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Poesie : in lingua inglese poesie > in lingua inglese

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So is it not with me as with that Muse (Sonet 21)

So is it not with me as with that Muse,
Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,
Making a couplement of proud compare,
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich germs,
With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O, let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fixed in heaven's air:
Let them say more that like of hearsay well;
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.

William Shakespeare

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To a common prostitute

Be composed-be at ease with me-I am Walt Whitman, liberal and lusty as Nature,
Not till the sun excludes you do I exclude you,
Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you and the leaves to rustle for you,
do my words refuse to glisten and rustle for you.

My girl I appoint with you an appointment, and I charge you that you make
preparation to be worthy to meet me,
And I charge you that you be patient and perfect till I come.

Till then I salute you with a significant look that you do not forget me.

Walt Whitman

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When thou commandest me to sing

When thou commandest me to sing it seems that my heart would break
with pride; and I look to thy face, and tears come to my eyes.

All that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweet
harmony and my adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on its
flight across the sea.

I know thou takest pleasure in my singing. I know that only as a
singer I come before thy presence.

I touch by the edge of the far-spreading wing of my song thy feet
which I could never aspire to reach.

Drunk with the joy of singing I forget myself and call thee friend who
art my lord.

Rabindranath Tagore

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Elysium is as far as to

Elysium is as far as to
The very nearest Room
If in that Room a Friend await
Felicity or Doom -
What fortitude the Soul contains,
That it can so endure
The accent of a coming Foot -
The opening of a Door -

Emily Dickinson

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Much Madness is divinest Sense

Much Madness is divinest Sense
To a discerning Eye
Much Sense the starkest Madness
'Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail
Assent and you are sane
Demur you're straightway dangerous
And handled with a Chain

Emily Dickinson

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