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Poesie : in lingua inglese poesie > in lingua inglese

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The time that my journey takes is long

The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it long.

I came out on the chariot of the first gleam of light, and pursued my
voyage through the wildernesses of worlds leaving my track on many a
star and planet.

It is the most distant course that comes nearest to thyself, and that
training is the most intricate which leads to the utter simplicity of
a tune.

The traveller has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and
one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost
shrine at the end.

My eyes strayed far and wide before I shut them and said `Here art
thou!'

The question and the cry `Oh, where?' melt into tears of a thousand
streams and deluge the world with the flood of the assurance `I am!'

Rabindranath Tagore

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To the river

Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow
Of crystal, wandering water,
Thou art an emblem of the glow
Of beauty- the unhidden heart-
The playful maziness of art
In old Alberto's daughter;
But when within thy wave she looks-
Which glistens then, and trembles-
Why, then, the prettiest of brooks
Her worshipper resembles;
For in his heart, as in thy stream,
Her image deeply lies-
His heart which trembles at the beam
Of her soul-searching eyes.

Edgar Allan Poe

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Poets to Come

Poets to come! Orators, singers, musicians to come!
Not to-day is to justify me and answer what I am for,
but you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before known,
Arouse! For you must justify me.

I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future,
I but advance a moment only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness,

I am a man who, sauntering along without fully stopping, turns a casual look upon you
And then averts his face,
Leaving it to you to prove and define it,
Expecting the main things from you.

Walt Whitman

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Laws

Then a lawyer said, "But what of our Laws, master?"
And he answered:
You delight in laying down laws,
Yet you delight more in breaking them.
Like children playing by the ocean who build sand-towers
with constancy and then destroy them with
laughter.
But while you build your sand-towers the ocean brings
more sand to the shore,
And when you destroy them, the ocean laughs with
you.
Verily the ocean laughs always with the innocent.
But what of those to whom life is not an ocean, and
man-made laws are not sand-towers,
But to whom life is a rock, and the law a chisel with
which they would carve it in their own likeness?
What of the cripple who hates dancers?
What of the ox who loves his yoke and deems the elk
and deer of the forest stray and vagrant things?
What of the old serpent who cannot shed his skin, and
calls all others naked and shameless?
And of him who comes early to the wedding-feast, and
when over-fed and tired goes his way saying that all
feasts are violation and all feasters law-breakers?
What shall I say of these save that they too stand in the
sunlight, but with their backs to the sun?
They see only their shadows, and their shadows are
their laws.
And what is the sun to them but a caster of shadows?
And what is it to acknowledge the laws but to stoop
down and trace their shadows upon the earth?
But you who walk facing the sun, what images drawn
on the earth can hold you?
You who travel with the wind, what weathervane shall
direct your course?
What man's law shall bind you if you break your yoke
but upon no man's prison door?
What laws shall you fear if you dance but stumble
against no man's iron chains?
And who is he that shall bring you to judgment if you
tear off your garment yet leave it in no man's path?
People of Orphalese, you can muffle the drum, and you
can loosen the strings of the lyre, but who shall
command the skylark not to sing ?

Kahlil Gibran

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A Lyric

If space and time, as sages say,
Are things that cannot be,
The fly that lives a single day
Has lived as long as we.
But let us live while yet me may,
While love and life are free,
For time is time, and runs away,
Thought sages disagree.

The flowers I sent thee when the dew
Was trembling on the vine
Were withered ere the wild bee flew
To suck the eglantine.
But let us to pluck anew
Nor mourn to see them pine,
And though the flowers of life be few
Yet let them be devine.

Thomas Stern Eliot

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