Poeme de dragoste din literatura engleza

Poeme de dragoste din literatura engleza

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I Lost A World by Emily Dickinson I lost a world the other day. Has anybody found? You?ll know it by the row of stars Around its forehead bound. A rich man might not notice it; Yet to my frugal eye Of more esteem than ducats. Oh, find it, Sir, for me! Maybe by Carl Sandburg Maybe he believes me, maybe not. Maybe I can marry him, maybe not. Maybe the wind on the prairie, The wind on the sea, maybe, Somebody, somewhere, maybe can tell. I will lay my head on his shoulder And when he asks me I will say yes, Maybe. I Have No Life But This by Emily Dickinson I have no life but this, To lead it here; Nor any death, but lest Dispelled from there; Nor tie to earths to come, Nor action new, Except through this extent, The Realm of You! Music, When Soft Voices Die by Percy Bysshe Shelley Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory -- Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap'd for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts when thou are gone, Love itself shall slumber on. I Taste a Liquor by Emily Dickinson I taste a liquor never brewed From Tankards scooped in Pearl. Not all the vats upon the Rhine Yield such an alcohol! Inebriate of air - am I And Debauchee of Dew. Reeling - thro endless summer days From inns of molten blue. When "Landlords" turn the drunken bee Out of the foxglove's door - When butterflies - renounce their "drams" I shall but drink the more! Till seraphs swing their snowy hats And saints - to windows run To see the little Tippler Leaning against the - sun Wild Nights by Emily Dickinson Wild nights. Wild nights! Were I with thee, Wild nights should be Our luxury! Futile the winds To a heart in port Done with the compass Done with the chart. Rowing in Eden. Ah, the sea. Might I but moor Tonight with thee! The Lake by Edgar Allen Poe In spring of youth it was my lot To haunt of the wide world a spot The which I could not love the less-- So lovely was the loneliness, Of a wild lake, with black rock bound And the tall pines that towered around. But when the Night had thrown her pall Upon that spot, as upon all, And the mystic wind went by Murmuring in melody-- Then- ah then I would awake To the terror of the lone lake. Yet, that terror was not fright But a tremulous delight-- A feeling not the jewelled mine Could teach or bribe me to define-- Nor Love- although the Love were thine. Death was in that poisonous wave And in its gulf a fitting grave For him who thence could solace bring To his lone imagining-- Whose solitary soul could make An Eden of that dim lake.Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost Whose woods these are I think I know; His house is in the village, though. He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year.

DESCARCA