Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

Wednesday, 26 November 2025

Wednesday's Good Reading: “The Charge Of The Light Brigade” by Alfred Tennyson (in English)

 

Half a league half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred:

'Forward, the Light Brigade!

Charge for the guns' he said:

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

 

'Forward, the Light Brigade!'

Was there a man dismay'd ?

Not tho' the soldier knew

Some one had blunder'd:

Theirs not to make reply,

Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do & die,

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

 

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volley'd & thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell

Rode the six hundred.

 

Flash'd all their sabres bare,

Flash'd as they turn'd in air

Sabring the gunners there,

Charging an army while

All the world wonder'd:

Plunged in the battery-smoke

Right thro' the line they broke;

Cossack & Russian

Reel'd from the sabre-stroke,

Shatter'd & sunder'd.

Then they rode back, but not

Not the six hundred.

 

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

While horse & hero fell,

They that had fought so well

Came thro' the jaws of Death,

Back from the mouth of Hell,

All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.

 

When can their glory fade?

O the wild charge they made!

All the world wonder'd.

Honour the charge they made!

Honour the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred!

Saturday, 22 November 2025

Saturday's Good Reading: "Imitation of Spencer" by John Keats (in English)

 

What more felicity can fall to creature

Than to enjoy delight with liberty?

Fate of the Butterfly.—Spenser.

 

········

 

Now Morning from her orient chamber came,

And her first footsteps touch'd a verdant hill;

Crowning its lawny crest with amber flame,

Silv'ring the untainted gushes of its rill;

Which, pure from mossy beds, did down distil,

And after parting beds of simple flowers,

By many streams a little lake did fill,

Which round its marge reflected woven bowers,

And, in its middle space, a sky that never lowers.

 

There the kingfisher saw his plumage bright,

Vying with fish of brilliant dye below;

Whose silken fins, and golden scales' light

Cast upward, through the waves, a ruby glow:

There saw the swan his neck of arched snow,

And oar'd himself along with majesty;

Sparkled his jetty eyes; his feet did show

Beneath the waves like Afric's ebony,

And on his back a fay reclined voluptuously.

 

Ah! could I tell the wonders of an isle

That in that fairest lake had placed been,

I could e'en Dido of her grief beguile;

Or rob from aged Lear his bitter teen:

For sure so fair a place was never seen,

Of all that ever charm'd romantic eye:

It seem'd an emerald in the silver sheen

Of the bright waters; or as when on high,

Through clouds of fleecy white, laughs the cœrulean sky.

 

And all around it dipp'd luxuriously

Slopings of verdure through the glossy tide,

Which, as it were in gentle amity,

Rippled delighted up the flowery side;

As if to glean the ruddy tears, it tried,

Which fell profusely from the rose-tree stem!

Haply it was the workings of its pride,

In strife to throw upon the shore a gem

Outvying all the buds in Flora's diadem.

 

········

 

Saturday, 8 November 2025

Saturday's Good Reading: "Phantoms" by Adelaide Anne Procter (in English).

Back, ye Phantoms of the Past
 In your dreary caves remain:
What have I to do with memories
 Of a long-forgotten pain?

For my Present is all peaceful,
 And my Future nobly planned:
Long ago Time's mighty billows
 Swept your footsteps from the sand.

Back into your caves; nor haunt me
 With your voices full of woe;
I have buried grief and sorrow
 In the depths of Long-ago.

See the glorious clouds of morning
 Roll away, and clear and bright
Shine the rays of cloudless daylight:—
 Wherefore will ye moan of night?

Never shall my heart be burthened
 With its ancient woe and fears;
I can drive them from my presence,
 I can check these foolish tears.

Back, ye Phantoms; leave, O leave me,
 To a new and happy lot;
Speak no more of things departed;
 Leave me—for I know ye not.

Can it be that 'mid my gladness
 I must ever hear you wail,
Of the grief that wrung my spirit,
 And that made my cheek so pale?

Joy is mine; but your sad voices
 Murmur ever in mine ear:
Vain is all the Future's promise,
 While the dreary Past is here.

Vain, O worse than vain, the Visions
 That my heart, my life, would fill,
If the Past's relentless phantoms
 Call upon me still!

Wednesday, 22 October 2025

Wednesday's Good Reading: “Artista” by Raul de Leoni (in Portuguese)

 

Por um destino acima do teu Ser,

Tens que buscar nas cousas inconscientes

Um sentido harmonioso, o alto prazer

Que se esconde entre as formas aparentes.

 

Sempre o achas, mas ao tê-lo em teu poder

Nem n’o pões na tua alma, nem n’o sentes,

Ao sonho de outras almas diferentes...

 

Vives humilde e inda ao morrer ignoras

O Ideal que achaste... (Ingratidão das musas!)

Mas não faz mal, meu bômbix inocente:

 

Fia na primavera, entre as amoras,

A tua seda de ouro, que nem usas

Mas que faz tanto bem a tanta gente...

 

 

Saturday, 11 October 2025

Saturday's Good Reading: "Phantom" by Mary Ann Hammer Dodd (in English)

 

Life is but a changeful story,

 Of its end we little know;

All its years are but a moment,

 Shadow-like they come and go.

 

Careless, thoughtless, of the future,

 To its dark revealings blind;

Phantoms we are ever chasing;

 Phantoms of the eye or mind.

 

Does the heart delight in beauty?

 Rosy cheeks, and sparkling eyes?

Ah, the form they are adorning,

 Is a spectre in disguise.

 

All the pleasure we are-seeking,

 All the charms we sigh to clasp,

Are no sooner to us given,

 Than they perish in our grasp.

 

Hope and joy we vainly follow,

 By their smiles deceiving led;

When at last we seem to reach them,

 Hope is gone, and joy is dead.

 

Faith and love awhile deceive us;

 But their trial is at hand;

Faith's fond promises are broken,

 Love is written in the sand.

 

Shall we thus be mocked with shadows?

 Beauty changing into dust!

Is there nothing real to bless us?

 Nothing to reward our trust?

 

Nothing here! each dream shall vanish,

 Like the wave from off the shore,

Which, borne onward to the ocean,

 Laves the same green spot no more.

 

But when life's short day is ended,

 And our phantom race is o'er,

We shall taste and see the blessings,

 Which were but a shade before.

 

Beauty will be made immortal;

 Time shall nothing more destroy;

While beside us dwell forever,

 Faith, and hope, and love, and joy.

Saturday, 4 October 2025

Saturday's Good Reading: “Nebulosas” by Narcisa Amália (in Portuguese).

 

On done le nom de Nébuleuses à des taches

blanchâtres que l’on voit çà et là, dans toutes

les parties du ciel.

DELAUNAY

 

No seio majestoso do infinito,

 — Alvos cisnes do mar da imensidade, —

Flutuam tênues sombras fugitivas

Que a multidão supõe densas caligens,

E a ciência reduz a grupos validos;

Vejo-as surgir à noite, entre os planetas,

Como visões gentis à flux dos sonhos;

E as esferas que curvam-se trementes

Sobre elas desfolhando flores d'ouro,

Roubam-me instantes ao sofrer recôndito!

 

Costumei-me a sondar-lhe os mistérios

Desde que um dia a flâmula da ideia

Livre, ao sopro do gênio, abriu-me o templo

Em que fulgura a inspiração em ondas;

A seguir-lhes no espaço as longas clâmides

Orladas de incendidos meteoros;

E quando da procela o tredo arcanjo

Desdobra n’amplidão as negras asas,

Meu ser pelo teísmo desvairado

Da loucura debruça-se no pélago!

 

Sim! São elas a mais gentil feitura

Que das mãos do Senhor há resvalado!

Sim! De seus seios na dourada urna,

A piedosa lágrima dos anjos,

Ligeira se converte em astro esplêndido!

No momento em que o mártir do calvário

A cabeça pendeu no infame lenho,

A voz do Criador, em santo arrojo,

No macio frouxel de seus fulgores

Ao céu arrebatou-lhe o calmo espírito!

 

Mesmo o sol que nas orlas do oriente

Livre campeia e sobre nós desata

A chuva de mil raios luminosos,

Nos lírios siderais de seu regaço

Repousa a fronte e despe a rubra túnica!

No constante volver dos vagos eixos,

(Os orbes em parábolas se encurvam

Bebendo alento no seu manso brilho!

E o tapiz movediço do universo

Mais belo ondeia com seus prantos fúlgidos!

 

E quantos infelizes não olvidam

|O horóscopo fatal de horrenda sorte,

Se no correr das auras vespertinas

Seus seres vão pousar-lhes sobre à coma,

Que as madeixas enastram do crepúsculo!

Quanta rosa de amor não abre o cálix

Ao bafejo inefável das quimeras

No coração temente da donzela,

Que, da lua ao clarão dourando as cismas,

Lhes segue os rastros na cerúlea abóbada?

 

Um dia no meu peito o desalento

Cravou sangrenta garra; trevas densas

Nublaram-me o horizonte, onde brilhava

A matutina estrela do futuro.

Da descrença senti os frios ósculos;

Mas no horror do abandono alçando os olhos

(Com tímida oração ao céu piedoso,

Eu vi que elas, do chão do firmamento,

Brotavam em lucíferos corimbos

Enlaçando-me o busto em raios mórbidos!

 

Oh! Amei-as então! Sobre a corrente

De seus brandos, notívagos lampejos,

“Audaz librei-me nas azuis esferas;

Inclinei-me, de flamas circundada

Sobre o abismo do mundo torvo e lúgubre!

Ergui-me ainda mais da poesia

Desvendei as lagunas encantadas,

E prelibei delícias indizíveis

Do sentimento nas caudais sagradas

Ao clarão divinal do sol da glória!

 

Quando desci mais tarde, deslumbrada

De tanta luz e inspiração, ao vale

Que pelo espaço abandonei sorrindo,

E senti calcinar-me as débeis plantas

Do deserto as areias ardentíssimas;

(Ao fugir das sendaes que estende a noite

Sobre o leito da terra adormecida,

Fitei chorando a aurora que surgia!

E — ave de amor — a solidão dos ermos

Povoei de gorjetas melancólicos!...

 

Assim nasceram os meus tristes versos,

Que do mundo falaz fogem às pompas!

Não dormem eles sob os áureos tetos

Das térreas potestades, que falecem

De morbidez nos flácidos triclínios!

Cortando as brumas glaciais do inverno

Adejam nas estâncias consteladas!...

Onde elas pairam; e à luz da liberdade

Devassando os mistérios do infinito,

Vão no sólio de Deus rolar exânimes!...