English Poetry. Ella Wheeler Wilcox. If I Could Only Weep. Элла Уилкокс.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox (Элла Уилкокс) * * * If I could only weep, I think sweet help with my salt tears would come, To ease the cruel pain that is so dumb, And will not let me sleep. Down in my heart, down deep A poisoned arrow […]
English Poetry. Gilbert Keith Chesterton. By the Babe Unborn. Гилберт Кит Честертон. Устами нерожденного ребенка
Gilbert Keith Chesterton (Гилберт Кит Честертон) By the Babe Unborn If trees were tall and grasses short, As in some crazy tale, If here and there a sea were blue Beyond the breaking pale, If a fixed fire hung in the air To warm me one day […]
English Poetry. Ella Wheeler Wilcox. So Long. Элла Уилкокс.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox (Элла Уилкокс) So Long The dawn grows red in the eastern sky, (Long, so long is the day,) And I lean from my lattice and sigh and sigh, As I watch the night fog creeping by And vanish over the bay. The thrush […]
English Poetry. Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Warp and Woof. Элла Уилкокс.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox (Элла Уилкокс) Warp and Woof Through the sunshine, and through the rain Of these changing days of mist and splendour, I see the face of a year-old pain Looking at me with a smile half tender. With a smile half tender, and yet all […]
English Poetry. Ella Wheeler Wilcox. An Old Heart. Элла Уилкокс.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox (Элла Уилкокс) An Old Heart How young I am! Ah! heaven, this curse of youth Doth mock me from my mirror with great eyes, And pulsing veins repeat the unwelcome truth, That I must live, though hope within me dies. So young, and yet […]
English Poetry. Alexander Brome. Epithalamy. Александр Бром.
Alexander Brome (Александр Бром) Epithalamy 1. NAy fie, Platonicks still adoring, The fond Chymaera’s of your brain? Still on that empty nothing poring? And only follow what you faign? Live in your humour, ’tis a curse So bad, ’twere pity wish a worse. We’ll banish such conceits […]
English Poetry. Alexander Brome. Reasons of Love. Александр Бром.
Alexander Brome (Александр Бром) Reasons of Love 1. PRethee, why dost thou love me so? Or is it but in show? What is there that your thoughts can pick about me? If beauty in my face you view, ‘Twas ne’re writ there unless by you, I little […]
English Poetry. Alexander Brome. On Claret. Александр Бром.
Alexander Brome (Александр Бром) On Claret 1. WIthin this bottle’s to be seen, A scarlet liquor that has been Born of the royal vine; We but nick-name it when we call It Gods drink, who drink none at all, No higher name than Wine 2. […]
English Poetry. Alexander Brome. To his Friend that had vow’d Small-Beer. Александр Бром.
Alexander Brome (Александр Бром) To his Friend that had vow’d Small-Beer 1. LEave off fond Hermite, leave thy vow, And fall again to drinking That beauty that won’t sack allow, Is hardly worth thy thinking, Dry love, or small, can never hold, And without Bacchus, Venus soon […]
English Poetry. Alexander Brome. To his Mistress (MY Theodora, can those eyes). Александр Бром.
Alexander Brome (Александр Бром) To his Mistress (MY Theodora, can those eyes) 1. MY Theodora, can those eyes From whence such glories shine, Give light to every soul that pryes, And only be obscur’d to mine, Who willingly my heart resign, Enflam’d by you, to be your […]
English Poetry. William Barnes. Third Collection. The Giants in Treädes. Уильям Барнс.
William Barnes (Уильям Барнс) Third Collection. The Giants in Treädes Gramfer’s Feäble. (How the steam engine come about.) Vier, Aïr, E’th, Water, wer a-meäde Good workers, each o’m in his treäde, An’ Aïr an’ Water, wer a-match Vor woone another in a mill; The giant Water […]
English Poetry. William Barnes. Third Collection. Turnèn things off. Уильям Барнс.
William Barnes (Уильям Барнс) Third Collection. Turnèn things off Upzides wi’ Polly! no, he’d vind That Poll would soon leäve him behind. To turn things off! oh! she’s too quick To be a-caught by ev’ry trick. Woone day our Jimmy stole down steäirs On merry Polly unaweäres, The […]
English Poetry. Thomas Chatterton. The Churchwarden and The Apparition. Томас Чаттертон.
Thomas Chatterton (Томас Чаттертон) The Churchwarden and The Apparition A Fable The night was cold, the wind was high, And stars bespangled all the sky; Churchwarden Joe had laid him down, And slept secure on bed of down; But still the pleasing hope of gain, That never […]
English Poetry. William Barnes. Third Collection. Withstanders. Уильям Барнс.
William Barnes (Уильям Барнс) Third Collection. Withstanders When weakness now do strive wi’ might In struggles ov an e’thly trial, Might mid overcome the right, An’ truth be turn’d by might’s denial; Withstanders we ha’ mwost to feär, If selfishness do wring us here, Be souls a-holdèn in […]
English Poetry. William Barnes. Third Collection. Changes. Уильям Барнс.
William Barnes (Уильям Барнс) Third Collection. Changes By time’s a-brought the mornèn light, By time the light do weäne; By time’s a-brought the young man’s might, By time his might do weäne; The Winter snow do whitèn grass, The zummer flow’rs do brightèn grass, Vor zome things we […]
English Poetry. William Barnes. Third Collection. Don’t ceäre. Уильям Барнс.
William Barnes (Уильям Барнс) Third Collection. Don’t ceäre At the feäst, I do mind very well, all the vo’ks Wer a-took in a happerèn storm. But we chaps took the maïdens, an’ kept em wi’ clokes Under shelter, all dry an’ all warm; An’ to my lot vell […]
English Poetry. William Barnes. Third Collection. A Do’set Sale. Уильям Барнс.
William Barnes (Уильям Барнс) Third Collection. A Do’set Sale WITH A MISTAKE. (Thomas and Mr Auctioneer.) T. Well here, then, Mister auctioneer, Be theäse the virs, I bought, out here? A. The firs, the fir-poles, you bought? Who? ’Twas furze, not firs, I sold to […]
English Poetry. William Barnes. Third Collection. My love is good. Уильям Барнс.
William Barnes (Уильям Барнс) Third Collection. My love is good My love is good, my love is feäir, She’s comely to behold, O, In ev’rything that she do wear, Altho’ ’tis new or wold, O. My heärt do leäp to see her walk, So straïght do step her […]
English Poetry. William Barnes. Third Collection. The Beäten Path. Уильям Барнс.
William Barnes (Уильям Барнс) Third Collection. The Beäten Path The beäten path where vo’k do meet A-comèn on vrom vur an’ near; How many errands had the veet That wore en out along so clear! Where eegrass bleädes be green in meäd, Where bennets up the leäze be […]
English Poetry. William Barnes. Third Collection. Shaftesbury Feäir. Уильям Барнс.
William Barnes (Уильям Барнс) Third Collection. Shaftesbury Feäir When hillborne Paladore did show So bright to me down miles below, As woonce the zun, a-rollèn west, Did brighten up his hill’s high breast. Wi’ walls a-lookèn dazzlèn white, Or yollow, on the grey-topp’d height Of Paladore, as peäle […]
English Poetry. William Barnes. Second Collection. The Wife a-lost. Уильям Барнс.
William Barnes (Уильям Барнс) Second Collection. The Wife a-lost Since I noo mwore do zee your feäce, Up steäirs or down below, I’ll zit me in the lwonesome pleäce, Where flat-bough’d beech do grow: Below the beeches’ bough, my love. Where you did never come, An’ I don’t […]
English Poetry. William Barnes. Second Collection. A Wife a-praïs’d. Уильям Барнс.
William Barnes (Уильям Барнс) Second Collection. A Wife a-praïs’d ’Twer Maÿ, but ev’ry leaf wer dry All day below a sheenèn sky; The zun did glow wi’ yollow gleäre, An’ cowslips blow wi’ yollow gleäre, Wi’ grægles’ bells a-droopèn low, An’ bremble boughs a-stoopèn low; While culvers in […]
English Poetry. William Barnes. Second Collection. Married Peäir’s Love-walk. Уильям Барнс.
William Barnes (Уильям Барнс) Second Collection. Married Peäir’s Love-walk Come let’s goo down the grove to-night; The moon is up, ’tis all so light As day, an’ win’ do blow enough To sheäke the leaves, but tiddèn rough. Come, Esther, teäke, vor wold time’s seäke, Your hooded cloke, […]
English Poetry. Thomas Chatterton. Songe to Aella, Lorde of the Castel of Brystowe Ynne Daies of Yore. Томас Чаттертон.
Thomas Chatterton (Томас Чаттертон) Songe to Aella, Lorde of the Castel of Brystowe Ynne Daies of Yore To JOHNE LADGATE. WELL thanne, goode Johne, sythe ytt must needes be soe, Thatt thou & I a bowtynge matche must have, Lette ytt ne breakynge of oulde friendshyppe bee, […]
English Poetry. William Barnes. Second Collection. The Bachelor. Уильям Барнс.
William Barnes (Уильям Барнс) Second Collection. The Bachelor No! I don’t begrudge en his life, Nor his goold, nor his housen, nor lands; Teäke all o’t, an’ gi’e me my wife, A wife’s be the cheapest ov hands. Lie alwone! sigh alwone! die alwone! Then be vorgot. No! […]
English Poetry. William Barnes. Second Collection. False Friends-like. Уильям Барнс.
William Barnes (Уильям Барнс) Second Collection. False Friends-like When I wer still a bwoy, an’ mother’s pride, A bigger bwoy spoke up to me so kind-like, “If you do like, I’ll treat ye wi’ a ride In theäse wheel-barrow here.” Zoo I wer blind-like To what he had […]
English Poetry. William Barnes. Second Collection. Ivy Hall. Уильям Барнс.
William Barnes (Уильям Барнс) Second Collection. Ivy Hall If I’ve a-stream’d below a storm, An’ not a-velt the raïn, An’ if I ever velt me warm, In snow upon the plaïn, ’Twer when, as evenèn skies wer dim, An’ vields below my eyes wer dim, I went alwone […]
English Poetry. William Barnes. Second Collection. Fifehead. Уильям Барнс.
William Barnes (Уильям Барнс) Second Collection. Fifehead ’Twer where my fondest thoughts do light, At Fifehead, while we spent the night; The millwheel’s restèn rim wer dry, An’ houn’s held up their evenèn cry; An’ lofty, drough the midnight sky, Above the vo’k, wi’ heavy heads, Asleep upon […]
English Poetry. William Barnes. Second Collection. Wold Friends a-met. Уильям Барнс.
William Barnes (Уильям Барнс) Second Collection. Wold Friends a-met Aye, vull my heart’s blood now do roll, An’ gaÿ do rise my happy soul, An’ well they mid, vor here our veet Avore woone vier ageän do meet; Vor you’ve avoun’ my feäce, to greet Wi’ welcome words […]
English Poetry. Patrick Brontë. Epistle to the Rev. J— B—, Whilst Journeying for the Recovery of His Health. Патрик Бронте.
Patrick Brontë (Патрик Бронте) Epistle to the Rev. J— B—, Whilst Journeying for the Recovery of His Health When warm’d with zeal, my rustic Muse Feels fluttering fain to tell her news, And paint her simple, lowly views With all her art, And, though in genius but obtuse, […]
English Poetry. Patrick Brontë. To the Rev. J. Gilpin, on His Improved Edition of the ”Pilgrim’S Progress”. Патрик Бронте.
Patrick Brontë (Патрик Бронте) To the Rev. J. Gilpin, on His Improved Edition of the ”Pilgrim’S Progress” When, Reverend Sir, your good design, To clothe our Pilgrim gravely fine, And give him gentler mien and gait, First reached my ear, his doubtful fate With dread suspense my mind […]
English Poetry. Francis Bret Harte. What the Bullet Sang. Фрэнсис Брет Гарт.
Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) What the Bullet Sang O joy of creation To be! O rapture to fly And be free! Be the battle lost or won, Though its smoke shall hide the sun, I shall find my love,–the one Born for me! I shall […]
English Poetry. Francis Bret Harte. Half an Hour before Supper. Фрэнсис Брет Гарт.
Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) Half an Hour before Supper “So she’s here, your unknown Dulcinea, the lady you met on the train, And you really believe she would know you if you were to meet her again?” “Of course,” he replied, “she would know me; […]
English Poetry. Francis Bret Harte. Telemachus Versus Mentor. Фрэнсис Брет Гарт.
Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) Telemachus Versus Mentor Don’t mind me, I beg you, old fellow,–I’ll do very well here alone; You must not be kept from your “German” because I’ve dropped in like a stone. Leave all ceremony behind you, leave all thought of aught but […]
English Poetry. Thomas Chatterton. On the Last Epiphany (Or Christ Coming to Judgment). Томас Чаттертон.
Thomas Chatterton (Томас Чаттертон) On the Last Epiphany (Or Christ Coming to Judgment) Behold! just coming from above, The judge, with majesty and love! The sky divides, and rolls away, T’admit him through the realms of day! The sun, astonished, hides its face, The moon and stars with […]
English Poetry. Francis Bret Harte. The Old Camp-Fire. Фрэнсис Брет Гарт.
Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) The Old Camp-Fire Now shift the blanket pad before your saddle back you fling, And draw your cinch up tighter till the sweat drops from the ring: We’ve a dozen miles to cover ere we reach the next divide. Our limbs […]
English Poetry. Francis Bret Harte. Address. Фрэнсис Брет Гарт.
Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) Address (OPENING OF THE CALIFORNIA THEATRE, SAN FRANCISCO, JANUARY 19, 1870) Brief words, when actions wait, are well: The prompter’s hand is on his bell; The coming heroes, lovers, kings, Are idly lounging at the wings; Behind the curtain’s mystic […]
English Poetry. Francis Bret Harte. The Two Ships. Фрэнсис Брет Гарт.
Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) The Two Ships As I stand by the cross on the lone mountain’s crest, Looking over the ultimate sea, In the gloom of the mountain a ship lies at rest, And one sails away from the lea: One spreads its white […]
English Poetry. Francis Bret Harte. Lone Mountain. Фрэнсис Брет Гарт.
Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) Lone Mountain (CEMETERY, SAN FRANCISCO) This is that hill of awe That Persian Sindbad saw,– The mount magnetic; And on its seaward face, Scattered along its base, The wrecks prophetic. Here come the argosies Blown by each idle breeze, To […]
English Poetry. Francis Bret Harte. On a Cone of the Big Trees. Фрэнсис Брет Гарт.
Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) On a Cone of the Big Trees (SEQUOIA GIGANTEA) Brown foundling of the Western wood, Babe of primeval wildernesses! Long on my table thou hast stood Encounters strange and rude caresses; Perchance contented with thy lot, Surroundings new, and curious faces, […]