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Poesie : in lingua inglese poesie > in lingua inglese

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Don Juan But O ye lords of ladies intellectual, Inform us truly, have they not henpecked you all?

Byron

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The Rose Family

The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple's a rose,
And the pear is, and so's
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose-
But were always a rose.

Robert Frost

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O Me! O Life!

O me! O life! Of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, ( for who more foolish than I,
and who more faithless? )
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean,
of the struggle ever renew'd,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! So sad, recurring - What good amid these, O me, O life?

[ Answer ] That you are here - that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

Walt Whitman

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Contusion

Color floods to the spot, dull purple.
The rest of the body is all washed-out,
The color of pearl.

In a pit of a rock
The sea sucks obsessively,
One hollow thw whole sea's pivot.

The size of a fly,
The doom mark
Crawls down the wall.

The heart shuts,
The sea slides back,
The mirrors are sheeted.

Sylvia Plath

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Time

And an astronomer said, "Master, what of Time?"
And he answered:
You would measure time the measureless and the
immeasurable.
You would adjust your conduct and even direct the
course of your spirit according to hours and seasons.
Of time you would make a stream upon whose bank
you would sit and watch its flowing.
Yet the timeless in you is aware of life's timelessness,
And knows that yesterday is but today's memory and
tomorrow is today's dream.
And that which sings and contemplates in you is still
dwelling within the bounds of that first moment which
scattered the stars into space.
Who among you does not feel that his power to love is
boundless?
And yet who does not feel that very love, though
boundless, encompassed within the centre of his being,
and moving not from love thought to love thought, nor
from love deeds to other love deeds?
And is not time even as love is, undivided and
paceless?
But if in you thought you must measure time into
seasons, let each season encircle all the other seasons,
And let today embrace the past with remembrance and
the future with longing.

Kahlil Gibran

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