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Poesie : in lingua inglese poesie > in lingua inglese

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Good Morning, Midnight

Good Morning Midnight
I'm coming Home
Day got tired of Me
How could I of Him?

Sunshine was a sweet place
I liked to stay
But Morn didn't want me now
So Goodnight Day!

I can look can't I
When the East is Red?
The Hills have a way then
That puts the Heart abroad

You are not so fair Midnight
I chose Day
But please take a little Girl
He turned away!

Emily Dickinson

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That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect (Sonnet 70)

That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect,
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair,
The ornament of beauty is suspect
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
So thou be good, slander doth but approve
Thy worth the greater, being wooed of time;
For canker-vice the sweetest buds doth love,
And thou present'st a pure unstainèd prime
Thou hast passed by the ambush of young days
Either not assailed, or victor being charged;
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise,
To tie up ebvy vermore enlarged.
If some suspect of ill masked not shy show,
Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe.

William Shakespeare

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Wild Nights

Wild Nights - Wild Nights!
Were I 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 -
In thee!

Emily Dickinson

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Evening star

'Twas noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold- too cold for me-
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.

Edgar Allan Poe

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I Held a Jewel

I held a jewel in my fingers
And went to sleep
The day was warm, and winds were prosy
I said, "Twill keep"

I woke - and chide my honest fingers,
The Gem was gone
And now, an Amethyst remembrance
Is all I own

Emily Dickinson

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