Poesia: The Yak - Hilaire Belloc

The Yak - Hilaire Belloc

As a friend to the children commend me the Yak.
You will find it exactly the thing:
It will carry and fetch, you can ride on its back,
Or lead it about with a string.

The Tartar who dwells on the plains of Thibet
(A desolate region of snow)
Has for centuries made it a nursery pet,
And surely the Tartar should know!

Then tell your papa where the Yak can be got,
And if he is awfully rich
He will buy you the creature—or else he will not.
(I cannot be positive which.)

Waiting - John Burroughs

Serene, I fold my hands and wait,
Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea;
I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
For lo! my own shall come to me.

I stay my haste, I make delays,
For what avails this eager pace?
I stand amid the eternal ways,
And what is mine shall know my face.

Asleep, awake, by night or day,
The friends I seek are seeking me;
No wind can drive my bark astray,
Nor change the tide of destiny.

What matter if I stand alone?
I wait with joy the coming years;
My heart shall reap where it hath sown,
And garner up its fruit of tears.

The waters know their own and draw
The brook that springs in yonder height;
So flows the good with equal law
Unto the soul of pure delight.

The stars come nightly to the sky;
The tidal wave unto the sea;
Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,
Can keep my own away from me.

Richard Corey - Edwin Arlington Robinson

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich—yes, richer than a king—
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

Strange Meeting Wilfred Owen
Tommy Rudyard Kipling
Ulysses and the Siren Samuel Daniel
Ulysses Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The Rainbow - William Wordsworth

MY heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

If I Should Die - Benjamin King

If I should die to-night
And you should come to my cold corpse and say,
Weeping and hearsick o'er my lifeless clay--
If I should die tonight,
And you should come in deepest grief and woe--
And say: "Here's that ten dollars that I owe,"
I might arise in my large white cravat
And say, "What's that?"

If I should die to-night
And you should come to my cold corpse and kneel,
Clasping my bier to show the grief you feel,
I say, if I should die to-night
And you should come to me, and there and then
Just even hint 'bout payin' me that ten,
I might arise the while,
But I'd drop dead again.

Ode on a Grecian Urn John Keats
On a Favorite Cat, Drowned in a Tub of Gold-fishes Thomas Gray
Peter Quince at the Clavier Wallace Stevens
Porphyria’s Lover Robert Browning
A Prayer for my Daughter William Butler Yeats

The Definition of Love - Andrew Marvell

My love is of a birth as rare
As ’tis for object strange and high;
It was begotten by Despair
Upon Impossibility.

Magnanimous Despair alone
Could show me so divine a thing
Where feeble Hope could ne’er have flown,
But vainly flapp’d its tinsel wing.

And yet I quickly might arrive
Where my extended soul is fixt,
But Fate does iron wedges drive,
And always crowds itself betwixt.

For Fate with jealous eye does see
Two perfect loves, nor lets them close;
Their union would her ruin be,
And her tyrannic pow’r depose.

And therefore her decrees of steel
Us as the distant poles have plac’d,
(Though love’s whole world on us doth wheel)
Not by themselves to be embrac’d;

Unless the giddy heaven fall,
And earth some new convulsion tear;
And, us to join, the world should all
Be cramp’d into a planisphere.

As lines, so loves oblique may well
Themselves in every angle greet;
But ours so truly parallel,
Though infinite, can never meet.

Therefore the love which us doth bind,
But Fate so enviously debars,
Is the conjunction of the mind,
And opposition of the stars.

Bed in Summer - Robert Louis Stevenson

In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.

I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.

And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?

Casey At The Bat Ernest Lawrence Thayer

Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave? - Thomas Hardy

"Ah, are you digging on my grave,
My loved one? — planting rue?"
— "No: yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
'It cannot hurt her now,' he said,
'That I should not be true.'"

"Then who is digging on my grave,
My nearest dearest kin?"
— "Ah, no: they sit and think, 'What use!
What good will planting flowers produce?
No tendance of her mound can loose
Her spirit from Death's gin.'"

"But someone digs upon my grave?
My enemy? — prodding sly?"
— "Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate
That shuts on all flesh soon or late,
She thought you no more worth her hate,
And cares not where you lie.

"Then, who is digging on my grave?
Say — since I have not guessed!"
— "O it is I, my mistress dear,
Your little dog , who still lives near,
And much I hope my movements here
Have not disturbed your rest?"

"Ah yes! You dig upon my grave…
Why flashed it not to me
That one true heart was left behind!
What feeling do we ever find
To equal among human kind
A dog's fidelity!"

"Mistress, I dug upon your grave
To bury a bone, in case
I should be hungry near this spot
When passing on my daily trot.
I am sorry, but I quite forgot
It was your resting place."

Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave? - Thomas Hardy - Tradução em Português

"Ah, você está cavando em minha sepultura,
Meu amado? - plantar rue? "
- "Não: ontem ele foi casar
Uma das riquezas mais brilhantes tem crescido.
"Não pode machucá-la agora", disse ele,
- Que eu não deveria ser verdade.

"Então quem está cavando em minha sepultura,
Meu parente mais próximo?
- "Ah, não: eles se sentam e pensam:" Que uso!
Que bom plantar flores produzir?
Nenhuma tendência de seu montículo pode perder
Seu espírito do gim da Morte. "

- Mas alguém cava em meu túmulo?
Meu inimigo? - insinuando maliciosamente?
- "Não: quando ela ouviu que você tinha passado o Portão
Isso fecha em toda a carne logo ou tarde,
Ela pensou que você não mais vale seu ódio,
E não se importa onde você mente.

"Então, quem está cavando em minha sepultura?
Diga - desde que eu não tenha adivinhado! "
- "Eu sou, minha querida querida,
Seu cãozinho, que ainda vive perto,
E muito espero que meus movimentos aqui
Não perturbou o seu repouso?

"Ah, sim, você cava em meu túmulo ...
Por que não me mostrou isso?
Esse verdadeiro coração foi deixado para trás!
Que sentimento encontramos
Igualar entre seres humanos
A fidelidade de um cão! "

"Senhora, eu cavei em seu túmulo
Para enterrar um osso, caso
Eu deveria estar com fome perto deste ponto
Ao passar no meu trote diário.
Me desculpe, mas eu esqueci
Era seu lugar de repouso.

Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave? - Thomas Hardy - La traducción en español

"Ah, ¿estás cavando en mi tumba,
¿Mi amada? ¿Plantar rue?
- "No: ayer fue a casarse
Una de las riquezas más brillantes ha surgido.
-No puede hacerle daño ahora -dijo,
"Que no debería ser verdad".

"Entonces, ¿quién está cavando en mi tumba,
¿Mi pariente más cercano?
- "Ah, no: se sientan y piensan:" ¡Qué uso!
¿Qué bien producirán las flores de siembra?
Ninguna tendencia de su montículo puede perder
Su espíritu de la ginebra de la muerte. "

-¿Pero alguien cava sobre mi tumba?
¿Mi enemigo? - ¿Qué es eso?
- "No: cuando oyó que habías pasado la Puerta
Eso se cierra en toda carne pronto o tarde,
Ella pensó que no valía más su odio,
Y no te importa dónde mientes.

"Entonces, ¿quién está cavando en mi tumba?
Diga ... ¡ya que no lo he adivinado!
- "Yo soy, querida mi querida,
Su pequeño perro, que todavía vive cerca,
Y mucho espero mis movimientos aquí
¿No has molestado tu descanso?

"¡Ah, sí, caváis sobre mi tumba!
¿Por qué no me lo mostró?
Ese único corazón verdadero quedó atrás!
¿Qué sentimiento encontramos alguna vez
Igualar entre la clase humana
¡La fidelidad de un perro!

"Señora, cavé en tu tumba
Enterrar un hueso, en el caso
Tengo hambre cerca de este lugar
Al pasar mi trote diario.
Lo siento, pero me olvidé
Era tu lugar de descanso.

A-Sitting on a Gate Lewis Carroll

Address to a Haggis Robert Burns

Short Poetry Collection 013