Метка: Englishpoetry

Madison Julius Cawein (Мэдисон Джулиус Кавейн)

Indifference

She is so dear the wildflowers near
Each path she passes by,
Are over fain to kiss again
Her feet and then to die.

She is so fair the wild birds there
That sing upon the bough,
Have learned the staff of her sweet laugh,
And sing no other now.

Alas! that she should never see,
Should never care to know,
The wildflower's love, the bird's above,
And his, who loves her so!

Madison Julius Cawein’s other poems:

1. After a Night of Rain
2. Annisquam
3. At the Ferry
4. Baby Mary
5. Before the End

Poems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):

Robert Service (Роберт Сервис) Indifference (“When I am dead I will not care”)

Edna Millay (Эдна Миллей) Indifference (“I SAID,—for Love was laggard, O, Love was slow to come”)

To the dedicated English version of this website

---

Madison Julius Cawein (Мэдисон Джулиус Кавейн)

In the Forest

One well might deem, among these miles of woods,
Such were the Forests of the Holy Grail,
Broceliand and Dean; where, clothed in mail,
The Knights of Arthur rode, and all the broods
Of legend laired. And, where no sound intrudes
Upon the ear, except the glimmering wail
Of some far bird; or, in some flowery swale,
A brook that murmurs to the solitudes,
Might think he hears the laugh of Vivien
Blent with the moan of Merlin, muttering bound
By his own magic to one stony spot;
And in the cloud, that looms above the glen,
In which the sun burns like the Table Round,
Might dream he sees the towers of Camelot.

Madison Julius Cawein’s other poems:

1. After a Night of Rain
2. Annisquam
3. At the Ferry
4. Baby Mary
5. Before the End

Poems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):

Oscar Wilde (Оскар Уайльд) In the Forest (“Out of the mid-wood’s twilight”)

To the dedicated English version of this website

---

Madison Julius Cawein (Мэдисон Джулиус Кавейн)

In June

Deep in the West a berry-coloured bar
Of sunset gleams; against which one tall fir
Is outlined dark; above which - courier
Of dew and dreams - burns dusk's appointed star.
And flash on flash, as when the elves wage war
In Goblinland, the fireflies bombard
The stillness; and, like spirits, o'er the sward
The glimmering winds bring fragrance from afar.
And now withdrawn into the hill-wood belts
A whippoorwill; while, with attendant states
Of purple and silver, slow the great moon melts
Into the night - to show me where she waits, -
Like some slim moonbeam, - by the old beech-tree,
Who keeps her lips, fresh as a flower, for me.

Madison Julius Cawein’s other poems:

1. After a Night of Rain
2. Annisquam
3. At the Ferry
4. Baby Mary
5. Before the End

To the dedicated English version of this website

---

Madison Julius Cawein (Мэдисон Джулиус Кавейн)

Hymn to Spiritual Desire

I.

Mother of visions, with lineaments dulcet as numbers
Breathed on the eyelids of Love by music that slumbers,
Secretly, sweetly, O presence of fire and snow,
Thou comest mysterious,
In beauty imperious,
Clad on with dreams and the light of no world that we know:
Deep to my innermost soul am I shaken,
Helplessly shaken and tossed,
And of they tyrannous yearnings so utterly taken,
My lips, unsatisfied, thirst;
Mine eyes are accurst
With longings for visions that far in the night are forsaken;
And mine ears, in listening lost,
Yearn, waiting the note of a chord that will never awaken.

II.

Like palpable music thou comest, like moonlight; and far,
Resonant bar upon bar,
The vibrating lyre
Of the spirit responds with melodious fire,
As thy fluttering fingers now grasp it and ardently shake,
With laughter and ache,
The chords of existence, the instrument star-sprung,
Whose frame is of clay, so wonderfully molded of mire.

III.

Vested with vanquishment, come, O Desire, Desire!
Breathe in this harp of my soul the audible angel of Love!
Make of my heart an Israfel burning above,
A lute for the music of God, that lips, which are mortal, but stammer!
Smite every rapturous wire
With golden delirium, rebellion and silvery clamor,
Crying"Awake! awake!
Too long hast thou slumbered! too far from the regions of glamour
With its mountains of magic, its fountains of faery, the spar-sprung,
Hast thou wandered away, O Heart!
Come, oh, come and partake
Of necromance banquets of Beauty; and slake
Thy thirst in the waters of Art,
That are drawn from the streams
Of love and of dreams.

IV.

"Come, oh, come!
No longer shall language be dumb!
Thy vision shall grasp
As one doth the glittering hasp
Of a sword made splendid with gems and with gold
The wonder and richness of life, not anguish and hate of it merely.
And out of the stark
Eternity, awful and dark,
Immensity silent and cold,
Universe-shaking as trumpets, or cymbaling metals,
Imperious; yet pensive and pearly
And soft as the rosy unfolding of petals,
Or crumbling aroma of blossoms that wither too early,
The majestic music of God, where He plays
On the organ, eternal and vast, of eons and days."

Madison Julius Cawein’s other poems:

1. After a Night of Rain
2. Annisquam
3. At the Ferry
4. Baby Mary
5. Before the End

To the dedicated English version of this website

---

Madison Julius Cawein (Мэдисон Джулиус Кавейн)

Home

I dream again I'm in the lane
That leads me home through night and rain;
Again the fence I see and, dense,
The garden, wet and sweet of sense;
Then mother's window, with its starry line
Of light, o'ergrown with rose and trumpetvine.

What was 't I heard? Her voice? A bird?
Singing? Or was 't the rain that stirred
The dripping leaves and draining eaves
Of shed and barn, one scarce perceives
Past garden-beds where oldtime flowers hang wet
Pale phlox and candytuft and mignonette.

The hour is late. I can not wait.
Quick. Let me hurry to the gate!
Upon the roof the rain is proof
Against my horse's galloping hoof;
And if the old gate, with its weight and chain,
Should creak, she 'll think it just the wind and rain.

Along I 'll steal, with cautious heel,
And at the lamplit window kneel:
And there she 'll sit and rock and knit,
While on her face the light will flit,
As I have seen her, many a night and day,
Dreaming of home that is so far away.

Upon the pane, dim, blurred with rain,
I 'll knock and call out, "Home again!"
And at a stride fling warm and wide
The door and catch her to my side
Mother! as once I clasped her when a boy,
Sobbing my heart out on her breast for joy!

Madison Julius Cawein’s other poems:

1. After a Night of Rain
2. Annisquam
3. At the Ferry
4. Baby Mary
5. Before the End

Poems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):

Rupert Brooke (Руперт Брук) Home (“I came back late and tired last night”)

Anne Brontë (Энн Бронте) Home (“How brightly glistening in the sun”)

To the dedicated English version of this website

---

William Barnes (Уильям Барнс)

Third Collection. The Broken Heart

News o’ grief had overteäken
Dark-ey’d Fanny, now vorseäken;
There she zot, wi’ breast a-heavèn,
While vrom zide to zide, wi’ grievèn,
Vell her head, wi’ tears a-creepèn
Down her cheäks, in bitter weepèn.
There wer still the ribbon-bow
She tied avore her hour ov woe,
An’ there wer still the han’s that tied it
    Hangèn white,
    Or wringèn tight,
In ceäre that drown’d all ceäre bezide it.

When a man, wi’ heartless slightèn,
Mid become a maïden’s blightèn,
He mid ceärlessly vorseäke her,
But must answer to her Meäker;
He mid slight, wi’ selfish blindness,
All her deeds o’ lovèn-kindness,
God wull waïgh em wi’ the slightèn
That mid be her love’s requitèn;
He do look on each deceiver,
    He do know
    What weight o’ woe
Do breäk the heart ov ev’ry griever.

William Barnes’s other poems:

1. Third Collection. Things do Come Round
2. Third Collection. The Little Worold
3. First Collection. Winter. Keepèn up o’ Chris’mas
4. Third Collection. Comen Hwome
5. Second Collection. Slow to come, quick agone

To the dedicated English version of this website

---

Madison Julius Cawein (Мэдисон Джулиус Кавейн)

He Who Loves

For him God's birds each merry morn
 Make of wild throats melodious flutes
To trill such love from brush and thorn
 As might brim eyes of brutes:
Who would believe of such a thing,
That 'tis her heart which makes them sing?

For him the faultless skies of noon
 Grow farther in eternal blue,
As heavens that buoy the balanced moon,
 And sow the stars and dew:
Who would believe that such deep skies
Are miracles only through her eyes?

For him mad sylphs adown domed nights
 Stud golden globules radiant,
Or glass-green transient trails of lights
 Spin from their orbs and slant:
Who would believe a soul were hers
To make for him a universe?

Madison Julius Cawein’s other poems:

1. After a Night of Rain
2. Annisquam
3. At the Ferry
4. Baby Mary
5. Before the End

To the dedicated English version of this website

---

Thomas Moore (Томас Мур)

From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 56

He, who instructs the youthful crew
To bathe them in the brimmer's dew,
And taste, uncloyed by rich excesses,
All the bliss that wine possesses;
He, who inspires the youth to bound
Elastic through the dance's round,--
Bacchus, the god again is here,
And leads along the blushing year;
The blushing year with vintage teems,
Ready to shed those cordial streams,
Which, sparkling in the cup of mirth,
Illuminate the sons of earth!

Then, when the ripe and vermil wine,--
Blest infant of the pregnant vine,
Which now in mellow clusters swells,--
Oh! when it bursts its roseate cells,
Brightly the joyous stream shall flow,
To balsam every mortal woe!
None shall be then cast down or weak,
For health and joy shall light each cheek;
No heart will then desponding sigh,
For wine shall bid despondence fly.
Thus--till another autumn's glow
Shall bid another vintage flow.

Thomas Moore’s other poems:

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 57
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 59
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 64
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 62
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 61

To the dedicated English version of this website

---

Thomas Moore (Томас Мур)

From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 66

To thee, the Queen of nymphs divine,
Fairest of all that fairest shine;
To thee, who rulest with darts of fire
This world of mortals, young Desire!
And oh! thou nuptial Power, to thee
Who bearest of life the guardian key,
Breathing my soul in fervent praise,
And weaving wild my votive lays,
For thee, O Queen! I wake the lyre,
For thee, thou blushing young Desire,
And oh! for thee, thou nuptial Power,
Come, and illume this genial hour.

Look on thy bride, too happy boy,
And while thy lambent glance of joy
Plays over all her blushing charms,
Delay not, snatch her to thine arms,
Before the lovely, trembling prey,
Like a young birdling, wing away!
Turn, Stratocles, too happy youth,
Dear to the Queen of amorous truth,
And dear to her, whose yielding zone
Will soon resign her all thine own.
Turn to Myrilla, turn thine eye,
Breathe to Myrilla, breathe thy sigh.
To those bewitching beauties turn;
For thee they blush, for thee they burn.

Not more the rose, the queen of flowers,
Outblushes all the bloom of bowers
Than she unrivalled grace discloses,
The sweetest rose, where all are roses.
Oh! may the sun, benignant, shed
His blandest influence o'er thy bed;
And foster there an infant tree,
To bloom like her, and tower like thee!

Thomas Moore’s other poems:

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 57
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 59
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 64
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 62
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 61

To the dedicated English version of this website

---

Thomas Moore (Томас Мур)

From “Irish Melodies”. 103. The Mountain Spite

IN yonder valley there dwelt, alone,
A youth, whose moments had calmly flown,
’Till spells came o’er him, and, day and night,
He was haunted and watch’d by a Mountain Sprite.

As once, by moonlight, he wander’d o’er
The golden sands of that Island shore,
A foot-print sparkled before his sight —
’Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain Sprite!

Beside a fountain, one sunny day,
As bending over the stream he lay,
There peep’d down o’er him two eyes of light,
And he saw in that mirror the Mountain Sprite.

He turn’d, but, lo, like a startled bird,
That spirit fled! — and the youth but heard
Sweet music, such as marks the flight
Of some bird of song, from the Mountain Sprite.

One night, still haunted by that bright look,
The boy, bewilder’d, his pencil took.
And, guided only by memory’s light,
Drew the once-seen form of the Mountain Sprite.

"Oh thou, who lovest the shadow," cried
A voice, low whispering by his side,
"Now turn and see," — here the youth’s delight
Seal’d the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite.

"Of all the Spirits of land and sea,"
Then rapt he murmur’d, "there’s none like thee,
And oft, oh oft, may thy foot thus light
In this lonely bower, sweet Mountain Sprite!"

Thomas Moore’s other poems:

1. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 57
2. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 59
3. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 64
4. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 62
5. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 61

To the dedicated English version of this website

---