quarta-feira, 24 de maio de 2017

A Violinist - Francis William Bourdillon

       








A Violinist - Francis William Bourdillon

THE LARK above our heads doth know
A heaven we see not here below;
She sees it, and for joy she sings;
Then falls with ineffectual wings.

Ah, soaring soul! faint not nor tire!        5
Each heaven attained reveals a higher.
Thy thought is of thy failure; we
List raptured, and thank God for thee.









Sweet and Low - Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Sweet and low, sweet and low,
         Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,
         Wind of the western sea!
Over the rolling waters go,
Come from the dying moon, and blow,
         Blow him again to me;
While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
         Father will come to thee soon;
Rest, rest, on mother's breast,
         Father will come to thee soon;
Father will come to his babe in the nest,
Silver sails all out of the west
         Under the silver moon:
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.














The Soul of the World - Ernest Crosby

THE SOUL of the world is abroad to-night—
Not in yon silvery amalgam of moonbeam and ocean, nor in the pink heat-lightning tremulous on the horizon;
Not in the embrace of yonder pair of lovers either, heart beating to heart in the shadow of the fishing-smack drawn up on the beach.
All that—shall I call it illusion? Nay, but at best it is a pale reflection of the truth.
I am not to be put off with symbols, for the soul of the world is itself abroad to-night.        5

I neither see nor hear nor smell nor taste nor touch it, but faintly I feel it powerfully stirring.
I feel it as the blind heaving sea feels the moon bending over it.
I feel it as the needle feels the serpentine magnetic current coiling itself about the earth.
I open my arms to embrace it as the lovers embrace each other, but my embrace is all inclusive.
My heart beats to heart likewise, but it is to the heart universal, for the soul of the world is abroad to-night.








Then I Would Love You Joseph S. Cotter, Jr.





Sigh No More - William Shakespeare

(from Much Ado About Nothing)
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.
    Men were deceivers ever,
One foot in sea, and one on shore,
    To one thing constant never.
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
    And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
    Into hey nonny, nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no more
    Of dumps so dull and heavy.
The fraud of men was ever so
    Since summer first was leafy.
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
    And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
    Into hey, nonny, nonny.










Rumors from an Aeolian Harp - Henry David Thoreau

THERE is a vale which none hath seen,
Where foot of man has never been,
Such as here lives with toil and strife,
An anxious and a sinful life.

There every virtue has its birth,        5
Ere it descends upon the earth,
And thither every deed returns,
Which in the generous bosom burns.

There love is warm, and youth is young,
And poetry is yet unsung,        10
For Virtue still adventures there,
And freely breathes her native air.

And ever, if you hearken well,
You still may hear its vesper bell,
And tread of high-souled men go by,        15
Their thoughts conversing with the sky.

















Oh! Where Do the Fairies Hide Their Heads? - Thomas Haynes Bayly

OH! where do fairies hide their heads
  When snow lies on the hills,
When frost has spoil’d their mossy beds,
  And crystalliz’d their rills?
Beneath the moon they cannot trip        5
  In circles o’er the plain;
And draughts of dew they cannot sip
  Till green leaves come again.

Perhaps, in small, blue diving-bells,
  They plunge beneath the waves,        10
Inhabiting the wreathed shells
  That lie in coral caves;
Perhaps, in red Vesuvius,
  Carousals they maintain;
And cheer their little spirits thus,        15
  Till green leaves come again.

When they return there will be mirth,
  And music in the air,
And fairy wings upon the earth,
  And mischief everywhere.        20
The maids, to keep the elves aloof,
  Will bar the doors in vain;
No key-hole will be fairy-proof,
  When green leaves come again.















The Night Has a Thousand Eyes - Francis William Bourdillon

THE NIGHT has a thousand eyes,
  And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
  With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,        5
  And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
  When love is done.












The Night Fire - Claude McKay

No engines shrieking rescue storm the night,
And hose and hydrant cannot here avail;
The flames laugh high and fling their challenging light,
And clouds turn gray and black from silver-pale.
The fire leaps out and licks the ancient walls,
And the big building bends and twists and groans.
A bar drops from its place; a rafter falls
Burning the flowers. The wind in frenzy moans.
The watchers gaze, held wondering by the fire,
The dwellers cry their sorrow to the crowd,
The flames beyond themselves rise higher, higher,
To lose their glory in the frowning cloud,
Yielding at length the last reluctant breath.
And where life lay asleep broods darkly death.













My Life Has Been the Poem I Would Have Writ - Henry David Thoreau

My life has been the poem I would have writ
But I could not both live and utter it.














July - Alexander Lawrence Posey




The Little Rebel Joseph Ashby-Sterry
My Books I'd Fain Cast Off, I Cannot Read Henry David Thoreau







Great God I Ask Thee for No Meaner Pelf - Henry David Thoreau

Great God, I ask for no meaner pelf
Than that I may not disappoint myself,
That in my action I may soar as high
As I can now discern with this clear eye.

And next in value, which thy kindness lends,
That I may greatly disappoint my friends,
Howe’er they think or hope that it may be,
They may not dream how thou’st distinguished me.

That my weak hand may equal my firm faith
And my life practice what my tongue saith
That my low conduct may not show
Nor my relenting lines
That I thy purpose did not know
Or overrated thy designs.





Habanera from Bizet’s Carmen George Cooper
I Knew a Man By Sight Henry David Thoreau








Epitaph on the World - Henry David Thoreau

Here lies the body of this world,
Whose soul alas to hell is hurled.
This golden youth long since was past,
Its silver manhood went as fast,
An iron age drew on at last;
'Tis vain its character to tell,
The several fates which it befell,
What year it died, when 'twill arise,
We only know that here it lies.












The Eagle - Alfred, Lord Tennyson

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.









Coleridge - George Sidney Hellman

THINE is the mystic melody,
The far-off murmur of some dreamland sea
Lifting throughout the night,
Up to the moon’s mild light,
Waves silver-lustrous, silvery-white,        5
That beat in rhythm on the shadowy shore,
And burst in music, and are seen no more.











Blow, Bugle, Blow - Alfred, Lord Tennyson

  THE SPLENDOUR falls on castle walls
      And snowy summits old in story:
    The long light shakes across the lakes,
      And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,        5
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

    O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,
      And thinner, clearer, farther going!
    O sweet and far from cliff and scar
      The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!        10
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

    O love, they die in yon rich sky,
      They faint on hill or field or river:
    Our echoes roll from soul to soul,        15
      And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.












Short Poetry Collection 034




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Um comentário:

  1. THE LARK above our heads doth know
    A heaven we see not here below;
    She sees it, and for joy she sings;
    Then falls with ineffectual wings.

    Ah, soaring soul! faint not nor tire! 5
    Each heaven attained reveals a higher.
    Thy thought is of thy failure; we
    List raptured, and thank God for thee.

    ResponderExcluir