira, 25 de maio de 2017

The Western Wind Came Lumbering in - Henry David Thoreau

       









The Western Wind Came Lumbering in - Henry David Thoreau

The western wind came lumbering in,
Bearing a faint Pacific din,
Our evening mail, swift at the call
Of its Post-Master General;
Laden with news from Californ',
Whate'er transpired hath since morn,
How wags the world by brier and brake
From hence to Athabasca lake;—







Song - Thomas Babington Macaulay



Song of Myself - Section 08 Walt Whitman
Terence, this is stupid stuff A. E. Housman
The Trees in the Garden Rained Flowers Stephen Crane





A Riddle - Hannah More

I'm a strange contraction; I'm new, and I'm old,
I'm often in tatteres, and oft decked with gold.
Though I could never read, yet lettered I'm found;
Though blind, I enlighten; though loose, I am bound,
I'm always in black, and I'm always in white;
I'm grave and I'm gay, I am heavy and light--
In form too, I differ--I'm thick and I'm thin,
I've no flesh and bones, yet I'm covered with skin;
I've more points than the compass, more stops than the flute;
I sing without voice, without speaking confute.
I'm English, I'm German, I'm French, and I'm Dutch;
Some love me too fondly, some slight me too much;
I often die soon, though I sometimes live ages,
And no monarch alive has so many pages.














Resemblance - Winifred Welles











The Moon - Henry David Thoreau

Time wears her not; she doth his chariot guide;
Mortality below her orb is placed.
--Raleigh


The full-orbed moon with unchanged ray
Mounts up the eastern sky,
Not doomed to these short nights for aye,
But shining steadily.

She does not wane, but my fortune,
Which her rays do not bless,
My wayward path declineth soon,
But she shines not the less.

And if she faintly glimmers here,
And paled is her light,
Yet alway in her proper sphere
She's mistress of the night.














Man's little acts are good - Henry David Thoreau




The River-merchant's Wife: A letter Ezra Pound
Modern Love XXX George Meredith








Low-Anchored cloud - Henry David Thoreau

Low-anchored cloud,
Newfoundland air,
Fountain-head and source of rivers,
Dew-cloth, dream-drapery,
And napkin spread by fays;
Drifting meadow of the air,
Where bloom the daisied banks and violets,
And in whose fenny labyrinth
The bittern booms and heron wades;
Spirit of lakes and seas and rivers,
Bear only perfumes and the scent
Of healing herbs to just men's fields!















I sailed up a river with a pleasant wind - Henry David Thoreau


I sailed up a river with a pleasant wind,
New lands new people and new thoughts to find;
Many fair reaches and headlands appeared,
And many dangers were there to be feared;
But when I remember where I have been,
And the fair landscapes that I have seen,
Thou seemest the only permanent shore,
The cape never rounded, nor wandered o'er.







In the Shadows E. Pauline Johnson
The Inward Morning Henry David Thoreau








Here lies an honest man - Henry David Thoreau

Here lies an honest man,
Rear-Admiral Van.
Faith, then ye have
Two in one grave,
For in his favor,
Here too lies the Engraver.







Hymn of Cleanthes Cleanthes






Dust - Dorothy Anderson

WHAT is dust?
Ashes of love, charred letters, faded heliotrope,
Rose petals fallen from a dead hand,
Spiders, bats, deserted houses, crumbling citadels,
And wheel ruts where vanished armies have passed.        5

    Is that all?
Oh, dust is sun and laughter,
Circuses, parasols, preening pigeons,
Lovers picnicking by the roadside,
And ragamuffins tumbling in the warm lanes.        10
Dust is rainbow webs caught in sweet, hot smelling hedges,
And it is dust that keeps my eyes from being blinded by the stars!











A Description of the Morning - Jonathan Swift

Now hardly here and there a hackney-coach
Appearing, show'd the ruddy morn's approach.
Now Betty from her master's bed had flown,
And softly stole to discompose her own.
The slip-shod 'prentice from his master's door
Had par'd the dirt, and sprinkled round the floor.
Now Moll had whirl'd her mop with dext'rous airs,
Prepar'd to scrub the entry and the stairs.
The youth with broomy stumps began to trace
The kennel-edge, where wheels had worn the place.
The small-coal man was heard with cadence deep;
Till drown'd in shriller notes of "chimney-sweep."
Duns at his lordship's gate began to meet;
And brickdust Moll had scream'd through half a street.
The turnkey now his flock returning sees,
Duly let out a-nights to steal for fees.
The watchful bailiffs take their silent stands;
And schoolboys lag with satchels in their hands.





Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College Thomas Gray


Short Poetry Collection 030




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Um comentário:

  1. The western wind came lumbering in,
    Bearing a faint Pacific din,
    Our evening mail, swift at the call
    Of its Post-Master General;
    Laden with news from Californ',
    Whate'er transpired hath since morn,
    How wags the world by brier and brake
    From hence to Athabasca lake;—

    ResponderExcluir