One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves and washes it away;
Again I wrote it with a second hand,
But came the tide, and made my pains his pay.
"vayne man," sayd she, "that doest in vaine assay,
A motall thing so to immortalize,
For I my selve shall lyke to this decay,
And also my name bee wyped out lykewize,"
"not so, "quod I , "let base things devize,
To dy in dust, but you shall live by fame:
My verse your vertues rare shall eternize,
And in the heavens wryte your glorious name,
And in the heavens wryte your glorious name. name,
whereas death shall all the world subdew,
Our love shall live, and later life renew."
Seventy-fifth &S226;Edmund &S226 ;Spencer
One day I wrote her name on the beach,
but a wave came and washed it away in a flash;
I wrote it again still in the same place,
and the tide brought the labor to nothing.
"O arrogant man," she said, "always refusing to rest,
wanting to make a sure mason immortal without masonry,
but I am as the grass that will at last decay,
and my name will be gone."
"No," I answered, "the trickster
will end in the dust, but you will live forever;
my poems have made your character eternal,
and will also write your name in the heavens;
and even though death may subdue the whole world,
our love will be revived in new life."
(Writing on the sand, leaving traces in the snow, as it were.)
Sonnet 18
Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?
Thou art more loverly and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling
Thou art more loverly and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And Summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd:
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance o nature's changing course untrimm'd.
But thy eternal Summer shall not fade
No lose possession of that fair thou owest;
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breath,or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Sonnet XVIII&S226;William&S226;Shakespeare
I do not know whether I can compare thee to a summer's day
Though thou art far more gentle and more lovely.
The winds sometimes destroy the delicate buds of May,
and the end of summer will soon come.
Sometimes the great eye of heaven shines too hot,
and sometimes his golden face is dull;
and every beauty fades, or dies young,
or dies naturally with the time.
But your summer will never perish,
never lose the beauty you were endowed with,
nor can death boast of your hovering shadow,
you will live on in my poems with time***;
as long as there are people who breathe, and eyes that can see,
my poems live on, and keep you alive.
(This is the legend, let the teacher will not forget "a summer day", accompanied by the English rose, lasting fragrance.)
Spring
Spring,the sweet spring,is the year's pleasure king;
Then blooms each thing,then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting,the pretty birds do sing,
Cudoo,jug-jug,pu-wu,to-witta-woo!
The palm and may make country houses gray,
Lambs frisk and play,the shepherds pipe
The palm and may make country houses gray,
Lambs frisk and play,the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay,
Cudoo,jug-jug,pu-wu,to-witta-woo!
The fields breathe sweet,the daisies kiss out feet,
Young lovers meet,old wives a -sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet,
Cudoo,jug-jug,pu-wu,to-witta-woo!
Spring!the sweet spring!
Spring&S226;Thomas&S226;Nash
Spring,the spring of sweetness,the year's happy kingdoms
Flowers bloom everywhere, maidens ring and dance so happily,
The chill no longer strikes, the birds sing softly,
cha-cha-cha, coo-coo, chirp-chirp, brother plugs in the harvest!
Hawthorn and wild elm, how beautifully they decorate the village house,
Lambs are playing, and the shepherd boy plays his piccolo all day long,
There are birds singing everywhere, singing a happy song,
Cha-cha-cha, coo-coo, chirp-chirp, brother plugs in the harvest!
The fields are fragrant, the daisies kiss their feet,
Young couples come to pass each other by, old women sit in the sun,
The song can be heard echoing in the streets and alleys,
Cha-cha-cha, coo-coo, chirp-chirp, brother plugs in the harvest!
Spring! Spring of sweetness and beauty!
(Zhou Zuoren once praised this poem and said that it was very difficult to translate, but Gu Zixin's translation is rich in the beauty of the imagery and rhyme of the poetic scriptures, and is worth treasuring and studying. (Praise.)
Hidden flame
I feel a flame within ,which so torments me
That it both pains my heart,and yet contents me:
'tis such a
I feel a flame within ,which so torments me
That it both pains my heart,and yet contents me:
'tis such a pleasing smart,and I so love it ,
That I had rather die than once remove it.
Yet he,fo whom I grieve,shall never know it;
My tougue
My tougue does not betray,nor my eyes show it.
Not a sigh,nor a tear,my pain disclose,
But they fall silently,like dew on roses.
Thus,to
My heart's the sacifice, as 'tis the fuel;
And while I suffer this to give him quiet,
My faith rewards my love,
though he deny rewards my love,though he deny it.
On his eyes will I gaze,and there delight me;
While I conceal my love no fown can frighten me.
To be more happy I dare not aspire,
Now can I fall more,mounting no higher.
Hidden Flame&S226;John&S226;Drayton
There's a fire burning in my breast, and it tortures me a hundred times,
It both pains me and torments me. p>It both pains me and gives me infinite joy;
It delights and vexes, and how I love it,
I would rather die at once, should I lose it.
But he who causes me pain, knows it not,
No wind has escaped my mouth, nor my eyes show it;
Nor sighs or tears, divulge my misery,
Tears flow quietly, like dewdrops on a rose.
Lest my beloved should cast me away,
My heart, like a cross, suffers and burns;
I am thus tormented to give him peace,
I am faithful to love, though he knows it not.
I feel joy in my heart when I look into his eyes;
I am not afraid of incurring cold stares when I hide my love.
I don't dare to have more extravagant hopes for love and happiness,
I won't fall lower, but I can't go up again.
I travell'd among unknown men
I travell'd among unknown men,
In lands beyond the sea;
Nor,england!did I know till then
What love I bore to thee.
'tis past,that melancholy dream!
Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time;
For still I seem
To love thee.
To love thee more and more.
Among thy mountains did I feel
The joy of my desire;
And she I cherish 'd turn her wheel
Beside
Thy mornings show'd ,thy nights concel'd,
The bowers where Lucy play'd;
And thine too is the last green field
.That Lucy's eyes survey'd.
I traveled alone among strangers&S226;William&S226;Wordsworth
I traveled alone among strangers
Crossing oceans and drifting in foreign lands;
England ho! It was then that I realized
how y I carried you.
At last it passed, that gloomy dream!
I am no longer willing to travel far from you;
I only feel that as time passes,
I love you more and more.
When I wandered in your valley,
I felt the joy of reverence in my heart;
My beloved girl sat by the fireside,
We came to the sound of the hand-cranked spinning-wheel.
Spring went to the morning, and the haze was bright,
had lighted the garden pavilion where Lucy had frolicked;
and thy green fields had last
soothed her dying eyes.
Finis
I strove with none,for none worthy my strife.
Nature I loved and,next to nature,art:
I warm'd both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.
Finale&S226;Wald&S226;Savantage&S226;Lando
I fight with none, for none is worthy of me.
I love nature, except that nature is art:
I roast my hands, when the fire of life is blazing;
When the flames will be extinguished, I am ready to go on my way home.
Stanza
Often rebuked,yet always back returning
To those first feelings that were born with me,
And leaving busy chase of wealth and learning
For idle dreams of things which cannot be:
To-day I will seek not the shadowy region;
Its unsustaining waxes drear;
It's the vastness waxes drear.
Its unsustaining waxes drear;
And visions rising,legion after legion,
Bring the unreal world too stangely near.
I'll walk,but not in old heroic traces,
And not in paths of high morality,
And not among the half-distinguish'd faces,
The clouded forms of long-past history.
The clouded forms of long-past history.
I'll walk when my own nature would be leading:
It vexes me to choose another guide:
where the gray flocks in ferny glens are feeding,
where the wild wind blows on the mountain side.
Music&S226;Emily&S226;Bronte
Though often rebuked, I have always returned to
those first feelings with which I was born,
I do not wish to pursue a new course of action. p>
I do not want to pursue erudition and the way of making money,
but love to indulge in vain dreams.
Today I do not seek the realm of illusion,
which varies and expands gloomily;
hordes of phantoms rise one after the other,
making the world of make-believe seem as if it were at hand.
I do not wish to put the old heroic performance on a quest.
Nor do I intend to embark on the path of sublime morality,
or to wander among the faces of déjà vu,
or to gaze into the blurred shadows of distant history.
I love to wander as I please,
and I hate to choose another guide:
In the glen where the sheep are herded and the goat's-tooth grass grows,
listening to the wild winds howling over the hillocks.
(Eyre's poem is set on the Yorkshire moors of his native county, and shows in its intensity of feeling a wildness that defies the world and is untamed. It seems like Wuthering Heights.)
When I am dead,my dearest
When I am dead,my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt,remember,
And if you wilt.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Singing on ,as if in pain;
And dreaming though the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
When I am gone from this world, dearest & ;S226;Christina&S226;Georgina&S226;Rossetti
When I am gone from this world, dearest,
Don't sing me mournful songs;
Don't plant roses beside my grave,
Nor do I need the shade of cypresses;
May the grass on the grave be as green as grass,
stained with rain and glistening drops of dew;
If you wish to remember, remember me,
If you wish to forget, forget me.
I will never again see the shade of green trees,
nor will I feel the pattering drops of rain;
nor can I hear the nightingale sing,
like a sorrowful heart, like a cry;
I will be caught in a dream of twilight,
that stagnant dusk that never ends,
maybe I'll be depressed and miss,
and perhaps I'll be all but forgotten.
I will never forget. Maybe I'll forget all about it.
(Luo's poetic style is mournful and fresh, with a strong pessimistic mood, and Qingzhao sister has a match.)
When you are old
When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire,take down this book,
And slowly read,and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once,and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur,a little sadly,how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
When you are old&S226;William&S226;Pa&S226;Yeats
When you are old, and your hair is gray, and your sleepy thoughts are faint,
and you are dozing by the fireside, take down this collection of poems,
and read it gently, and you will dream anew of
those tender glances of the past, the Clear and deep.
How many have loved the glow of your laughter,
loved your beauty, false or true,
One man loved your pilgrim's soul,
loved the sadness contained in your aged face.
You hang your head, and by the bright fireplace
Murmur and whisper, with a faint poignancy,
And tell of the love that is gone, which wanders over the mountain tops,
And hides his face in the cluster of stars.
(W.B. Yeats wrote this to the man he met when he was twenty-four, the Irish independence fighter Ryder "Gonne" Maud Gonne.)
The pond
Bright clouds of may
Shade half the pond.
Beyond,
All but one bay
Of emerald
Tall reeds
Lide criss-cross bayonets
where a bird as the sun.
No one heeds.
The light wind frets
And drifts the scum
Of may-blossom.
Till the moorhen calls
Again
Naught's to be done
By birds or men.
Still the may falls.
The pond&S226;Edward&S226;Thomas
May's bright puffy clouds
Shade half the pond.
In the distance
Only the bay
The turquoise waves were like jade,
Splendid as the sun,
The tall reeds
Were like jagged bayonets,
A bird had sung there.
Who cared.
The gentle breeze
raised
the fallen flowers in a colorful display.
The red grouse has crowed
twice,
Man and bird
are both silent,
May quietly maims the old
(This poem reads a bit like a Song.)
Greece
When life contracts into a vulgar span
And human nature tires to be a man,
I thank the gods for greece,
That permanent realm of peace,
For as the rising moon far in the night
Chequers the shade with forrumming light,
So in my darkest hour my senses seem
And human nature tires to be a man. senses seem
To catch from her acropolis a gleam.
Greece, who am I that should remember thee,
Thy marathon and thy thermopylae?
Is my life vulgar?
Is my life vulgar my fate mean
Which on such golden memories can lean?
Greece&S226;Henry&S226;David&S226;Thoreau
When life is only vulgar and boring.
There is no point in being a human being, being tired,
I want to thank the Greek gods,
Giving me a piece of eternal peace,
Like the moon rising from afar,
Shining on the ground mottled and bewildering,
My heart is in the darkest hour,
Like to see a ray of light in the city of Athens.
Greece, what am I that I should remember thee,
remember thy Marathon and Themopylae?
Is my life too vulgar,
To be dispensed with only by this golden remembrance?
I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing
I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,
All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the
Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,
And its look,rude,unbending,lusty,made me think of
But I wonder'd how it could utter joyous leaves standing
Upon it ,and twined around it a little moss,
And brought it away, and I have placed it in sight in the dark green. and I have placed it in sight in my room,
It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,
(for I believe lately I think of little else than
Yet it remains to me a curious token,it makes me think of manly love;
For all that,and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana in a wide flat space,
Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend a lover near,
I know very well I could not. Louisiana I saw an oak tree growing&S226;Whitman
In Louisiana I saw an oak tree growing,
It stood all alone, with moss dangling from its branches,
It grew there alone without any companion, growing joyous deep-green leaves,
It's image, coarse, untamed, and full of energy. Reminded me of myself,
It amazed me how it could grow joyful leaves standing there alone, with no friends around it,
Because I knew that I couldn't,
I snapped off a thin branch with a few green leaves, and a small piece of moss that was tangled in the end of the branch,
I took it home, and put it in a conspicuous place in the house,
I did not need to be reminded by it that I missed my dear friend,
(for I believe that lately I have thought of little else but my friend,
but it was a singular symbol to me, and it made me think of manly love;
and though, though that oak tree glowed in solitude in the vast wilderness of Louisiana,
and there was not beside it a friend or lover, yet always grows leaves of joy,
while I know I cannot.
The soul selects her own society
The soul selects her own society,
Then shuts the door;
On her divine majority
Obtrude no more.
Unmoved,she notes the charot's pausing
At her low gate;
Unmoved,an emperor is kneeling
Upon her mat.
I've known her from an ample nation
Choose one;
Then close the valves of her attention
like stone.
The soul chooses its own mate&. S226;Emily&S226;Dickinson
The soul chooses its mate,
Then closes the door tightly;
To her sacred determination
There shall be no further interference.
Seeing the imperial carriage stop at her pouched door,
she was unmoved;
seeing the emperor kneeling on her straw mattress,
also unmoved.
I know that from that vast populace
she took but one choice;
and from thence closed the valves of her mind,
like a stubborn stone.
(Dee came from a famous family, never married, and lived like a hermit in her home town.En,sounds interesting.Her poems describe nature, love, and all kinds of feelings in life, with strange imagery and rich philosophy.)
The road not taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler,long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To 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 there
Had worn them really about the same,
And the passing there was not a single one.
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh,I kept the first for another day!
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 sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Tow roads diverged in a wood. Tow roads diverged in a wood,and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
The unchosen road&. S226;Robert&S226;Frost
The yellow woods divided into two paths,
Unfortunately I couldn't go wading through them both,
I stood there at the intersection for a long time,
and I looked desperately toward one,
until it disappeared into the depths of the jungle.
But I chose the other path,
which was grassy and very quiet,
and appeared more inviting and beautiful;
though on both paths
there were few travelers' footprints left;
and though the leaves were full of fallen leaves that morning,
both paths were uncontaminated by footprints.
However, one path was left for another day!
But I know the path is endless,
and I'm afraid I won't be able to return.
Maybe many years from now, somewhere,
I will look back with a soft sigh:
There were two paths through the woods,
and I chose the one that was less traveled by people,
and from then on, the path of my life was decided.
The river-merchant's wife: a letter
While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts,playing horse,
You walked about my seat,playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.
At fourteen I married my Lord you.
I never laughed,being
Lowering my head,I looked at the wall.
Called to ,a thousand times,I never looked back.
At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my Lord.
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
For ever and for ever and for ever.
Why should I climb the look out?
At sisteen you
Why should I climb the look out?
At sisteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-yen, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.
You dagged your feet when you went out.
By the gate now,the moss is grown,the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn,in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with august
Over the grass in the west garden;
Over the grass in the west garden;
They hurt me.i grow older.
If you coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Cho-fu-Sa.
Chang Kiang Hsing (Wife of a river merchant: a letter)
Concubine's hair was first covered over her forehead, and she folded her flowers in front of the door of the play.
Lang rode on a bamboo horse, and went around the bed to make plums.
The two of them lived together in Changganli, and there was no suspicion between them.
Fourteen years ago, I was the wife of a king, but I have never opened my face.
Looking down at the dark wall, I never heard a single call.
Fifteen years ago, I was willing to share the same dust and ashes.
It's not like I'm going up to the stage where I'm looking for my husband, but I'm going up to the stage where I'm looking for my husband.
The sixteenth year is a long way off, and the Qutang is brimming with pre-packaged goods.
The month of May is untouchable, and the sound of apes is sad in the sky.
The old trail in front of the door, a lifetime of green moss.
The moss is too deep to be swept away, and the leaves fall early in the autumn wind.
The butterfly is yellow in August, and the grass in the west garden is flying.
They are the most important thing that you can do to make your life easier.
It's a good thing that I'm going to write a letter to my family in the morning and evening.
We are not going to be able to welcome you until the winds blow.