English Poetry. George Gordon Byron. Song to the Suliotes. Джордж Гордон Байрон. Песнь к сулиотам
George Gordon Byron (Джордж Гордон Байрон) Song to the Suliotes 1. Up to battle! Sons of Suli Up, and do your duty duly! There the wall—and there the Moat is: Bouwah! Bouwah! Suliotes! There is booty—there is Beauty, Up my boys and do your duty. 2. […]
English Poetry. Ella Wheeler Wilcox. A Wakeful Night. Элла Уилкокс.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox (Элла Уилкокс) A Wakeful Night In the dark and the gloom when winds were fretting Like restless children worn out with play, I said to my heart, ’This task, forgetting– Is harder now than it is by day. For a hungry love that hides from […]
English Poetry. Francis Bret Harte. The Ballad of Mr. Cooke. Фрэнсис Брет Гарт.
Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) The Ballad of Mr. Cooke (LEGEND OF THE CLIFF HOUSE, SAN FRANCISCO) Where the sturdy ocean breeze Drives the spray of roaring seas, That the Cliff House balconies Overlook: There, in spite of rain that balked, With his sandals duly chalked, […]
English Poetry. Francis Bret Harte. To the Pliocene Skull. Фрэнсис Брет Гарт.
Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) To the Pliocene Skull (A GEOLOGICAL ADDRESS) ”Speak, O man, less recent! Fragmentary fossil! Primal pioneer of pliocene formation, Hid in lowest drifts below the earliest stratum Of volcanic tufa! ”Older than the beasts, the oldest Palaeotherium; Older than the […]
English Poetry. Francis Bret Harte. Before the Curtain. Фрэнсис Брет Гарт.
Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) Before the Curtain Behind the footlights hangs the rusty baize, A trifle shabby in the upturned blaze Of flaring gas and curious eyes that gaze. The stage, methinks, perhaps is none too wide, And hardly fit for royal Richard’s stride, […]
English Poetry. Francis Bret Harte. Her Last Letter. Фрэнсис Брет Гарт.
Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) Her Last Letter BEING A REPLY TO ”HIS ANSWER” June 4th! Do you know what that date means? June 4th! By this air and these pines! Well,–only you know how I hate scenes,– These might be my very last lines! For […]
English Poetry. Francis Bret Harte. Lines to a Portrait, by a Superior Person. Фрэнсис Брет Гарт.
Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) Lines to a Portrait, by a Superior Person When I bought you for a song, Years ago–Lord knows how long!– I was struck–I may be wrong– By your features, And–a something in your air That I couldn’t quite compare To my […]
English Poetry. Francis Bret Harte. The Birds of Cirencester. Фрэнсис Брет Гарт.
Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) The Birds of Cirencester Did I ever tell you, my dears, the way That the birds of Cisseter–”Cisseter!” eh? Well ”Ciren-cester”–one OUGHT to say, From ”Castra,” or ”Caster,” As your Latin master Will further explain to you some day; Though even […]
English Poetry. Francis Bret Harte. On William Francis Bartlett. Фрэнсис Брет Гарт.
Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) On William Francis Bartlett DEAD AT PITTSFIELD, MASS., 1876 O poor Romancer–thou whose printed page, Filled with rude speech and ruder forms of strife, Was given to heroes in whose vulgar rage No trace appears of gentler ways and life!– […]
English Poetry. Francis Bret Harte. ”Crotalus”. Фрэнсис Брет Гарт.
Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) ”Crotalus” (RATTLESNAKE BAR, SIERRAS) No life in earth, or air, or sky; The sunbeams, broken silently, On the bared rocks around me lie,– Cold rocks with half-warmed lichens scarred, And scales of moss; and scarce a yard Away, one long […]
English Poetry. Francis Bret Harte. The Mission Bells of Monterey. Фрэнсис Брет Гарт.
Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) The Mission Bells of Monterey O bells that rang, O bells that sang Above the martyrs’ wilderness, Till from that reddened coast-line sprang The Gospel seed to cheer and bless, What are your garnered sheaves to-day? O Mission bells! Eleison bells! […]
English Poetry. Gilbert Keith Chesterton. A Cider Song. Гилберт Кит Честертон.
Gilbert Keith Chesterton (Гилберт Кит Честертон) A Cider Song To J.S.M. The wine they drink in Paradise They make in Haute Lorraine; God brought it burning from the sod To be a sign and signal rod That they that drink the blood of God Shall never thirst […]
English Poetry. Francis Bret Harte. The Station-Master of Lone Prairie. Фрэнсис Брет Гарт.
Francis Bret Harte (Фрэнсис Брет Гарт) The Station-Master of Lone Prairie An empty bench, a sky of grayest etching, A bare, bleak shed in blackest silhouette, Twelve years of platform, and before them stretching Twelve miles of prairie glimmering through the wet. North, south, east, west,–the […]
English Poetry. Thomas Hardy. The Echo-Elf Answers. Томас Гарди (Харди).
Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) The Echo-Elf Answers How much shall I love her? For life, or not long? ‘Not long.’ Alas! When forget her? In years, or by June? ‘By June.’ And whom woo I after? No one, or a throng? ‘A throng.’ Of […]
English Poetry. Thomas Hardy. To a Sea-Cliff. Томас Гарди (Харди).
Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) To a Sea-Cliff (Durlston Head) Lend me an ear While I read you here A page from your history, Old cliff – not known To your solid stone, Yet yours inseparably. Near to your crown There once sat down A silent […]
English Poetry. Thomas Hardy. An Expostulation. Томас Гарди (Харди).
Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) An Expostulation Why want to go afar Where pitfalls are, When all we swains adore Your featness more and more As heroine of our artless masquings here, And count few Wessex’ daughters half so dear? Why paint your appealing face, When its […]
English Poetry. Thomas Hardy. Retty’s Phases. Томас Гарди (Харди).
Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) Retty’s Phases I Retty used to shake her head, Look with wicked eye; Say, ‘I’d tease you, simple Ned, If I cared to try!’ Then she’d hot-up scarlet red, Stilly step away, Much afraid that what she’d said Sounded bold to say. […]
English Poetry. Thomas Hardy. The Sheep-Boy. Томас Гарди (Харди).
Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) The Sheep-Boy A yawning, sunned concave Of purple, spread as an ocean wave Entroughed on a morning of swell and sway After a night when wind-fiends have been heard to rave: Thus was the Heath called ‘Draäts’, on an August day. Suddenly […]
English Poetry. Thomas Hardy. The Thing Unplanned. Томас Гарди (Харди).
Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) The Thing Unplanned The white winter sun struck its stroke on the bridge, The meadow-rills rippled and gleamed As I left the thatched post-office, just by the ridge, And dropped in my pocket her long tender letter, With: ‘This must be snapped! it […]
English Poetry. Thomas Hardy. Under High-Stoy Hill. Томас Гарди (Харди).
Thomas Hardy (Томас Гарди (Харди)) Under High-Stoy Hill Four climbed High-Stoy from Ivelwards, Where hedge meets hedge, and cart-ruts wind, Chattering like birds, And knowing not what lay behind. We laughed beneath the moonlight blink, Said supper would be to our mind, And did not think Of […]
English Poetry. Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Why Should We Sigh. Элла Уилкокс.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox (Элла Уилкокс) Why Should We Sigh Why should we sigh o’er a summer that’s dead– Let us think of the summer to be. It always better to look ahead, For the rose will come again just as red And just as fair to see. […]
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 […]