English Poetry. Eugene Field. A Piteous Plaint. Юджин Филд.
Eugene Field (Юджин Филд) A Piteous Plaint I cannot eat my porridge, I weary of my play; No longer can I sleep at night, No longer romp by day! Though forty pounds was once my weight, I’m shy of thirty now; I pine, I wither and I fade […]
English Poetry. Eugene Field. The Straw Parlor. Юджин Филд.
Eugene Field (Юджин Филд) The Straw Parlor Way up at the top of a big stack of straw Was the cunningest parlor that ever you saw! And there could you lie when aweary of play And gossip or laze in the coziest way; No matter how careworn or […]
English Poetry. Eugene Field. The Bow-Leg Boy. Юджин Филд.
Eugene Field (Юджин Филд) The Bow-Leg Boy Who should come up the road one day But the doctor-man in his two-wheel shay! And he whoaed his horse and he cried “Ahoy! I have brought you folks a bow-leg boy! Such a cute little boy! Such a funny little […]
English Poetry. Eugene Field. The Limitations of Youth. Юджин Филд.
Eugene Field (Юджин Филд) The Limitations of Youth I’d like to be a cowboy an’ ride a fiery hoss Way out into the big an’ boundless west; I’d kill the bears an’ catamounts an’ wolves I come across, An’ I’d pluck the bal’ head eagle from his nest! […]
English Poetry. Eugene Field. A Drinking Song. Юджин Филд.
Eugene Field (Юджин Филд) A Drinking Song Come, brothers, share the fellowship We celebrate to-night; There’s grace of song on every lip And every heart is light! But first, before our mentor chimes The hour of jubilee, Let’s drink a health to good old times, And good times […]
English Poetry. William Ernest Henley. London Voluntaries. 3. Scherzando. Уильям Эрнст Хенли.
William Ernest Henley (Уильям Эрнст Хенли) London Voluntaries. 3. Scherzando Down through the ancient Strand The spirit of October, mild and boon And sauntering, takes his way This golden end of afternoon, As though the corn stood yellow in all the land, And the ripe apples dropped to […]
English Poetry. Walter Scott. The Return to Ulster. Вальтер Скотт.
Walter Scott (Вальтер Скотт) The Return to Ulster Once again,- but how chang’d since my wand’rings began- I have heard the deep voice of the Lagan and Bann, And the pines of Clanbrasil resound to the roar That wearies the echoes of fair Tullamore. Alas! My poor bosom, […]
English Poetry. William Ernest Henley. Echoes. 43. Friends . . . Old Friends . . .. Уильям Эрнст Хенли.
William Ernest Henley (Уильям Эрнст Хенли) Echoes. 43. Friends . . . Old Friends . . . Friends . . . old friends . . . One sees how it ends. A woman looks Or a man tells lies, And the pleasant brooks And the quiet skies, Ruined […]
English Poetry. William Ernest Henley. Echoes. 37. Or Ever the Knightly Years Were Gone. Уильям Эрнст Хенли.
William Ernest Henley (Уильям Эрнст Хенли) Echoes. 37. Or Ever the Knightly Years Were Gone To W. A. Or ever the knightly years were gone With the old world to the grave, I was a King in Babylon And you were a Christian Slave. I saw, […]
English Poetry. William Ernest Henley. Echoes. 31. O, Have You Blessed, behind the Stars. Уильям Эрнст Хенли.
William Ernest Henley (Уильям Эрнст Хенли) Echoes. 31. O, Have You Blessed, behind the Stars O, have you blessed, behind the stars, The blue sheen in the skies, When June the roses round her calls?— Then do you know the light that falls From her belovèd eyes. […]
English Poetry. William Ernest Henley. Echoes. 27. She Sauntered by the Swinging Seas. Уильям Эрнст Хенли.
William Ernest Henley (Уильям Эрнст Хенли) Echoes. 27. She Sauntered by the Swinging Seas She sauntered by the swinging seas, A jewel glittered at her ear, And, teasing her along, the breeze Brought many a rounded grace more near. So passing, one with wave and beam, She […]
English Poetry. William Ernest Henley. Echoes. 23. The Skies Are Strown with Stars. Уильям Эрнст Хенли.
William Ernest Henley (Уильям Эрнст Хенли) Echoes. 23. The Skies Are Strown with Stars The skies are strown with stars, The streets are fresh with dew A thin moon drifts to westward, The night is hushed and cheerful. My thought is quick with you. Near windows gleam […]
English Poetry. William Ernest Henley. Echoes. 21. We Flash across the Level. Уильям Эрнст Хенли.
William Ernest Henley (Уильям Эрнст Хенли) Echoes. 21. We Flash across the Level We flash across the level. We thunder thro’ the bridges. We bicker down the cuttings. We sway along the ridges. A rush of streaming hedges, Of jostling lights and shadows, Of hurtling, hurrying stations, […]
English Poetry. William Schwenck Gilbert. The Bab Ballads. Gentle Alice Brown. Уильям Швенк Гильберт.
William Schwenck Gilbert (Уильям Швенк Гильберт) The Bab Ballads. Gentle Alice Brown It was a robber’s daughter, and her name was Alice Brown, Her father was the terror of a small Italian town; Her mother was a foolish, weak, but amiable old thing; But it isn’t of her […]
English Poetry. William Schwenck Gilbert. The Bab Ballads. To the Terrestrial Globe. Уильям Швенк Гильберт.
William Schwenck Gilbert (Уильям Швенк Гильберт) The Bab Ballads. To the Terrestrial Globe BY A MISERABLE WRETCH Roll on, thou ball, roll on! Through pathless realms of Space Roll on! What though I’m in a sorry case? What though I cannot meet my bills? What though I […]
English Poetry. William Schwenck Gilbert. The Bab Ballads. Joe Golightly; or, the First Lord’s Daughter. Уильям Швенк Гильберт.
William Schwenck Gilbert (Уильям Швенк Гильберт) The Bab Ballads. Joe Golightly; or, the First Lord’s Daughter A tar, but poorly prized, Long, shambling, and unsightly, Thrashed, bullied, and despised, Was wretched Joe Golightly. He bore a workhouse brand; No Pa or Ma had claimed him, The Beadle […]
English Poetry. William Schwenck Gilbert. The Bab Ballads. The Three Kings of Chickeraboo. Уильям Швенк Гильберт.
William Schwenck Gilbert (Уильям Швенк Гильберт) The Bab Ballads. The Three Kings of Chickeraboo There were three niggers of Chickeraboo— Pacifico, Bang-bang, Popchop—who Exclaimed, one terribly sultry day, “Oh, let’s be kings in a humble way.” The first was a highly-accomplished “bones,” The next elicited banjo tones, […]
English Poetry. Walter Scott. It Was an English Ladye Bright. Вальтер Скотт.
Walter Scott (Вальтер Скотт) * * * It was an English ladye bright, (The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) And she would marry a Scottish knight, For Love will still be lord of all. Blithely they saw the rising sun When he shone fair on Carlisle […]
English Poetry. Richard Watson Gilder. The New Day. Part 3. 30. The Sower. Ричард Уотсон Гилдер.
Richard Watson Gilder (Ричард Уотсон Гилдер) The New Day. Part 3. 30. The Sower I A sower went forth to sow; His eyes were dark with woe; He crusht the flowers beneath his feet, Nor smelt the perfume, warm and sweet, That prayed for pity everywhere. He […]
English Poetry. Richard Watson Gilder. The New Day. Part 3. 29. The Unknown Way. Ричард Уотсон Гилдер.
Richard Watson Gilder (Ричард Уотсон Гилдер) The New Day. Part 3. 29. The Unknown Way Two travelers met upon a plain Where two straight, narrow pathways crossed; They met and, with a still surprise, They looked into each other’s eyes And knew that never, O, never again! Could […]
English Poetry. Richard Watson Gilder. The New Day. Part 3. 28. Francesca and Paolo. Ричард Уотсон Гилдер.
Richard Watson Gilder (Ричард Уотсон Гилдер) The New Day. Part 3. 28. Francesca and Paolo Within the second dolorous circle where The lost are whirled, lamenting—thou and I Stood, Love, to-day with Dante. Silently We looked upon the black and trembling air; When lo! from […]
English Poetry. Richard Watson Gilder. The New Day. Part 3. 27. “The Smile of Her I Love Is Like the Dawn”. Ричард Уотсон Гилдер.
Richard Watson Gilder (Ричард Уотсон Гилдер) The New Day. Part 3. 27. “The Smile of Her I Love Is Like the Dawn” The smile of her I love is like the dawn Whose touch makes Memnon sing. O, see where wide the golden sunlight flows— The barren desert […]
English Poetry. Richard Watson Gilder. The New Day. Part 3. 26. “What Can Love Do for Thee, Love?”. Ричард Уотсон Гилдер.
Richard Watson Gilder (Ричард Уотсон Гилдер) The New Day. Part 3. 26. “What Can Love Do for Thee, Love?” What can love do for thee, Love? Can it make the green fields greener; Bluer the skies, and bluer The eyes of the blue-eyed flowers? Can it make the […]
English Poetry. Richard Watson Gilder. The New Day. Part 3. 25. A Birthday Song. Ричард Уотсон Гилдер.
Richard Watson Gilder (Ричард Уотсон Гилдер) The New Day. Part 3. 25. A Birthday Song I thought this day to bring to thee A flower that grows on the red rose tree. I searched the branches—O, despair! Of roses every branch was bare. I thought to sing […]
English Poetry. Robert Herrick. To Perenna. Роберт Геррик (Херрик).
Robert Herrick (Роберт Геррик (Херрик)) To Perenna When I thy parts run o’er, I can’t espy In any one, the least indecency; But every line and limb diffused thence A fair and unfamiliar excellence; So that the more I look, the more I prove There’s still more cause […]
English Poetry. Robert Herrick. To Dianeme (I could but see thee yesterday). Роберт Геррик (Херрик).
Robert Herrick (Роберт Геррик (Херрик)) To Dianeme (I could but see thee yesterday) I could but see thee yesterday Stung by a fretful bee; And I the javelin suck’d away, And heal’d the wound in thee. A thousand thorns, and briars, and stings I have in my […]
English Poetry. Robert Herrick. Upon Love (I held Love’s head while it did ache). Роберт Геррик (Херрик).
Robert Herrick (Роберт Геррик (Херрик)) Upon Love (I held Love’s head while it did ache) I held Love’s head while it did ache; But so it chanced to be, The cruel pain did his forsake, And forthwith came to me. Ai me! how shall my grief be […]
English Poetry. Mary Wortley Montagu. John Duke of Marlborough. Мэри Уортли Монтегю.
Mary Wortley Montagu (Мэри Уортли Монтегю) John Duke of Marlborough When the proud Frenchman’s strong rapacious hand Spread o’er Europe ruin and command, Our sinking temples and expiring law With trembling dread the rolling tempest saw; Destin’d a province to insulting Gaul, This genius rose, and stopp’d the […]
English Poetry. Walter Scott. Coronach. Вальтер Скотт.
Walter Scott (Вальтер Скотт) Coronach He is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest. The font, reappearing, From the rain-drops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow! The hand […]
English Poetry. Mary Wortley Montagu. A Ballad. Мэри Уортли Монтегю.
Mary Wortley Montagu (Мэри Уортли Монтегю) A Ballad To that dear nymph, whose pow’rful name Does every throbbing nerve inflame (As the soft sound I low repeat, My pulse unequal measures beat), Whose eyes I never more shall see, That once so sweetly shin’d on thee; Go, gentle […]
English Poetry. Mary Wortley Montagu. Town Eclogues: Thursday; the Bassette-Table. Мэри Уортли Монтегю.
Mary Wortley Montagu (Мэри Уортли Монтегю) Town Eclogues: Thursday; the Bassette-Table CARDELIA. The bassette-table spread, the tallier come, Why stays SMILINDA in the dressing-room? Rise, pensive nymph! the tallier stays for you. SMILINDA. Ah! Madam, since my SHARPER is untrue, I joyless make my once […]
English Poetry. Mary Wortley Montagu. Town Eclogues: Wednesday; the Tête à Tête. Мэри Уортли Монтегю.
Mary Wortley Montagu (Мэри Уортли Монтегю) Town Eclogues: Wednesday; the Tête à Tête DANCINDA. “NO, fair DANCINDA, no; you strive in vain “To calm my care and mitigate my pain; “If all my sighs, my cares, can fail to move, “Ah! sooth me not with fruitless vows […]
English Poetry. Mary Wortley Montagu. Answered, for Lord William Hamilton. Мэри Уортли Монтегю.
Mary Wortley Montagu (Мэри Уортли Монтегю) Answered, for Lord William Hamilton Good Madam, when ladies are willing, A man must needs look like a fool; For me, I would not give a shilling For one who would love out of rule. You should leave us to guess by […]
English Poetry. Mary Wortley Montagu. Epistle to Lord Hervey on the King’s Birthday from the Country. Мэри Уортли Монтегю.
Mary Wortley Montagu (Мэри Уортли Монтегю) Epistle to Lord Hervey on the King’s Birthday from the Country Where I enjoy in contemplative chamber, Lutes, laurels, seas of milk, and ships of amber. Through shining crowds you now make way, With sideling bow and golden key; While wrapped […]
English Poetry. Mary Wortley Montagu. Epistle from Arthur Grey, the Footman, to Mrs. Murray, after His Condemnation for Attempting to Comm. Мэри Уортли Монтегю.
Mary Wortley Montagu (Мэри Уортли Монтегю) Epistle from Arthur Grey, the Footman, to Mrs. Murray, after His Condemnation for Attempting to Comm Read, lovely nymph, and tremble not to read, I have no more to wish, nor you to dread; I ask not life, for life to me […]
English Poetry. Mary Wortley Montagu. Town Eclogues: Monday; Roxana, or the Drawing-Room. Мэри Уортли Монтегю.
Mary Wortley Montagu (Мэри Уортли Монтегю) Town Eclogues: Monday; Roxana, or the Drawing-Room Roxana from the court retiring late, Sigh’d her soft sorrows at St. JAMES’s gate: Such heavy thoughts lay brooding in her breast, Not her own chairmen wth more weight opprest; They groan the cruel load […]
English Poetry. Mary Wortley Montagu. An Epistle from Pope to Lord Bolingbroke. Мэри Уортли Монтегю.
Mary Wortley Montagu (Мэри Уортли Монтегю) An Epistle from Pope to Lord Bolingbroke Confess, dear Laelius! pious, just, and wise, Some self-content does in that bosom rise, When you reflect, as sure you sometimes must, What talents Heaven does to thy virtue trust, While with contempt you view […]
English Poetry. Mary Wortley Montagu. Town Eclogues: Saturday; the Small-Pox. Мэри Уортли Монтегю.
Mary Wortley Montagu (Мэри Уортли Монтегю) Town Eclogues: Saturday; the Small-Pox FLAVIA. The wretched FLAVIA on her couch reclin’d, Thus breath’d the anguish of a wounded mind; A glass revers’d in her right hand she bore, For now she shun’d the face she sought before. ‘How […]
English Poetry. Mary Wortley Montagu. A Summary of Lord Lyttleton’s Advice to a Lady. Мэри Уортли Монтегю.
Mary Wortley Montagu (Мэри Уортли Монтегю) A Summary of Lord Lyttleton’s Advice to a Lady Be plain in dress, and sober in your diet, In short, my deary, kiss me! and be quiet. Mary Wortley Montagu’s other poems: Town Eclogues: Wednesday; the Tête à Tête An Elegy on […]
English Poetry. Walter Scott. My Native Land. Вальтер Скотт.
Walter Scott (Вальтер Скотт) My Native Land Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d, As home his footsteps he hath turn’d From wandering on a foreign strand! […]