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johannaTham gia: 20/03/2009
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    Did You Never Know?

    Sara Teasdale

    Did you never know, long ago, how much you loved me--
    That your love would never lessen and never go?
    You were young then, proud and fresh-hearted,
    You were too young to know.

    Fate is a wind, and red leaves fly before it
    Far apart, far away in the gusty time of year--
    Seldom we meet now, but when I hear you speaking,
    I know your secret, my dear, my dear.

    In secret
    be quiet say nothing
    except the street be full of stars
    and the prisoners eat doves
    and the doves eat cheese
    and the cheese eats words
    and the words eat bridges
    and the bridges eat looks
    and the looks eat cups full of kisses in the orchata
    that hides all with its wings
    the butterfly the night
    in a cafe last summer
    in Barcelona

    Crown Me with Roses

    Crown me with roses,
    Crown me really
    With roses -
    Roses which burn out
    On a forehead burning
    So soon out!
    Crown me with roses
    And with fleeting leafage.
    That will do.

    Fernando Pessoa

    What is our Life?
    (Sir Walter Raleigh).

    What is our life? A play of passion,
    Our mirth the music of division,
    Our mother's wombs the tiring houses be
    Where we are dressed for this short Comedy;
    Heaven the judicious sharp Spectator is,
    That sits and marks still who doth act amiss;
    Our graves that hide us from the searching Sun
    Are like drawn curtains when the play is done;
    Thus march we playing to our latest rest,
    Only we die in earnest, that's no jest.

    One Cherokee Maiden
    ~Marge Tindal~ © 1999

    The Cherokee Maiden Princess
    struggled to keep up with the band.
    Why they had to travel so far,
    she did not understand.

    They traveled by night
    and rested by day ...
    Got up and moved
    like cattle strayed.

    Sometimes in the shade
    of a tree they slept ...
    and mostly she saw
    that even braves wept.

    Driven, driven,
    onward through the cold.
    No mercy for the little ones,
    or the ones so very old.

    They fell to the ground
    like the mighty buffalo.
    How much could they endure?
    How much further could they go?

    She summoned the mighty spirits
    to lead the best of the best ...
    then she laid down
    her weary soul to rest.

    The youthful Cherokee maiden
    did not give up her right.
    Yet the spirits took her home
    one cold, dark night.

    Buried on the trail.
    Her tears dried on the sand.
    Taken beyond this earth
    to the great spirit land.

    If you go out tonight
    and gaze at the clear black sky ...
    you'll see the Maiden Of The Cherokee
    as she sparkles on high.

    Remember her story.
    To others take time to tell
    how she walked the Trail Of Tears,
    now with the spirits she dwells.

    One youthful Cherokee Princess
    no longer resides on this earth,
    but remember what she surrendered.
    Our thoughts still give her worth.


    John Burroughs

    SERENE, I fold my hands and wait,
    Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea;
    I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
    For lo! my own shall come to me.

    I stay my haste, I make delays,
    For what avails this eager pace?
    I stand amid the eternal ways,
    And what is mine shall know my face.

    Asleep, awake, by night or day,
    The friends I seek are seeking me;
    No wind can drive my bark astray,
    Nor change the tide of destiny.

    What matter if I stand alone?
    I wait with joy the coming years;
    My heart shall reap where it hath sown,
    And garner up its fruit of tears.

    The waters know their own and draw
    The brook that springs in yonder height;
    So flows the good with equal law
    Unto the soul of pure delight.

    The stars come nightly to the sky;
    The tidal wave unto the sea;
    Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,
    Can keep my own away from me.

    Spring Night in Lo-yang Hearing a Flute
    by: Li Po

    In what house, the jade flute that sends these dark notes drifting,
    scattering on the spring wind that fills Lo-yang?
    Tonight if we should hear the willow-breaking song,
    who could help but long for the gardens of home?

    A Dream
    by: Edgar Allen Poe

    In visions of the dark night
    I have dreamed of joy departed-
    But a waking dream of life and light
    Hath left me broken-hearted.

    Ah! what is not a dream by day
    To him whose eyes are cast
    On things around him with a ray
    Turned back upon the past?

    That holy dream- that holy dream,
    While all the world were chiding,
    Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
    A lonely spirit guiding.

    What though that light, thro' storm and night,
    So trembled from afar-
    What could there be more purely bright
    In Truth's day-star?

    Fancy in Nubibus (or the Poet in the Clouds)

    O! It is pleasant, with a heart at ease,
    Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies,
    To make the shifting clouds be what you please,
    Or let the easily persuaded eyes
    Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould
    Of a friend's fancy; or with head bent low
    And cheek aslant see rivers flow of gold
    'Twixt crimson banks; and then, a traveller, go
    From mount to mount through Cloudland, gorgeous land!
    Or list'ning to the tide, with closed sight,
    Be that blind bard, who on the Chian strand
    By those deep sounds possessed with inward light,
    Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssee
    Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea.

    Samuel Taylor Coleridge

    by P.K. Page

    The sharpening air
    of late afternoon
    is now the colour of tea.
    Once-glycerined green leaves
    burned by a summer sun
    are brittle and ochre.
    Night enters day like a thief.
    And children fear that the beautiful daylight has
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