classic poetry
La vie
POSTED IN classic poetry August 25, 2012
A ma fille
O mon enfant, tu vois, je me soumets.
Fais comme moi : vis du monde éloignée ;
Heureuse ? non ; triomphante ? jamais.
— Résignée ! —Sois bonne et douce, et lève un front pieux.
Comme le jour dans les cieux met sa flamme,
Toi, mon enfant, dans l’azur de tes yeux
Mets ton âme !Nul n’est heureux et nul n’est triomphant.
L’heure est pour tous une chose incomplète ;
L’heure est une ombre, et notre vie, enfant,
En est faite.Oui, de leur sort tous les hommes sont las.
Pour être heureux, à tous, — destin morose ! —
Tout a manqué. Tout, c’est-à-dire, hélas !
Peu de chose.Ce peu de chose est ce que, pour sa part,
Dans l’univers chacun cherche et désire:
Un mot, un nom, un peu d’or, un regard,
Un sourire !La gaîté manque au grand roi sans amours ;
La goutte d’eau manque au désert immense.
L’homme est un puits où le vide toujours
Recommence.Vois ces penseurs que nous divinisons,
Vois ces héros dont les fronts nous dominent,
Noms dont toujours nos sombres horizons
S’illuminent !Après avoir, comme fait un flambeau,
Ébloui tout de leurs rayons sans nombre,
Ils sont allés chercher dans le tombeau
Un peu d’ombre.Le ciel, qui sait nos maux et nos douleurs,
Prend en pitié nos jours vains et sonores.
Chaque matin, il baigne de ses pleurs
Nos aurores.Dieu nous éclaire, à chacun de nos pas,
Sur ce qu’il est et sur ce que nous sommes ;
Une loi sort des choses d’ici-bas,
Et des hommes !Cette loi sainte, il faut s’y conformer.
Et la voici, toute âme y peut atteindre :
Ne rien haïr, mon enfant ; tout aimer,
Ou tout plaindre !par Victor Hugo
( To all women who are about to fulfill their destinies and bring into the Light new born lives:
VIVAT, CRESCAT, FLOREAT! ).
My Teddy bear
POSTED IN classic poetry August 20, 2012
My Teddy bearI shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Hymns to the daylight
POSTED IN classic poetry August 20, 2012
Daylight and MoonlightIn broad daylight, and at noon,
Yesterday I saw the moon
Sailing high, but faint and white,
As a schoolboy’s paper kite.In broad daylight, yesterday,
I read a poet’s mystic lay;
And it seemed to me at most
As a phantom, or a ghost.But at length the feverish day
Like a passion died away,
And the night, serene and still,
Fell on village, vale, and hill.Then the moon, in all her pride,
Like a spirit glorified,
Filled and overflowed the night
With revelations of her light.And the Poet’s song again
Passed like music through my brain;
Night interpreted to me
All its grace and mystery.by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Hymns to the night
POSTED IN classic poetry August 20, 2012
Hymns to the nightOver I journey
And for each pain
A pleasant sting only
Shall one day remain.
Yet in a few moments
Then free am I,
And intoxicated
In Love’s lap lie.
Life everlasting
Lifts, wave-like, at me,
I gaze from its summit
Down after thee.
Your lustre must vanish
Yon mound underneath —
A shadow will bring thee
Thy cooling wreath.
Oh draw at my heart, love,
Draw till I’m gone,
That, fallen asleep, I
Still may love on.
I feel the flow of
Death’s youth-giving flood
To balsam and ether
Transform my blood —
I live all the daytime
In faith and in might
And in holy fire
I die every night.by Novalis
Lovely one
POSTED IN classic poetry August 12, 2012
Lovely one
Lovely one,
Just as on the cool stone
Of the spring, the water
Opens a wide flash of foam,
So is the smile of your face,
Lovely one.Lovely one,
With delicate hands and slender feet
Like a silver pony,
Walking, flower of the world,
Thus I see you,
Lovely one.Lovely one,
With a nest of copper entangled
On your head, a nest
The coloUr of dark honey
Where my heart burns and rests,
Lovely one.Lovely one,
Your eyes are too big for your face,
Your eyes are too big for the earth.There are countries, there are rivers,
In your eyes,
My country is your eyes,
I walk through them,
They light the world
Through which I walk,
Lovely one.Lovely one,
Your breasts are like two loaves made
Of grainy earth and golden moon,
Lovely one.Lovely one,
Your waist,
My arm shaped it like a river when
It flowed a thousand years through your sweet body,
Lovely one.Lovely one,
There is nothing like your hips,
Perhaps earth has
In some hidden place
The curve and the fragrance of your body,
Perhaps in some place,
Lovely one.Lovely one, my lovely one,
Your voice, your skin, your nails,
Lovely one, my lovely one,
Your being, your light, your shadow,
Lovely one,
All that is mine, lovely one,
All that is mine, my dear,
When you walk or rest,
When you sing or sleep,
When you suffer or dream,
Always,
When you are near or far,
Always,
You are mine, my lovely one,
Always.
by Pablo Neruda
Tree at my window
POSTED IN classic poetry August 3, 2012
Although it was only the end of July, my Pihlaja tree became already “orange”: the first sign that the summer left the country…When Pihlaja will become red, then it will be full Autumn, like mid September. But, a wild guess, this year, by mid August , my Pihlaja will be already red. We shall see!
Tree at my window
Tree at my window
Tree at my window, window tree,
My sash is lowered when night comes on;
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.
Vague dream-head lifted out of the ground,
And thing next most diffuse to cloud,
Not all your light tongues talking aloud
Could be profound.
But tree, I have seen you taken and tossed,
And if you have seen me when I slept,
You have seen me when I was taken and swept
And all but lost.
That day she put our heads together,
Fate had her imagination about her,
Your head so much concerned with outer,
Mine with inner, weather.
by Robert Frost
Sea fever
POSTED IN classic poetry August 3, 2012
Sea fever
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way, where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.by John Masefield
Hope is the thing with feathers
POSTED IN classic poetry July 30, 2012
Hope is the thing with feathers
“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.
Emily Dickinson
( Καλησπέρα ! This bird is from Creta and she speaks Greek…she came to my balcony every day while I was in Chania, Platanias and we became best friends..)
The sound of the sea
POSTED IN classic poetry July 30, 2012
The sound of the sea
The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep,
And round the pebbly beaches far and wide
I heard the first wave of the rising tide
Rush onward with uninterrupted sweep;
A voice out of the silence of the deep,
A sound mysteriously multiplied
As of a cataract from the mountain’s side,
Or roar of winds upon a wooded steep.
So comes to us at times, from the unknown
And inaccessible solitudes of being,
The rushing of the sea-tides of the soul;
And inspirations, that we deem our own,
Are some divine foreshadowing and foreseeing
Of things beyond our reason or control.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A red red rose
POSTED IN classic poetry June 5, 2012
A red red RoseO my Luve’s like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly played in tune.As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it ware ten thousand mile.Robert Burns
