segunda-feira, 29 de maio de 2017

The Young Dead - Edith Wharton

       










The Young Dead - Edith Wharton

AH, how I pity the young dead who gave
All that they were, and might become, that we
With tired eyes should watch this perfect sea
Re-weave its patterning of silver wave
Round scented cliffs of arbutus and bay.        5

No more shall any rose along the way,
The myrtled way that wanders to the shore,
Nor jonquil-twinkling meadow any more,
Nor the warm lavender that takes the spray,
Smell only of sea-salt and the sun,        10

But, through recurring seasons, every one
Shall speak to us with lips the darkness closes,
Shall look at us with eyes that missed the roses,
Clutch us with hands whose work was just begun,
Laid idle now beneath the earth we tread—        15

And always we shall walk with the young dead.—
Ah, how I pity the young dead, whose eyes
Strain through the sod to see these perfect skies,
Who feel the new wheat springing in their stead,
And the lark singing for them overhead!

  The Yale Review











To a Traveller - Lionel Johnson

THE mountains, and the lonely death at last
Upon the lonely mountains: O strong friend!
The wandering over, and the labour passed,
    Thou art indeed at rest:
    Earth gave thee of her best,        
    That labour and this end.
 
Earth was thy mother, and her true son thou:
Earth called thee to a knowledge of her ways,
Upon the great hills, up the great streams: now
    Upon earth's kindly breast
    Thou art indeed at rest:
    Thou, and thine arduous days.
 
Fare thee well, O strong heart! The tranquil night
Looks calmly on thee: and the sun pours down
His glory over thee, O heart of might!
    Earth gives thee perfect rest:
    Earth, whom thy swift feet pressed:
    Earth, whom the vast stars crown.






Time to Die - Ray G. Dandridge

BLACK brother, think you life so sweet
That you would live at any price?
Does mere existence balance with
The weight of your great sacrifice?
Or can it be you fear the grave      
Enough to live and die a slave?
O Brother! be it better said,
When you are gone and tears are shed,
That your death was the stepping stone
Your children’s children cross’d upon.      
Men have died that men might live:
Look every foeman in the eye!
If necessary, your life give
For something, ere in vain you die.








Spring Cowardice - Leonora Speyer

I am afraid to go into the woods,
I fear the trees and their mad, green moods.

I fear the breezes that pull at my sleeves,
The creeping arbutus beneath the leaves,

And the brook that mocks me with wild, wet words:
I stumble and fall at the voice of birds.

Think of the terror of those swift showers,
Think of the meadows of fierce-eyed flowers:

And the little things with sudden wings
That buzz about me and dash and dart,
And the lilac waiting to break my heart!

Winter, hide me in your kind snow,
I am a coward, a coward, I know!






Spring Night Sara Teasdale






Sonnet 29 - William Shakespeare

When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
       For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
       That then I scorn to change my state with kings.








The Quality of Mercy - William Shakespeare

The quality of mercy is not strain'd.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptered sway;
It is enthroned in the heart of kings;
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice.








Santa Fe Trail - A Humoresque, The Vachel Lindsay








Our Share of Night to Bear - Emily Dickinson

OUR share of night to bear,
Our share of morning,
Our blank in bliss to fill,
Our blank in scorning.
 
Here a star, and there a star,        5
Some lose their way.
Here a mist, and there a mist,
Afterwards—day!




Paul Revere’s Ride Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The Pied Piper of Hamelin Robert Browning





Inversnaid - Gerard Manley Hopkins

THIS darksome burn, horseback brown,
His rollrock highroad roaring down,
In coop and in comb the fleece of his foam
Flutes and low to the lake falls home.

A windpuff-bonnet of fáwn-fróth        
Turns and twindles over the broth
Of a pool so pitchblack, féll-frówning,
It rounds and rounds Despair to drowning.

Degged with dew, dappled with dew
Are the groins of the braes that the brook treads through,        
Wiry heathpacks, flitches of fern,
And the beadbonny ash that sits over the burn.

What would the world be, once bereft
Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left,
O let them be left, wildness and wet;        
Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.



The Hangman at Home - Carl Sandburg

WHAT does the hangman think about
When he goes home at night from work?
When he sits down with his wife and
Children for a cup of coffee and a
Plate of ham and eggs, do they ask
Him if it was a good day’s work
And everything went well or do they
Stay off some topics and talk about
The weather, base ball, politics
And the comic strips in the papers
And the movies? Do they look at his
Hands when he reaches for the coffee
Or the ham and eggs? If the little
Ones say, Daddy, play horse, here’s
A rope—does he answer like a joke:
I seen enough rope for today?
Or does his face light up like a
Bonfire of joy and does he say:
It’s a good and dandy world we live
In. And if a white face moon looks
In through a window where a baby girl
Sleeps and the moon gleams mix with
Baby ears and baby hair—the hangman—
How does he act then? It must be easy
For him. Anything is easy for a hangman,
I guess.









Exile - Exhile - Winifred Welles

I HAVE made grief a gorgeous, queenly thing,
And worn my melancholy with an air.
My tears were big as stars to deck my hair,
My silence stunning as a sapphire ring.
Oh, more than any light the dark could fling        5
A glamour over me to make me rare,
Better than any color I could wear
The pearly grandeur that the shadows bring.
What is there left to joy for such as I?
What throne can dawn upraise for me who found        10
The dusk so royal and so rich a one?
Laughter will whirl and whistle on the sky—
Far from this riot I shall stand uncrowned,
Disrobed, bereft, an outcast in the sun.





The Feet of Judas George Marion McClellan
The Garden of Proserpine Algernon Charles Swinburne






Concord Hymn - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Sung at the Completion of the Battle Monument, July 4, 1837
By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
   Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood
   And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;
   Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;
And Time the ruined bridge has swept
   Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,
   We set today a votive stone;
That memory may their deed redeem,
   When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

Spirit, that made those heroes dare
   To die, and leave their children free,
Bid Time and Nature gently spare
   The shaft we raise to them and thee.







The Day Is Done Henry Wadsworth Longfellow







Compensation - James Edwin Campbell

O rich young lord, thou ridest by
With looks of high disdain;
It chafes me not thy title high,
Thy blood of oldest strain.
The lady riding at thy side
Is but in name thy promised bride,
Ride on, young lord, ride on!

Her father wills and she obeys,
The custom of her class;
'Tis Land not Love the trothing sways--
For Land he sells his lass.
Her fair white hand, young lord, is thine,
Her soul, proud fool, her soul is mine,
Ride on, young lord, ride on!

No title high my father bore;
The tenant of thy farm,
He left me what I value more:
Clean heart, clear brain, strong arm
And love for bird and beast and bee
And song of lark and hymn of sea,
Ride on, young lord, ride on!

The boundless sky to me belongs,
The paltry acres thine;
The painted beauty sings thy songs,
The lavrock lilts me mine;
The hot-housed orchid blooms for thee,
The gorse and heather bloom for me,
Ride on, young lord, ride on!








Babby Burds John Hartley




Short Poetry Collection 008





Conteúdo completo disponível em:






Links:


Slippery Letra

Bad And Boujee Letra

Bacias hidrográficas do estado de São Paulo

Prédios mais altos do mundo

Assalto - Carlos Drummond de Andrade

O Alienista PDF

Odisséia – Homero - PDF Download

Just Go #JustGo - Viagem Volta ao Mundo

Atividades extrativistas do Mato Grosso do Sul

Idade das Religões - Religião História

Bíblia Online

Bíblia PDF

Top 10 BLOGs by Sanderlei Silveira



The Road Not Taken - Robert Frost - Poetry, Poem

Castle On The Hill - Ed Sheeran - Letras Musica - Tradução em Português

Economia em 1 Minuto - Sanderlei

As festas populares em Santa Catarina SC

Áreas de preservação no estado de São Paulo SP

Os símbolos do estado do Rio de Janeiro RJ

A Guerra do Contestado PR

Pantanal – Patrimônio Natural da Humanidade MS

Assalto - Carlos Drummond de Andrade

Mein Kampf PDF

Mercado Municipal Adolpho Lisboa - Manaus - Amazonas AM - Brasil

Filosofia Grega - História


Um comentário:

  1. AH, how I pity the young dead who gave
    All that they were, and might become, that we
    With tired eyes should watch this perfect sea
    Re-weave its patterning of silver wave
    Round scented cliffs of arbutus and bay. 5

    No more shall any rose along the way,
    The myrtled way that wanders to the shore,
    Nor jonquil-twinkling meadow any more,
    Nor the warm lavender that takes the spray,
    Smell only of sea-salt and the sun,

    ResponderExcluir