sábado, 20 de maio de 2017

An October Evening - William Wilfred Campbell

       






An October Evening - William Wilfred Campbell

1 The woods are haggard and lonely,
2 The skies are hooded for snow,
3 The moon is cold in Heaven,
4 And the grasses are sere below.

5 The bearded swamps are breathing
6 A mist from meres afar,
7 And grimly the Great Bear circles
8 Under the pale Pole Star.

9 There is never a voice in Heaven,
10 Nor ever a sound on earth,
11 Where the spectres of winter are rising
12 Over the night's wan girth.

13 There is slumber and death in the silence,
14 There is hate in the winds so keen;
15 And the flash of the north's great sword-blade
16 Circles its cruel sheen.

17 The world grows agèd and wintry,
18 Love's face peakèd and white;
19 And death is kind to the tired ones
20 Who sleep in the north to-night.





The Pessimist P. G. Wodehouse
To John Clare John Clare






October - William Cullen Bryant

Ay, thou art welcome, heaven's delicious breath!
When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,
And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief
And the year smiles as it draws near its death.
Wind of the sunny south! oh, still delay
In the gay woods and in the golden air,
Like to a good old age released from care,
Journeying, in long serenity, away.
In such a bright, late quiet, would that I
Might wear out life like thee, 'mid bowers and brooks
And dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks,
And music of kind voices ever nigh;
And when my last sand twinkled in the glass,
Pass silently from men, as thou dost pass.













Neutral Tones - Thomas Hardy

We stood by a pond that winter day,
And the sun was white, as though chidden of God,
And a few leaves lay on the starving sod;
– They had fallen from an ash, and were gray.

Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove
Over tedious riddles of years ago;
And some words played between us to and fro
On which lost the more by our love.

The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing
Alive enough to have strength to die;
And a grin of bitterness swept thereby
Like an ominous bird a-wing….

Since then, keen lessons that love deceives,
And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me
Your face, and the God curst sun, and a tree,
And a pond edged with grayish leaves.




O Captain! My Captain! Walt Whitman





Metaphysics - Oliver Herford

WHY and Wherefore set out one day
  To hunt for a wild Negation;
They agreed to meet at a cool retreat
  On the Point of Interrogation.

But the night was dark and they missed their mark,        5
  And, driven well-nigh to distraction,
They lost their ways in a murky maze
  Of utter abstruse abstraction.

Then they took a boat, and were soon afloat
  On a sea of Speculation;        10
But the sea grew rough, and their boat, though tough,
  Was split into an Equation.

As they floundered about in the waves of doubt,
  Rose a fearful Hypothesis,
Who gibbered with glee as they sank in the sea,        15
  And the last they saw was this:

On a rock-bound reef of Unbelief
  There sat the wild Negation;
Then they sank once more and were washed ashore
  At the Point of Interrogation.












A March Glee - John Burroughs

I hear the wild geese honking
From out the misty night,--
A sound of moving armies
On-sweeping in their might;
The river ice is drifting
Beneath their northward flight.

I hear the bluebird plaintive
From out the morning sky,
Or see his wings a-twinkle
That with the azure vie;
No other bird more welcome,
No more prophetic cry.

I hear the sparrow's ditty
Anear my study door;
A simple song of gladness
That winter days are o'er;
My heart is singing with him,
I love him more and more.

I hear the starling fluting
His liquid "O-ka-lee;"
I hear the downy drumming,
His vernal reveillé;
From out the maple orchard
The nuthatch calls to me.

Oh, spring is surely coming,
Her couriers fill the air;
Each morn are new arrivals,
Each night her ways prepare;
I scent her fragrant garments,
Her foot is on the stair.










Lullaby - William Blake

O for a voice like thunder, and a tongue
To drown the throat of war! - When the senses
Are shaken, and the soul is driven to madness,
Who can stand? When the souls of the oppressed
Fight in the troubled air that rages, who can stand?
When the whirlwind of fury comes from the
Throne of God, when the frowns of his countenance
Drive the nations together, who can stand?
When Sin claps his broad wings over the battle,
And sails rejoicing in the flood of Death;
When souls are torn to everlasting fire,
And fiends of Hell rejoice upon the slain,
O who can stand? O who hath caused this?
O who can answer at the throne of God?
The Kings and Nobles of the Land have done it!
Hear it not, Heaven, thy Ministers have done it!







The Wolf At the Door Charlotte Perkins Gilman





Life - Charlotte Brontë

LIFE, believe, is not a dream
So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day.
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
O why lament its fall ?

Rapidly, merrily,
Life's sunny hours flit by,
Gratefully, cheerily,
Enjoy them as they fly !

What though Death at times steps in
And calls our Best away ?
What though sorrow seems to win,
O'er hope, a heavy sway ?
Yet hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she fell;
Still buoyant are her golden wings,
Still strong to bear us well.
Manfully, fearlessly,
The day of trial bear,
For gloriously, victoriously,
Can courage quell despair !












Jabberwocky - Lewis Carroll

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
      And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
      The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand;
      Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
      And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
      And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
      He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
      Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
      He chortled in his joy.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
      And the mome raths outgrabe.





King Cahal Mór of the Wine-Red Hand James Clarence Mangan






The Instinct of Hope - John Clare

Is there another world for this frail dust
To warm with life and be itself again?
Something about me daily speaks there must,
And why should instinct nourish hopes in vain?
'Tis nature's prophesy that such will be,
And everything seems struggling to explain
The close sealed volume of its mystery.
Time wandering onward keeps its usual pace
As seeming anxious of eternity,
To meet that calm and find a resting place.
E'en the small violet feels a future power
And waits each year renewing blooms to bring,
And surely man is no inferior flower
To die unworthy of a second spring?











The Incentive - Sarah Norcliffe Cleghorn

I saw a sickly cellar plant
Droop on its feeble stem, for want
Of sun and wind and rain and dew —
Of freedom! — Then a man came through
The cellar, and I heard him say,
'Poor, foolish plant, by all means stay
Contented here; for — know you not? —
This stagnant dampness, mold and rot
Are your incentive to grow tall
And reach that sunbeam on the wall.'
— Even as he spoke, the sun's one spark
Withdrew, and left the dust more dark.












If - E. E. Cummings

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.





In October John Burroughs





An Elegy - Oliver Goldsmith

Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say
That still a godly race he ran,
Whene'er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad,
When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound,
And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad and bit the man.

Around from all the neighbouring streets
The wondering neighbours ran,
And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.

The wound it seemed both sore and sad
To every Christian eye;
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light,
That showed the rogues they lied:
The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died.













The Convict of Clonmala - Jeremiah Joseph Callanan

How hard is my fortune,
And vain my repining!
The strong rope of fate
For this young neck is twining!
My strength is departed,
My cheeks sunk and sallow,
While I languish in chains
In the jail of Clonmala.
No boy of the village
Was ever yet milder;
I'd play with a child
And my sport would be wilder;
I'd dance without tiring
From morning till even,
And the goal-ball I'd strike
To the lightning of heaven.
At my bed-foot decaying,
My hurl-bat is lying;
Through the boys of the village
My goal-ball is flying;
My horse 'mong the neighbors
Neglected may fallow,
While I pine in my chains
In the jail of Clonmala.
Next Sunday the patron
At home will be keeping,
And the young active hurlers
The field will be sweeping;
With the dance of fair maidens
The evening they'll hallow,
While this heart once so gay
Shall be cold in Clonmala.










Come Hither, Child Emily Brontë






Short Poetry Collection 049






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As festas populares em Santa Catarina SC

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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

Amor é fogo que arde sem se ver - Poesia

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Mitologia Grega

Antífona - Poema, Poesia

OPEP seguiu cumprindo acordo de redução de oferta de petróleo

Despacito letra e Tradução

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Salmos - Capítulo 22 - Bíblia Online

Mercado Municipal Adolpho Lisboa - Manaus - Amazonas AM - Brasil

Mein Kampf PDF

Romeo and Juliet - William Shakespeare - AudioBook

Artur de Azevedo - Contos

Audio Livro - Sanderlei

Augusto dos Anjos - Eu e Outras Poesias

Contos de Eça de Queirós

Curso de Espanhol Online - Gratis e Completo

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Diva - José de Alencar - Audiobook

Educação Infantil - Nível 1 (crianças entre 4 a 6 anos)

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Educação Infantil - Nível 3 (crianças entre 6 a 8 anos)

Educação Infantil - Nível 4 (crianças entre 7 a 9 anos)

Educação Infantil - Nível 5 (crianças entre 8 a 10 anos)

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Euclides da Cunha - Os Sertões (Áudio Livro)

Historia en 1 Minuto

History in 1 Minute

Lima Barreto - Contos (Áudio Livro - Audiobook)

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Dom Casmurro - Machado de Assis

Esaú e Jacó - Machado de Assis

Helena - Machado de Assis

Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas - Machado de Assis

Papéis Avulsos - Machado de Assis

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Quincas Borba - Machado de Assis

Teatro - Machado de Assis

O Diário de Anne Frank

Poesia - Sanderlei Silveira

Poesía (ES) - Poetry (EN) - Poesia (PT) - Poésie (FR)

Poetry (EN) - Poesia (PT) - Poesía (ES) - Poésie (FR)

Poetry in English - Sanderlei Silveira

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