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Famous Poems
اشعار زيبای انگليسی

she went...

She went as quiet as the Dew
From an Accustomed flower.
Not like the Dew, did she return
At the Accustomed hour!

She dropt as softly as a star
From out my summer's Eve --
Less skillful than Le Verriere
It's sorer to believe!
به کجا چنین شتابان؟؟           
+ نوشته شده در  سه شنبه هفتم مهر 1388ساعت 15:33  توسط ایلیا  | 

As Soon As I Could Speak

As soon as I could speak - I was told to listen

As soon as I could play - they taught me to work

As soon as I found a job - I married

As soon as I married - came the children

As soon as I understood them - they left me

As soon as I had learned to live - life was gone

+ نوشته شده در  چهارشنبه شانزدهم اردیبهشت 1388ساعت 18:54  توسط ایلیا  | 

Sahar

A bright red boat
Yellow capsicums

Blue fishing nets
Ochre fort walls



Sahar’s silk blouse
gold and sheer

Her dark black
kohl-lined lashes



A street child’s
brown fists

holding the rainbow
in his small grasp



My lost memory
white and frozen

now melts colour
ready to refract

 

+ نوشته شده در  سه شنبه بیست و یکم آبان 1387ساعت 16:40  توسط ایلیا  | 

Autumn

Autumn was it when we first met
Autumn is it what I can't forget

In Autumn you came like a summer breece
I didn't realize what it is

In Autumn I fell in love at first sight
I knew that everything was alright

In Autumn there was that special dance
I knew our love will not have a chance

In Autumn I was under your spell
Autumn - a secret I will never tell

In Autumn you showed me pride
I wish I had never left your side

In Autumn miracles came true
everything I was loging for was you

That Autumn changed my life in many ways
I will never forget those special days

Autumn was it when we first met
Autumn is it what I can't forget

Autumn have made me alive
because in Autumn you entered my life

 

+ نوشته شده در  جمعه بیست و ششم مهر 1387ساعت 20:43  توسط ایلیا  | 

The Flower

Once in a golden hour
I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
The people said, a weed.

To and fro they went
Thro' my garden bower,
And muttering discontent
Cursed me and my flower.

Then it grew so tall
It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o'er the wall
Stole the seed by night.

Sow'd it far and wide
By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried,
"Splendid is the flower!"

Read my little fable:
He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now,
For all have got the seed.

And some are pretty enough,
And some are poor indeed;
And now again the people
Call it but a weed.


یه روز یه باغبونی

یه مرد آسمونی

نهالی کاشت میونه باغچه ی مهربونی

می گفت سفر که رفتم یه روز و روزگاری

این بوته ی یاس من می مونه یادگاری

هر روز غروب عطر یاس تو کوچه ها می پیچید

میونه کوچه باغا بوی خدا می پیچید

اونایی که نداشتند از خوبی ها نشونه

دیدن که خوبی یاس باعث زشتیشونه

عابرهای بی احساس پا گذاشتند روی یاس

ساقه هاشو شکستند آدمهای نا سپاس

یاس جوون بعد اون تکیه زدش به دیوار

خواست بزنه جوونه اما سر اومد بهار

یه باغبونه دیگه

شبونه یاس رو برداشت

پنهون زه نا محرمها

تو باغ دیگه ای کاشت

هزار ساله کوچه ها پر می شه از عطر یاس

اما مکان اون گل مونده هنوز ناشناس  

 شاعر: فرید احمدی

+ نوشته شده در  یکشنبه بیست و نهم اردیبهشت 1387ساعت 14:20  توسط ایلیا  | 

Dawn Dawn Rise Now

سحرِسحر اینک طلوع کن  

Dawn dawn rise now into day                                     سحرِسحر روز را به ارمغان بیاور  
Morning coming quite so new                                             صبح با طراوت در راه است
Full of airy singing lay                                           مملو از نغمه های دلنواز گسترده می شود
Coming up and coming too                                            و با طلوعش از راه خواهد رسید

Young opening feeling high                                        آغازی نوخواسته با احساسی متعالی
Full with new colors made                                                            آکنده از رنگهایی تازه
Set for bringing blue sky                                                               برای خلق اسمانی آبی
Over mountains and glade                                                       بر فراز تپه ها و دشت ها 

The day's fire coming up                                                            گرمی روز فرا می رسد
Nothing can stop it here                                                         کسی یارای توقف آن نیست
Rising its shine over top                                             پرتو خود را از عرش فرو می ریزد
Filling the dim dark near                                          اندک سیاهی باقیمانده را محو می سازد

Dawn dawn rise now into day                                      سحرِسحر روز را به ارمغان بیاور
Bring the young into blue                                         شادی را به مجلس غم و غصه هدیه کن
Come now close as you may                                              اکنون نزدیک و نزدیک تربیا
All is so hopeful with you                                                            با تو همه امید و رجاست

+ نوشته شده در  پنجشنبه بیست و نهم فروردین 1387ساعت 0:1  توسط ایلیا  | 

Mending Wall

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:   
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs.  The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,  
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.  
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
"Stay where you are until our backs are turned!"
We wear our fingers rough with handling them. 
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side.  It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across  
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, "Good fences make good neighbors."
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
"Why do they make good neighbors?  Isn't it 30
Where there are cows?  But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall, 
That wants it down."  I could say "Elves" to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself.  I see him there,
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed. 
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."

+ نوشته شده در  چهارشنبه پانزدهم اسفند 1386ساعت 21:50  توسط ایلیا  | 

Dream Deferred

What happens to a dream deferred
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat    
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?

+ نوشته شده در  شنبه یازدهم اسفند 1386ساعت 12:27  توسط ایلیا  | 

The School in August

The cloakroom pegs are empty now,
And locked the classroom door,
The hollow desks are lined with dust,
And slow across the floor
A sunbeam creeps between the chairs
Till the sun shines no more.

Who did their hair before this glass?
Who scratched 'Elaine loves Jill'
One drowsy summer sewing-class
With scissors on the sill?
Who practised this piano
Whose notes are now so still?

Ah, notices are taken down,
And scorebooks stowed away,
And seniors grow tomorrow
From the juniors today,
And even swimming groups can fade,
Games mistresses turn grey.

 

+ نوشته شده در  جمعه سوم اسفند 1386ساعت 20:14  توسط ایلیا  | 

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely 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 dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

 

+ نوشته شده در  یکشنبه بیست و هشتم بهمن 1386ساعت 22:53  توسط ایلیا  |