(и еще 2436 записям на сайте сопоставлена такая метка)
Другие метки пользователя ↓
alexander mcqueen annie leibovitz blake dark knight dead man dita dzen fall 08 fashion films golden globe hulk indiana juno kiss liverpool sound london mccartney oscar paul rudd photos poetry rolling stones seth rogen shopaholic t-shirts twilight vanity fair астрономия вежливость вигго мортенсен дети джеймс макэвой джейсон борн еда кино книги кроненберг круассаны мебель метеоритный дождь митино мой черничные ночи новый год праздник рецензия точка обстрела ультиматум борна фильм фильмы
Без заголовка |
Дневник |
Метки: poetry |
Growing old - Matthew Arnold |
Дневник |
What is it to grow old? Is it to feel our strength - Yes, this, and more! but not, 'Tis not to see the world It is to spend long days It is to suffer this, It is -last stage of all - |
Метки: poetry |
Вспоминая Общество Мертвых Поэтов. |
Дневник |
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up - for you the flag is flung - for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths - for you the shores
a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Метки: poetry |
Algernon Charles Swinburne |
Дневник |
IF love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf,
Our lives would grow together
In sad or singing weather,
Blown fields or flowerful closes
Green pleasure or grey grief ;
If love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf.
If I were what the words are,
And love were like the tune,
With double sound and single
Delight our lips would mingle,
With kisses glad as birds are
That get sweet rain at noon ;
If I were what the words are,
And love were like the tune.
If you were life, my darling,
And I your love were death,
We 'd shine and snow together
Ere March made sweet the weather
With daffodil and starling
And hours of fruitful breath ;
If you were life, my darling,
And I your love were death.
If you were thrall to sorrow,
And I were page to joy,
We 'd play for lives and seasons
With loving looks and treasons
And tears of night and morrow
And laughs of maid and boy ;
If you were thrall to sorrow,
And I were page to joy.
If you were April's lady,
And I were lord in May,
We 'd throw with leaves for hours
And draw for days with flowers,
Till day like night were shady
And night were bright like day ;
If you were April's lady,
And I were lord in May.
If you were queen of pleasure,
And I were king of pain,
We 'd hunt down love together,
Pluck out his flying-feather,
And teach his feet a measure,
And find his mouth a rein ;
If you were queen of pleasure,
And I were king of pain.
Метки: poetry |
Страницы: | [1] |