A poem by Alan Seeger (1888-1916)
To see the clouds his spirit yearned toward so
Over new mountains piled and unploughed waves,
Back of old-storied spires and architraves
To watch Arcturus rise or Fomalhaut,
And roused by street-cries in strange tongues when day
Flooded with gold some domed metropolis,
Between new towers to waken and new bliss
Spread on his pillow in a wondrous way:
These were his joys. Oft under bulging crates,
Coming to market with his morning load,
The peasant found him early on his road
To greet the sunrise at the city-gates,—
There where the meadows waken in its rays,
Golden with mist, and the great roads commence,
And backward, where the chimney-tops are dense,
Cathedral-arches glimmer through the haze.
White dunes that breaking show a strip of sea,
A plowman and his team against the blue
Swiss pastures musical with cowbells, too,
And poplar-lined canals in Picardie,
And coast-towns where the vultures back and forth
Sail in the clear depths of the tropic sky,
And swallows in the sunset where they fly
Over gray Gothic cities in the north,
And the wine-cellar and the chorus there,
The dance-hall and a face among the crowd,—
Were all delights that made him sing aloud
For joy to sojourn in a world so fair.
Back of his footsteps as he journeyed fell
Range after range; ahead blue hills emerged.
Before him tireless to applaud it surged
The sweet interminable spectacle.
And like the west behind a sundown sea
Shone the past joys his memory retraced,
And bright as the blue east he always faced
Beckoned the loves and joys that were to be.
From every branch a blossom for his brow
He gathered, singing down Life’s flower-lined road,
And youth impelled his spirit as he strode
Like winged Victory on the galley’s prow.
That Loveliness whose being sun and star,
Green Earth and dawn and amber evening robe,
That lamp whereof the opalescent globe
The season’s emulative splendors are,
That veiled divinity whose beams transpire
From every pore of universal space,
As the fair soul illumes the lovely face—
That was his guest, his passion, his desire.
His heart the love of Beauty held as hides
One gem most pure a casket of pure gold.
It was too rich a lesser thing to bold;
It was not large enough for aught besides.
A few random poems:
- Жан де Лафонтен – Две Козы
- Making Light Of It by Philip Levine
- Khan Zadas Song On The Hillside
- The Sudden Light And The Trees by Stephen Dunn
- Here War Is Simple by W H Auden
- English Poetry. Algernon Charles Swinburne. The Triumph of Time. Алджернон Чарльз Суинбёрн.
- Огюст Барбье – Сегодня я в пути
- I saw Old General at Bay. by Walt Whitman
- Stop Looking For Broken Heart Poems and Quotes and Win Your Ex Back Instead!
- Woman With Parasol by Martin Willitts Jr.
- Brown’s Descent by Robert Frost
- Arabian Night’s Entertainments by William Ernest Henley
- epitaph_for_our_children.html
- Николай Гумилев – Она говорила
- Before The World Was Made by William Butler Yeats
External links
Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus
Talking Writing Monster’s Page –
Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh
Poems in English
- Halo by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Grey eyed Goddess by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Everything ends by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Damned by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Compromising my ego by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Both ways I lose by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Blue flower by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Blue eyes by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Be there for me by Tanisha Avarsekar
- An ode to you by Tanisha Avarsekar
- What time are we living in by T. Wignesan
- Villanelle: Oscar Victorius by T. Wignesan
- To the author(s) of Manimekalai by T. Wignesan
- To Don Quixote, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s A Don Quichotte by T. Wignesan.
- To a woman, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s sonnet: A une femme by T. Wignesan.
- To a person, they say, frigid, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem: A celle que l’on fit froide by T. Wignesan
- The Virgin Maid of Orleans, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s sonnet: La Pucelle by T. Wignesan.
- The Evening Soup, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem: La Soupe du soir by T. Wignesan
- Prison Souvenirs, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem: Prière by T. Wignesan.
- Prayer, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem: Prière by T. Wignesan.
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
Search engines:
Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)
Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.
Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees
Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.
Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.
Parallel Translations of Poetry
The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works
Alan Seeger (1888-1916) was an American war poet who fought and died in World War I during the Battle of the Somme, serving in the French Foreign Legion. Seeger was the brother of Charles Seeger, a noted American pacifist and musicologist and the uncle of folk musician, Pete Seeger.