Poems of American and English writers
учебно-методический материал по английскому языку по теме

Сара Фуллер Флауэр Адамс/ Sarah Fuller Flower Adams, (22 февраля 1805 — 14 августа 1848) — английская поэтесса.

O Love! thou makest all things even
In earth or heaven;
Finding thy way through prison-bars
Up to the stars;
Or, true to the Almighty plan,
That out of dust created man,
Thou lookest in a grave,--to see
Thine immortality!

Льюис Кэрролл/ Lewis Carroll, (1832—1898) — английский поэт и писатель.

How Doth the Little Crocodile

How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in,
With gently smiling jaws!

Эмили Элизабет Дикинсон/ Emily Elizabeth Dickinson, (10 декабря, 1830 — 15 мая 1886) — американская поэтесса

Alone, I cannot be

Alone, I cannot be
For Hosts do visit me
Recordless Company
Who baffle Key

They have no Robes, nor Names
No Almanacs nor Climes
But general Homes
Like Gnomes

Their Coming, may be known
By Couriers within
Their going is not
For they've never gone

Chartless

I never saw a moor,
I never saw the sea;
Yet now I know how the heather looks,
And what a wave must be.

I never spoke with God,
Nor visited in Heaven;
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the chart were given.

Джеймс Мёрсер Лэнгстон Хьюз/ James Mercer Langston Hughes, (1 февраля 1902 — 22 мая 1967) — американский поэт, прозаик, драматург.

Ardella

I would liken you
To a night without stars
Were it not for your eyes.
I would liken you
To a sleep without dreams
Were it not for your songs.

Catch

Big Boy came
Carrying a mermaid
On his shoulders
And the mermaid
Had her tail
Curved
Beneath his arm.

Being a fisher boy,
He’d found a fish
To carry—
Half fish,
Half girl
To marry.

Dream Deferred

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?

  Dreams

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

Генри Уодсворт Лонгфелло/ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, (27 февраля 1807 — 24 марта 1882) - американский поэт.

Jugurtha

How cold are thy baths, Apollo!
Cried the African monarch, the splendid,
As down to his death in the hollow
Dark dungeons of Rome he descended,
Uncrowned, unthroned, unattended;
How cold are thy baths, Apollo!

. Рэндалл Джаррелл/ Randall Jarrell, (16 мая 1914 — 14 октября 1965) — американский поэт, литературный критик и эссеист

A Sick Child

The postman comes when I am still in bed.
"Postman, what do you have for me today?"
I say to him. (But really I'm in bed.)
Then he says - what shall I have him say?

"This letter says that you are president
Of - this word here; it's a republic."
Tell them I can't answer right away.
"It's your duty." No, I'd rather just be sick.

Cinderella

Her imaginary playmate was a grown-up
In sea-coal satin. The flame-blue glances,
The wings gauzy as the membrane that the ashes
Draw over an old ember --as the mother
In a jug of cider-- were a comfort to her.
They sat by the fire and told each other stories.

Эзра Лумис Паунд/ Ezra Loomis Pound, (30 октября 1885 — 1 ноября 1972) — американский поэт.

A Girl

The tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast -
Downward,
The branches grow out of me, like arms.

Tree you are,
Moss you are,
You are violets with wind above them.
A child - so high - you are,
And all this is folly to the world.

Notes for Canto CXX

I have tried to write Paradise

Do not move
Let the wind speak
that is paradise.

Let the Gods forgive what I
have made
Let those I love try to forgive
what I have made.

On His Own Face In A Glass

O strange face there in the glass!
O ribald company, O saintly host,
O sorrow-swept my fool,
What answer? O ye myriad
That strive? and play and pass,
Jest, challenge, counterlie!
I? I? I?
And ye?

The Picture

The eyes of this dead lady speak to me,
For here was love, was not to be drowned out.
And here desire, not to be kissed away.
The eyes of this dead lady speak to me

Джон Гринлиф Уиттьер/ John Greenleaf Whittier, (17 декабря 1807 — 7 сентября 1892) — американский поэт и аболиционист.

Centennial Hymn

I.
Our fathers' God! from out whose hand
The centuries fall like grains of sand,
We meet to-day, united, free,
And loyal to our land and Thee,
To thank Thee for the era done,
And trust Thee for the opening one.