„The Dream” de John Donne
Dear love, for nothing less than thee Would I have broke this happy dream; It was a theme For reason, much too strong for fantasy, Therefore thou wak'd'st me wisely; yet My dream thou brok'st not, but continued'st …
Dear love, for nothing less than thee Would I have broke this happy dream; It was a theme For reason, much too strong for fantasy, Therefore thou wak'd'st me wisely; yet My dream thou brok'st not, but continued'st …
The thirstu earth soaks up the rain, And drinks and gapes for drink again; The plants suck in the earth, and are With constant drinking fresh and fair; The sea itself (which one would think Should have but …
Speech after long silence; it is right, All other lovers being estranged or dead, Unfriendly lamplight hid under its shade, The curtains drawn upon unfriendly night, That we descant and yet again descant Upon the supreme theme of …
Un fir de iarbă, un fir de iarbă arcuit, un fir de iarbă arcuit ca o geană, un fir de iarbă străbate pământul, îndulcindu-i pustietatea... Un fir de iarbă îmi numără anotimpurile, unul câte unul, patru câte patru, …
Poate că spre tine-ndreptasem acest gând devenit cuvânt Poate că spre tine-ndreptasem acest cuvânt devenit sânge Poate că spre tine-ndreptasem acest sânge devenit făptură Poate că spre tine-ndreptasem această iubire şi ură Poate că spre tine-ndreptasem această nefiinţă …
Zburau... El avea o aripă în stânga, ea avea o aripă în dreapta, ca un singur trup între două aripi zburau... Respirând între două aripi, ea - plămânul lui drept, el - plămânul ei stâng, printr-un cer saturat …
Am semănat cu pădurea, cu moara de vânt, cu tăcutele, negrele, necunoscutele cruci de la margini de drumuri, cu umbrele cailor noaptea pe-nalte coline moldave am semănat - şi cu chipul ciudaţilor zei îngropaţi în nisip lângă mare. …
Morpheus the lively son of deadly sleep, Witness of life to them that living die, A prophet oft, and oft an history, A poet eke, as humors fly or creep, Since thou in me so sure a power …
With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies! How silently, and with how wan a face! What, may it be that even in heav'nly place That busy archer his sharp arrows tries! Sure, if that long-with …
You that do search for every purling spring, Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows, And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows Near thereabouts, into your poesy wring; You that do dictionary’s method bring Into your …
There are twelve months in all the year, As I hear many men say, But the merriest month in all the year Is the merry month of may. În an sunt două – ori şase luni – Aşa …
Reign in my thoughts, fair hand, sweet eye, rare voice: Possess me whole, my heart's triumvirate; Yet heavy heart to make so hard a choice, Of such as spoil thy poor afflicted stated. For whilst they strive which …
To the memory of my beloved, MR. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE: AND what he hath left us. Întru memoria preadragului meu AUTOR Mr. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE şi tot ce ne-a lăsat el nouă To draw no envy (Shakespeare) on thy name, …
Let others sing of knights and paladines In aged accents and untimely words; Paint shadows in imaginary lines Which well the reach of their high wits records: But I must sing of thee, and those fair eyes Authentic …
Go, Soul, the body’s guest, Upon a thankless arrant: Fear not to touch the best; The truth shall be thy warrant: Go, since I needs must die, And give the world the lie. Mergi, suflete, tu oaspe-al trupului, …
The song that I 'm going to sing, I hope it will give you content, Concerning a silly old nian, That was going to pay his rent.Poate v-o place-această-a mea Poveste bătrânească Despre-un moşneag ce se ducea Arenda …
Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part, Nay, I have done, you get no more of me, And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free. …
I hear some say, “This man is not in love!” “Who! can he love? a likely thing!” they say. “Read but his Verse, and it will easily prove!” O, judge not rashly, gentle Sir, I pray! Because I …
Bytuene Mershe ant Averil When spray biginneth to spring, The lutel foul hath hire wyl On hyre lud to synge: Ich libbe in love-longinge For semlokest of alle thynge, He may me blisse bringe, Icham in hire bandoun. …
Fresh Spring, the herald of loves mighty king, In whose cote-armour richly are displayd All sorts of flowres the which on earth do spring, In goodly colours gloriously arrayd, Goe to my Love, where she is carelesse layd, …
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