POETRY LINE
Autor: A VIDA NUMA GOA | Publicado: 2011-07-04T17:23:00-07:00

THE DAY IS DONEH.W. LongfellowThe day is done, and the darknessFalls from the wings of Night,As a feather is wafted downwardFrom an eagle in his flight.I see the lights of the villageGleam through the rain and the mist,And a feeling of sadness comes o'er meThat my soul cannot resist:A feeling of sadness and longing,That is not akin to pain,And resembles sorrow onlyAs the mist resembles the rain.Come, read to me some poem,Some simple and heartfelt lay,That shall soothe this restless feeling,And banish the thoughts of day.Not from the grand old masters,Not from the bards sublime,Whose distant footsteps echoThrough the corridors of Time.For, like strains of martial music,Their mighty thoughts suggestLife's endless toil and endeavor;And to-night I long for rest.Read from some humbler poet,Whose songs gushed from his heart,As showers from the clouds of summer,Or tears from the eyelids start;Who, through long days of labor,And nights devoid of ease,Still heard in his soul the musicOf wonderful melodies.Such songs have power to quietThe restless pulse of care,And come like the benedictionThat follows after prayer.Then read from the treasured volumeThe poem of thy choice,And lend to the rhyme of the poetThe beauty of thy voice.And the night shall be filled with musicAnd the cares, that infest the day,Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,And as silently steal away.ANNABEL LEEEdgar Allan PoeIt was many and many a year ago,In a kingdom by the sea,That a maiden there lived whom you may knowBy the name of ANNABEL LEE;And this maiden she lived with no other thoughtThan to love and be loved by me.I was a child and she was a child,In this kingdom by the sea;But we loved with a love that was more than love-I and my Annabel Lee;With a love that the winged seraphs of heavenCoveted her and me.And this was the reason that, long ago,In this kingdom by the sea,A wind blew out of a cloud, chillingMy beautiful Annabel Lee;So that her highborn kinsman cameAnd bore her away from me,To shut her up in a sepulchreIn this kingdom by the sea.The angels, not half so happy in heaven,Went envying her and me-Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,In this kingdom by the sea)That the wind came out of the cloud by night,Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.But our love it was stronger by far than the loveOf those who were older than we-Of many far wiser than we-And neither the angels in heaven above,Nor the demons down under the sea,Can ever dissever my soul from the soulOf the beautiful Annabel Lee.For the moon never beams without bringing me dreamsOf the beautiful Annabel Lee;And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyesOf the beautiful Annabel Lee;And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the sideOf my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,In the sepulchre there by the sea,In her tomb by the sounding sea.THE ROAD NOT TAKENRobert FrostTwo roads diverged in a yellow wood,And sorry I could not travel bothAnd be one traveler, long I stoodAnd looked down one as far as I couldTo where it bent in the undergrowth;Then took the other, as just as fair,And having perhaps the better claim,Because it was grassy and wanted wear;Though as for that the passing thereHad worn them really about the same,And both that morning equally layIn leaves no step had trodden black.Oh, I kept the first for another day!Yet knowing how way leads on to way,I doubted if I should ever come back.I shall be telling this with a sighSomewhere ages and ages hence:Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-I took the one less traveled by,And that has made all the difference.THIS IS JUST TO SAYWilliam Carlos WilliamsI have eatenthe plumsthat were inthe iceboxand whichyou were probablysavingfor breakfastForgive methey were deliciousso sweetand so cold1st poeme. e. cummingssomewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyondany experience, your eyes have their silence:in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,or which i cannot touch because they are too nearyour slightest look easily will unclose methough i have closed myself as fingers,you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first roseor if your wish be to close me, i andmy life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,as when the heart of this flower imaginesthe snow carefully everywhere descending;nothing we are to perceive in this world equalsthe power of your intense fragility: whose texturecompels me with the colour of its countries,rendering death and forever with each breathing(i do not know what it is about you that closesand opens; only something in me understandsthe voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands2nd poeme. e. cummingsi like my body when it is with yourbody. It is so quite a new thing.Muscles better and nerves more.i like your body. i like what it does,i like its hows. i like to feel the spineof your body and its bones, and the trembling-firm-smooth ness and which i willagain and again and againkiss, i like kissing this and that of you,i like,, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzzof your electric fur, and what-is-it comesover parting flesh....And eyes big love-crumbs,and possibly i like the thrillof under me you quite so newHAPPINESSCarl SandburgI asked professors who teach the meaning of life to tell what is happiness.And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands of menThey all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though as I was trying to fool with them.And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along the Desplaines riverAnd I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their women and children and a keg of [beer and an accordion.THE APPLICANTSylvia PlathFirst, are you our sort of a person?Do you wearA glass eye, false teeth or a crutch,A brace or a hook,Rubber breasts or a rubber crotch,Stitches to show something's missing? No, no? ThenHow can we give you a thing?Stop crying.Open your hand.Empty? Empty. Here is a handTo fill it and willingTo bring teacups and roll away headachesAnd do whatever you tell it.Will you marry it?It is guaranteedTo thumb shut your eyes at the endAnd dissolve of sorrow.We make new stock from the salt.I notice you are stark naked.How about this suit----Black and stiff, but not a bad fit.Will you marry it?It is waterproof, shatterproof, proofAgainst fire and bombs through the roof.Believe me, they'll bury you in it.Now your head, excuse me, is empty.I have the ticket for that.Come here, sweetie, out of the closet.Well, what do you think of that ?Naked as paper to startBut in twenty-five years she'll be silver,In fifty, gold.A living doll, everywhere you look.It can sew, it can cook,It can talk, talk , talk.It works, there is nothing wrong with it.You have a hole, it's a poultice.You have an eye, it's an image.My boy, it's your last resort.Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.