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Poesie : in lingua inglese

Poesie : in lingua inglese

poesie > in lingua inglese


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Cants thou, O cruel, say I love thee not (Sonnet 149)

Cants thou, O cruel, say I love thee not,
When I against myself with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee when I forgot
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake?
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend;
On whom frown'st thou that I do found upon?
Nay, if thou lour'st on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself moan?
What merit do I in myself respect
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy eyes?
But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind
Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind.

William Shakespeare

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I'm happiest when most away

I'm happiest when most away
I can bear my soul from its home of clay
on a windy night when the moon is bright
and the eye can wander through worlds of light

When I am not and none beside
nor earth nor sea nor cloudless sky
but only spirit wandering wide
through infinite immensity.

Emily Brontė

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La Figlia Che Piange O quam te memorem virgo

Stand on the highest pavement of the stair
Lean on a garden urn
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair
Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise
Fling them to the ground and turn
With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:
But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.

So I would have had him leave,
So I would have had her stand and grieve,
So he would have left
As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised,
As the mind deserts the body it has used.
I should find
Some way incomparably light and deft,
Some way we both should understand,
Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of the hand.

She turned away, but with the autumn weather
Compelled my imagination many days,
Many days and many hours:
Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.
And I wonder how they should have been together!
I should have lost a gesture and a pose.
Sometimes these cogitations still amaze
The troubled midnight and the noon's repose.

Thomas Stern Eliot

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Elizabeth

Elizabeth, it surely is most fit
[Logic and common usage so commanding]
In thy own book that first thy name be writ,
Zeno and other sages notwithstanding;
And I have other reasons for so doing
Besides my innate love of contradiction;
Each poet - if a poet - in pursuing
The muses thro' their bowers of Truth or Fiction,
Has studied very little of his part,
Read nothing, written less - in short's a fool
Endued with neither soul, nor sense, nor art,
Being ignorant of one important rule,
Employed in even the theses of the school-
Called - I forget the heathenish Greek name
[Called anything, its meaning is the same]
"Always write first things uppermost in the heart."

Edgar Allan Poe

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As an unperfect actor on the stage (Sonnet 23)

As an unperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put beside his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weahens his own heart:
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might,
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.
O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine writ.

William Shakespeare

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