classic poetry

An Echo

POSTED IN classic poetry March 9, 2014

An Echo

Never sleeping, still awake,
Pleasing most when most I speak;
The delight of old and young,
Though I speak without a tongue.
Nought but one thing can confound me,
Many voices joining round me;
Then I fret, and rave, and gabble,
Like the labourers of Babel.
Now I am a dog, or cow,
I can bark, or I can low;
I can bleat, or I can sing,
Like the warblers of the spring.
Let the lovesick bard complain,
And I mourn the cruel pain;
Let the happy swain rejoice,
And I join my helping voice:
Both are welcome, grief or joy,
I with either sport and toy.
Though a lady, I am stout,
Drums and trumpets bring me out:
Then I clash, and roar, and rattle,
Join in all the din of battle.
Jove, with all his loudest thunder,
When I’m vext, can’t keep me under;
Yet so tender is my ear,
That the lowest voice I fear;
Much I dread the courtier’s fate,
When his merit’s out of date,
For I hate a silent breath,
And a whisper is my death.

Jonathan Swift

The Haidamaks

POSTED IN classic poetry March 7, 2014

The Haidamaks

Everything moves, everything passes, and there is no end.

Where did it all disappear? From where did it all come?

Both the fool and the wise man know nothing.

One lives, one dies, one thing blooms,

But another has withered, withered away forever

And winds have carried off yellowed leaves,

And the sun will rise, as it used to rise,

And crimson stars will float off as they used to,

They will float afterwards, and you, white-faced one,

Will saunter along the blue sky.

Taras Shevchenko

Everyone has someone, a friend to love

POSTED IN classic poetry March 2, 2014

Everyone has someone, a friend to love

Rumi

رنجور

POSTED IN classic poetry March 2, 2014

رنجور

گفته شد که هر صناعت‌گر که رست

در صناعت جایگاه نیست جست

جست بنا موضعی ناساخته

گشته ویران سقفها انداخته

جست سقا کوزای کش آب نیست

وان دروگر خانه‌ای کش باب نیست

Rumi

His Books

POSTED IN classic poetry February 21, 2014

His Books

My days among the Dead are past;
   Around me I behold,
Where’er these casual eyes are cast,
   The mighty minds of old:
My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.

With them I take delight in weal
   And seek relief in woe;
And while I understand and feel
   How much to them I owe,
My cheeks have often been bedew’d
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.

My thoughts are with the Dead; with them
   I live in long-past years,
Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
   Partake their hopes and fears;
And from their lessons seek and find
Instruction with an humble mind.

My hopes are with the Dead; anon
   My place with them will be,
And I with them shall travel on
   Through all Futurity;
Yet leaving here a name, I trust,
That will not perish in the dust.

Robert Southey

Close Close

POSTED IN classic poetry February 16, 2014

Close Close

Close close all night
the lovers keep.
They turn together
in their sleep,
close as two papers
in a book
that read each other
in the dark.
Each knows all
the other knows
learnt by heart
from head to toes.

Elisabeth Bishop

The Sandman

POSTED IN classic poetry February 15, 2014
















The Sandman

The rosy clouds float overhead,
  The sun is going down,
And now the sandman’s gentle tread
  Comes stealing through the town.

    “White sand, white sand,” he softly cries,
      And, as he shakes his hand,
    Straightway there lies on babies’ eyes
      His gift of shining sand.
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,
As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he
     goes through the town.

    From sunny beaches far away,
      Yes, in another land,
    He gathers up at break of day
      His store of shining sand.
    No tempests beat that shore remote,
      No ships may sail that way;
    His little boat alone may float
      Within that lovely bay.
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,
As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he
     goes through the town.

    He smiles to see the eyelids close
      Above the happy eyes!
    And every child right well he knows—
      Oh, he is very wise!
    But if, as he goes through the land,
      A naughty baby cries,
    His other hand takes dull gray sand
      To close the wakeful eyes.
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,
As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he
     goes through the town.

  So when you hear the sandman’s song
    Sound through the twilight sweet,
  Be sure you do not keep him long
    A-waiting on the street.
  Lie softly down, dear little head,
    Rest quiet, busy hands,
  Till, by your bed his good-night said,
    He strews the shining sands.
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown,
As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he
     goes through the town.











Margaret Vandegrift

A Valentine

POSTED IN classic poetry February 14, 2014

A Valentine
For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda,
Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies
Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly the lines!- they hold a treasure
Divine- a talisman- an amulet
That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure-
The words- the syllables! Do not forget
The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely comprehend the plot.
Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering
Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing
Of poets, by poets- as the name is a poet’s, too,
Its letters, although naturally lying
Like the knight Pinto- Mendez Ferdinando-
Still form a synonym for Truth- Cease trying!
You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.

Edgar Allan Poe

Si Tú Me Olvidas

POSTED IN classic poetry February 4, 2014

Si Tú Me Olvidas

Quiero que sepas
una cosa.

Tú sabes cómo es esto:
si miro
la luna de cristal, la rama roja
del lento otoño en mi ventana,
si toco
junto al fuego
la impalpable ceniza
o el arrugado cuerpo de la leña,
todo me lleva a ti,
como si todo lo que existe,
aromas, luz, metales,
fueran pequeños barcos que navegan
hacia las islas tuyas que me aguardan.

Ahora bien,
si poco a poco dejas de quererme
dejaré de quererte poco a poco.

Si de pronto
me olvidas
no me busques,
que ya te habré olvidado.

Si consideras largo y loco
el viento de banderas
que pasa por mi vida
y te decides
a dejarme a la orilla
del corazón en que tengo raíces,
piensa
que en ese día,
a esa hora
levantaré los brazos
y saldrán mis raíces
a buscar otra tierra.

Pero
si cada día,
cada hora
sientes que a mí estás destinada
con dulzura implacable.
Si cada día sube
una flor a tus labios a buscarme,
ay amor mío, ay mía,
en mí todo ese fuego se repite,
en mí nada se apaga ni se olvida,
mi amor se nutre de tu amor, amada,
y mientras vivas estará en tus brazos
sin salir de los míos.

Pablo Neruda

Dime

POSTED IN classic poetry February 2, 2014

Dime

Dime por favor donde no estás
en qué lugar puedo no ser tu ausencia
dónde puedo vivir sin recordarte,
y dónde recordar, sin que me duela.

Dime por favor en que vacío,
no está tu sombra llenando los centros;
dónde mi soledad es ella misma,
y no el sentir que tú te encuentras lejos.

Dime por favor por qué camino,
podré yo caminar, sin ser tu huella;
dónde podré correr no por buscarte,
y dónde descanzar de mi tristeza.

Dime por favor cuál es la noche,
que no tiene el color de tu mirada;
cuál es el sol, que tiene luz tan solo,
y no la sensación de que me llamas.

Dime por favor donde hay un mar,
que no susurre a mis oídos tus palabras.

Dime por favor en qué rincón,
nadie podrá ver mi tristeza;
dime cuál es el hueco de mi almohada,
que no tiene apoyada tu cabeza.

Dime por favor cuál es la noche,
en que vendrás, para velar tu sueño;
que no puedo vivir, porque te extraño;
y que no puedo morir, porque te quiero.

Jorge Luis Borges