العصر الفكتوري / The Victorian Age 1832 – 1901

[~ A7lA DoNiA ~]

نموذج لشعر / Elizabeth Barrett Browning

[87%] by Elizabeth Barrett Browning



Sonnets from the Portuguese



How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

I love thee freely, as men might strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints,–I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life!–and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.


ونظراً لأن اعمال هذه المرأة جداً كثيرة وهي مرأة بحق
نرسلكم الى 14 عشر صفحة تحوي اعمالها اولها هنا
[عزيزي الزائر يتوجب عليك التسجيل للمشاهدة الرابطللتسجيل اضغط هنا]]] >

[~ A7lA DoNiA ~]

نموذج لشعر / Alfred, Lord Tennyson




And ask ye why these sad tears stream?
Why these wan eyes are dim with weeping?
I had a dream–a lovely dream,
Of her that in the grave is sleeping.

I saw her as ’twas yesterday,
The bloom upon her cheek still glowing;
And round her play’d a golden ray,
And on her brows were gay flowers blowing.

With angel-hand she swept a lyre,
A garland red with roses bound it;
Its strings were wreath’d with lambent fire
And amaranth was woven round it.

I saw her mid the realms of light,
In everlasting radiance gleaming;
Co-equal with the seraphs bright,
Mid thousand thousand angels beaming.

I strove to reach her, when, behold,
Those fairy forms of bliss Elysian,
And all that rich scene wrapt in gold,
Faded in air–a lovely vision!

And I awoke, but oh! to me
That waking hour was doubly weary;
And yet I could not envy thee,
Although so blest, and I so dreary



باقي اعمال هذا الرجل تجدونها هنا
[عزيزي الزائر يتوجب عليك التسجيل للمشاهدة الرابطللتسجيل اضغط هنا]]] >

[~ A7lA DoNiA ~]

نموذج لشعر / Robert Browning

The Lost Leader



I.

Just for a handful of silver he left us,

Just for a riband to stick in his coat---

Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us,

Lost all the others she lets us devote;

They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver,

So much was theirs who so little allowed:

How all our copper had gone for his service!

Rags---were they purple, his heart had been proud!

We that had loved him so, followed him, honoured him,

Lived in his mild and magnificent eye,

Learned his great language, caught his clear accents,

Made him our pattern to live and to die!

Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us,

Burns, Shelley, were with us,---they watch from their graves!

He alone breaks from the van and the free-men,

---He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves!

II.

We shall march prospering,---not thro' his presence;

Songs may inspirit us,---not from his lyre;

Deeds will be done,---while he boasts his quiescence,

Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire:

Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,

One task more declined, one more foot-path untrod,

One more devils'-triumph and sorrow for angels,

One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!

Life's night begins: let him never come back to us!

There would be doubt, hesitation and pain,

Forced praise on our part---the glimmer of twilight,

Never glad confident morning again!

Best fight on well, for we taught him---strike gallantly,

Menace our heart ere we master his own;

Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us,

Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne!



باقي قصائد هذا الرجل تجدونها هنا في 7 صفحات فقط
[عزيزي الزائر يتوجب عليك التسجيل للمشاهدة الرابطللتسجيل اضغط هنا]]] >

[~ A7lA DoNiA ~]

نموذج لشعر / Thomas Hardy


At Lulworth Cove a Century Back

Had I but lived a hundred years ago
I might have gone, as I have gone this year,
By Warmwell Cross on to a Cove I know,
And Time have placed his finger on me there:

'You see that man?' -- I might have looked, and said,
'O yes: I see him. One that boat has brought
Which dropped down Channel round Saint Alban's Head.
So commonplace a youth calls not my thought.'

'You see that man?' -- 'Why yes; I told you; yes:
Of an idling town-sort; thin; hair brown in hue;
And as the evening light scants less and less
He looks up at a star, as many do.'

'You see that man?' -- 'Nay, leave me!' then I plead,
'I have fifteen miles to vamp across the lea,
And it grows dark, and I am weary-kneed:
I have said the third time; yes, that man I see!'

'Good. That man goes to Rome -- to death, despair;
And no one notes him now but you and I:
A hundred years, and the world will follow him there,
And bend with reverence where his ashes lie.'



باقي قصائد واعمال هذا الرجل في صفحة واحدة تجدونها هنا
[عزيزي الزائر يتوجب عليك التسجيل للمشاهدة الرابطللتسجيل اضغط هنا]]] >



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