classic poetry
Lost
POSTED IN classic poetry December 13, 2013
Lost
I lost a world the other day.
Has anybody found?
You’ll know it by the row of stars
Around its forehead bound.
A rich man might not notice it;
Yet to my frugal eye
Of more esteem than ducats.
Oh, find it, sir, for me!
Emily Dickinson
Mistletoe
POSTED IN classic poetry December 13, 2013
Mistletoe
Sitting under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
One last candle burning low,
All the sleepy dancers gone,
Just one candle burning on,
Shadows lurking everywhere:
Some one came, and kissed me there.
Tired I was; my head would go
Nodding under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
No footsteps came, no voice, but only,
Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely,
Stooped in the still and shadowy air
Lips unseen—and kissed me there.
Walter de la Mare
In Your Heart
POSTED IN classic poetry December 6, 2013
In Your Heart
He was so proud of his little girl
It was her very first day of school
He walked with her to school that day
And she held his hand all the way
They walked together quiet and sad
A little girl and her loving dad
Into the school her father led
But he almost cried when she said
Daddy, Daddy please don’t go
Don’t leave me here all alone
I’ll miss you if you go away
And I might need you, can’t you stay
Little Daughter please don’t cry
You’ll be okay so dry your eyes
You have our memories in your heart
We’re together though we’re apartHe sat up front on her wedding day
And cried as his daughter walked away
Later that night he watched her dance
He sat there waiting for his chance
The band started to play their song
Father and daughter danced along
She looked at him and saw a tear
Then leaned and whispered in his ear
Daddy, Daddy I have to go
I hate to leave you all alone
I’ll miss you when I go away
But if you need me then I’ll stay
Little Daughter I’ll be just fine
I’ll love you always you are mine
I have our memories in my heart
We’re together though we’re apartShe came in his room and kissed his head
Then sat next to his hospital bed
He took her hand and held it tight
And wished he had the strength to fight
They sat together quiet and sad
A daughter and her dying dad
He saw the tears she tried to hide
She looked at him and then she cried
Daddy, Daddy please don’t go
Don’t leave me here all alone
I’ll miss you when you go away
I still need you, you have to stay
Little Daughter I love you so
I want to stay but have to go
I’ll always be here in your heart
We’re together though we’re apart
Thomas S. Carver
Ziua Nationala A Romaniei
POSTED IN classic poetry December 1, 2013
Doina
De la Nistru pân’ la Tisa
Tot Românul plânsu-mi-s-a
Ca nu mai poate strabate
De-atâta strainatate.
Din Hotin si pân’ la Mare
Vin Muscalii de-a calare,
De la Mare la Hotin
Mereu calea ne-o atin;
Din Boian la Vatra Dornii
Au umplut omida cornii
Si strainul te tot paste,
De nu te mai poti cunoaste.
Sus la munte, jos la vale
Si-au facut dusmanii cale;
Din Satmar pâna ‘n Sacele
Numai vaduri ca acele.
Vai de biet Român saracul,
Indarat tot da ca racul,
Nici îi merge, nici se ‘ndeamna,
Nici îi este toamna toamna,
Nici e vara vara lui
Si-i strain în tara lui.
Dela Turnu ‘n Dorohoiu
Curg dusmanii în puhoiu
Si s-aseaza pe la noi;
Si cum vin cu drum de fier,
Toate cântecele pier,
Sboara paserile toate
De neagra strainatate.
Numai umbra spinului
La usa crestinului.
Isi desbraca tara sânul,
Codrul – frate cu Românul
De secure se tot pleaca
Si isvoarele îi seaca
Sarac în tara saraca!
Cine-au îndragit strainii
Mânca-i-ar inima cânii,
Mânca-i-ar casa pustia
Si neamul nemernicia.
Stefane, Maria Ta,
Tu la Putna nu mai sta,
Las’ Arhimandritului
Toata grija schitului,
Lasa grija Sfintilor
In sama parintilor,
Clopotele sa le traga
Ziua ‘ntreaga, noaptea ‘ntreaga,
Doar s-a ‘ndura Dumnezeu
Ca sa-ti mântui neamul tau!
Tu te ‘nalta din mormânt
Sa te-aud din corn sunând
Si Moldova adunând.
De-i suna din corn odata,
Ai s-aduni Moldova toata,
De-i suna de doua ori
Iti vin codri ‘n ajutor,
De-i suna a treia oara
Toti dusmanii or sa piara
Din hotara în hotara,
Indragi-i-ar ciorile
Si spânzuratorile!
Cine ne-au dus Jidanii
Nu mai vaza zi cu anii
Ci sa-i scoata ochii corbii
Sa ramâe ‘n drum cu orbii
Cine ne-au adus pe Greci
N’ar mai putrezi în veci
Cine ne-au adus Muscalii
Prapadi-l-ar focul jalei
Sa-l arza sa-l dogoreasca
Neamul sa i-l prapadeasca
Cine tine cu strainii
Mânca-i-ar inima cânii
Mânca-i-ar casa pustia
Si neamul nemernicia
Mihai Eminescu
Fa-ti timp
POSTED IN classic poetry November 30, 2013
Fa-ti timp
În trecerea grăbită prin lume către veci,
Fă-ţi timp, măcar o clipă, să vezi pe unde treci!
Fă-ţi timp să vezi durerea şi lacrima arzând
Fă-ţi timp să poţi, cu mila, să te alini oricând!
Fă-ţi timp pentru-adevaruri şi adâncimi de vis,
Fă-ţi timp pentru prieteni, cu sufletul deschis!
Fă-ţi timp să vezi pădurea, s-asculţi lângă izvor,
Fă-ţi timp s-asculţi ce spune o floare, un cocor!
Fă-ţi timp, pe-un munte seara, stând singur să te rogi,
Fă-ţi timp, frumoase amintiri, de unul să invoci!
Fă-ţi timp să stai cu mama, cu tatăl tău – bătrâni…
Fă-ţi timp de-o vorbă bună, de-o coajă pentru câini…
În trecerea grăbită prin lume către veci,
Fă-ţi timp măcar o clipă să vezi pe unde treci!
Fă-ţi timp să guşti frumosul din tot ce e curat,
Fă-ţi timp, că eşti de multe mistere-nconjurat!
Fă-ţi timp cu orice taină sau adevăr să stai,
Fă-ţi timp, căci toate-acestea au inimă, au grai!
Fă-ţi timp s-asculţi la toate, din toate să înveţi,
Fă-ţi timp să dai vieţii adevăratul sens!
Fă-ţi timp, acum!
Să ştii: zadarnic ai să plângi,
Comoara risipită a vieţii, n-o mai strângi!
Anonymous
The Burden
POSTED IN classic poetry November 29, 2013
The BurdenOne grief on me is laid
Each day of every year,
Wherein no soul can aid,
Whereof no soul can hear:
Whereto no end is seen
Except to grieve again–
Ah, Mary Magdalene,
Where is there greater pain?To dream on dear disgrace
Each hour of every day–
To bring no honest face
To aught I do or say:
To lie from morn till e’en–
To know my lies are vain–
Ah, Mary Magdalene,
Where can be greater pain?To watch my steadfast fear
Attend mine every way
Each day of every year–
Each hour of every day:
To burn, and chill between–
To quake and rage again–
Ah, Mary Magdalene,
Where shall be greater pain:One grave to me was given–
To guard till Judgment Day–
But God looked down from Heaven
And rolled the Stone away!
One day of all my years–
One hour of that one day–
His Angel saw my tears
And rolled the Stone away!
Rudyard Kipling
The Art of Poetry
POSTED IN classic poetry November 14, 2013
The Art of Poetry
To gaze at a river made of time and water
And remember Time is another river.
To know we stray like a river
and our faces vanish like water.
To feel that waking is another dream
that dreams of not dreaming and that the death
we fear in our bones is the death
that every night we call a dream.
To see in every day and year a symbol
of all the days of man and his years,
and convert the outrage of the years
into a music, a sound, and a symbol.
To see in death a dream, in the sunset
a golden sadness–such is poetry,
humble and immortal, poetry,
returning, like dawn and the sunset.
Sometimes at evening there’s a face
that sees us from the deeps of a mirror.
Art must be that sort of mirror,
disclosing to each of us his face.
They say Ulysses, wearied of wonders,
wept with love on seeing Ithaca,
humble and green. Art is that Ithaca,
a green eternity, not wonders.
Art is endless like a river flowing,
passing, yet remaining, a mirror to the same
inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same
and yet another, like the river flowing.
Jorge Luis Borges
Canzone a ballo
POSTED IN classic poetry October 15, 2013
Canzone a ballo
Chi non è innamorato
esca di questo ballo,
che saria fallo a stare in sì bel lato.
Se alcuno è qui che non conosca amore,
parta di questo loco;
perch’ esser non potria mai gentil core
chi non sente quel foco;
se alcun ne sente poco,
sì le sue fiamme accenda
che ognun lo intenda, e non sarà scacciato.
Amore in mezzo a questo ballo stia,
e chi gli è servo intorno.
E se alcuno ha sospetto o gelosia,
non faccia qui soggiorno;
se non, farebbe storno.
Ognun ci s’ innamori,
o esca fuor del loco tanto ornato.
Se alcuna per vergogna si ritiene
di non s’ innamorare,
vergognerassi, s’ ella pensa bene
108 più tosto a non lo fare;
non è vergogna amara
chi di servire agogna;
saria vergogna a chi gli fusse ingrato.
Se alcuna ce ne fussi tanto vile,
che lassi per paura;
pensi bene, che un core alto e gentile
queste cose non cura:
non ha dato natura
tanta bellezza a voi
acciò che poi sia il tempo mal usato.
Lorenzo de Medicis
Why?
POSTED IN classic poetry October 15, 2013
Why?
Why may I not go down to the grave with thee?
Would that my fire might warm this frigid ice,
And turn with tears, this dust to living flesh,
And give to thee anew the joy of life!
Then would I boldly, ardently confront
The man who snapped our dearest bond, and cry
“O cruel monster! See what love can do!”
Barbara Torelli
Forget Not Yet
POSTED IN classic poetry October 12, 2013
Forget Not Yet
Forget not yet the tried intent
Of such a truth as I have meant
My great travail so gladly spent
Forget not yet.
Forget not yet when first began
The weary life ye knew, since when
The suit, the service, none tell can,
Forget not yet.
Forget not yet the great assays,
The cruel wrongs, the scornful ways,
The painful patience in denays
Forget not yet.
Forget not yet, forget not this,
How long ago hath been, and is,
The mind that never means amiss;
Forget not yet.
Forget not yet thine own approved,
The which so long hath thee so loved,
Whose steadfast faith yet never moved,
Forget not this.
Sir Thomas Wyatt
