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Poesie : in lingua inglese

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Impression Le Réveillon

The sky is laced with fitful red,
The circling mists and shadows flee,
The dawn is rising from the sea,
Like a white lady from her bed.

And jagged brazen arrows fall
Athwart the feathers of the night,
And a long wave of yellow light
Breaks silently on tower and hall,

And spreading wide across the wold,
Wakes into flight some fluttering bird,
And all the chestnut tops are stirred,
And all the branches streaked with gold.

Oscar Wilde

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Mrs. Benjamin Pantier


I know that he told that I snared his soul
With a snare which bled him to death.
And all the men loved him,
And most of the women pitied him.
But suppose you are really a lady, and have delicate tastes,
And loathe the smell of whiskey and onions.
And the rhythm of Wordsworth’s Ode runs in your ears,
While he goes about from morning till night
Repeating bits of that common thing:
“Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?”
And then, suppose:
You are a woman well endowed,
And the only man with whom the law and morality
Permit you to have the marital relation
Is the very man that fills you with disgust
Every time you think of it — while you think of it
Every time you sec him?
That’s why I drove him away from home
To live with his dog in a dingy room
Back of his office.

Edgar Lee Masters

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Sarah Brown

Maurice, weep not, I am not here under this pine tree.
The balmy air for spring whispers through the sweet grass,
The stars sparkle, the whippoorwill calls,
But thou grievest, while my soul lies rapturous
In the blest Nirvana of eternal light!
Go to the good heart that is my husband,
Who broods upon what he calls our guilty love: —
Tell him that my love for you, no less than my love for him,
Wrought out my destiny — that through the flesh
I won spirit, and through spirit, peace.
There is no marriage in heaven,
But there is love.

Edgar Lee Masters

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What is your substance, whereof are you made (Sonnet 53)

What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That milions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since every one hath, every one, one shade,
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you;
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new:
Speak of spring and foison of the year,
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear;
And you every blesséd shape you know.
In all external grace you have some part,
But you like none, non you, for constant heart.

William Shakespeare

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Dorcas Gustine

I was not beloved of the villagers,
But all because I spoke my mind,
And met those who transgressed against me
With plain remonstrance, hiding nor nurturing Nor secret griefs nor grudges.
That act of the Spartan boy is greatly praised,
Who hid the wolf under his cloak,
Letting it devour him, uncomplainingly.
It is braver, I think, to snatch the wolf forth
And fight him openly, even in the street,
Amid dust and howls of pain.
The tongue may be an unruly member —
But silence poisons the soul.
Berate me who will — I am content.

Edgar Lee Masters

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