gedicht ?

Girl92, vrouw, 32 jaar

• Asih maandag 10 januari 2011 14:27
  The Last Rose of Summer by Thomas Moore: zo indrukwekkend dat ik 't nooit ben vergeten sinds m'n zestiende in 1961
  

  
  T'is de last rose of summer left blooming alone
  All her lovely companions are faded and gone,
  No flo'er of her kindred, no rosebud is nigh
  to reflect back her blushes or give sigh for sigh ...
  
  I'll not leave thee, thou lone one to pine on the stem
  when the lovely are sleeping, go sleep thou with them,
  Thus kindly I scatter thy leaves o'er the bed
  where thy mates of the garden lie scentless and dead ...
  
  So soon may I follow when friendships decay
  and from love's shining circles the gems drop away:
  when true hearts lie withered and fond ones are flown,
  Oh who would inhabit this bleak world alone?
• Nightdream maandag 10 januari 2011 14:32
  Is het de bedoeling dat je het van het internet haalt of moet je zelf iets schrijven?
• JivaZa maandag 10 januari 2011 14:34
  The rhyme of the ancient Marinier?
• Girl92 maandag 10 januari 2011 14:55
  moet iets in het engelsw doen en ik hou van gedichtend us dacht dan doe ik wel een gedicht in het engels
• Seneca maandag 10 januari 2011 14:55
  Ode to beauty - Ralph Waldo Emerson
  
  Who gave thee, O Beauty!
  The keys of this breast,
  Too credulous lover
  Of blest and unblest?
  Say when in lapsed ages
  Thee knew I of old;
  Or what was the service
  For which I was sold?
  When first my eyes saw thee,
  I found me thy thrall,
  By magical drawings,
  Sweet tyrant of all!
  I drank at thy fountain
  False waters of thirst;
  Thou intimate stranger,
  Thou latest and first!
  Thy dangerous glances
  Make women of men;
  New-born we are melting
  Into nature again.
  Lavish, lavish promiser,
  Nigh persuading gods to err,
  Guest of million painted forms
  Which in turn thy glory warms,
  The frailest leaf, the mossy bark,
  The acorn's cup, the raindrop's arc,
  The swinging spider's silver line,
  The ruby of the drop of wine,
  The shining pebble of the pond,
  Thou inscribest with a bond
  In thy momentary play
  Would bankrupt Nature to repay.
  
  Ah! what avails it
  To hide or to shun
  Whom the Infinite One
  Hath granted his throne?
  The heaven high over
  Is the deep's lover,
  The sun and sea
  Informed by thee,
  Before me run,
  And draw me on,
  Yet fly me still,
  As Fate refuses
  To me the heart Fate for me chooses,
  Is it that my opulent soul
  Was mingled from the generous whole,
  Sea valleys and the deep of skies
  Furnished several supplies,
  And the sands whereof I'm made
  Draw me to them self-betrayed?
  I turn the proud portfolios
  Which hold the grand designs
  Of Salvator, of Guercino,
  And Piranesi's lines.
  I hear the lofty Pæans
  Of the masters of the shell,
  Who heard the starry music,
  And recount the numbers well:
  Olympian bards who sung
  Divine Ideas below,
  Which always find us young,
  And always keep us so.
  Oft in streets or humblest places
  I detect far wandered graces,
  Which from Eden wide astray
  In lowly homes have lost their way.
  
  Thee gliding through the sea of form,
  Like the lightning through the storm,
  Somewhat not to be possessed,
  Somewhat not to be caressed,
  No feet so fleet could ever find,
  No perfect form could ever bind.
  Thou eternal fugitive
  Hovering over all that live,
  Quick and skilful to inspire
  Sweet extravagant desire,
  Starry space and lily bell
  Filling with thy roseate smell,
  Wilt not give the lips to taste
  Of the nectar which thou hast.
  
  All that's good and great with thee
  Stands in deep conspiracy.
  Thou hast bribed the dark and lonely
  To report thy features only,
  And the cold and purple morning
  Itself with thoughts of thee adorning,
  The leafy dell, the city mart,
  Equal trophies of thine art,
  E'en the flowing azure air
  Thou hast touched for my despair,
  And if I languish into dreams,
  Again I meet the ardent beams.
  Queen of things! I dare not die
  In Being's deeps past ear and eye,
  Lest there I find the same deceiver,
  And be the sport of Fate forever.
  Dread power, but dear! if God thou be,
  Unmake me quite, or give thyself to me.
• Seneca maandag 10 januari 2011 15:16
  She walks in beauty - Lord Byron
  
  She walks in beauty, like the night
  Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
  And all that's best of dark and bright
  Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
  Thus mellowed to that tender light
  Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
  
  One shade the more, one ray the less,
  Had half impaired the nameless grace
  Which waves in every raven tress,
  Or softly lightens o'er her face;
  Where thoughts serenely sweet express
  How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
  
  And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
  So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
  The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
  But tell of days in goodness spent,
  A mind at peace with all below,
  A heart whose love is innocent!
• Aereola maandag 10 januari 2011 17:11
  www.google.nl doh..

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