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Англоязычной поэзии тред. Аноним 07/09/16 Срд 04:55:16  429295  
(46Кб, 640x640)
Выкладываем стихи англоязычных авторов в оригинале.

ОП-пик — "A drinking song" Уильяма Йейтса.
Аноним 07/09/16 Срд 05:05:00  429297
(111Кб, 317x500)

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
Аноним 07/09/16 Срд 05:25:09  429298
A SLUMBER did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seemed a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.

No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;
Rolled round in earth's diurnal course,
With rocks, and stones, and trees.
Аноним 07/09/16 Срд 07:01:15  429300
Лорд Байрон.

So, we'll go no more a roving

So late into the night,

Though the heart be still as loving,

And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,

And the soul wears out the breast,

And the heart must pause to breathe,

And love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving,

And the day returns too soon,

Yet we'll go no more a roving

By the light of the moon
Аноним 07/09/16 Срд 07:26:05  429302

If this great world of joy and pain 
Revolve in one sure track; 
If freedom, set, will rise again,      
And virtue, flown, come back;
Woe to the purblind' crew who fill      
The heart with each day's care;      
Nor gain, from past or future, skill      
To bear, and to forbear! 
Аноним 07/09/16 Срд 11:15:42  429342
Robert Browning


Take the cloak from his face, and at first
Let the corpse do its worst!

How he lies in his rights of a man!
Death has done all death can.
And, absorbed in the new life he leads,
He recks not, he heeds
Nor his wrong nor my vengeance; both strike
On his senses alike,
And are lost in the solemn and strange
Surprise of the change.
Ha, what avails death to erase
His offence, my disgrace?
I would we were boys as of old
In the field, by the fold:
His outrage, God's patience, man's scorn
Were so easily borne!

I stand here now, he lies in his place:
Cover the face!
Аноним 07/09/16 Срд 22:34:02  429569

Strangers we need technology,
It never ends.
Banter over the schoolgirls it gets.
I imagine clearly what all this is over,
As my pistol comes in your depot.
There are only two options: From diamonds in the ass?
Beautifully sucked home by candlelight.
Palen champagne, or remembered like sitting handcuffed in solitary confinement clearly be amazed.
How much do I now still have to pay,
So as not to otebal not to bathe.
I bet that everything will cost,
To fuck in the mouth, bro, the main thing to cross.
I want to Jupiter, to fast properly, according to Orthodoxy.
Stare in restik on Fitseke,
Teat like Firebird.
I order a beer and tuna, sea pizza.
I give my grandmother a ball and knitting needles,
Little goes Tipo fuck me.
I cook at home, smoked with a neighbor on the balcony,
Finally home, the Jam tour.
I am preparing a solo album, ufology, the mystery of the twentieth century.
He brushed behind the columns,
I am dating a drug dealer, at Kolomna.
Took to the streets, distance to McDonald's,
He stabbed me, the bell rings.
No currency can not survive major.
On Mars, the sky is blue, very serious garbage.
It is not transmitted to the station,
Fucked like Konstatsiya with Dartanyanom.
And we're cornered with a hookah,
Bitch, come not a market!
Normal flight.
We sucked alien astronaut,
Caught signals
Twice even I gave in the ass,
As pidaras in latex Colson.
I read in a dream book that everything is bad.
Аноним 07/09/16 Срд 22:38:47  429572
John Yates - For whom the underground stands

No, no, no no words, a victory for Brawley,
I purely such as fag went behind the mic,
He took in his hand as chick takes dick in her mouth, as I take the microphone,
And I read you show here, you young, you feel good for the cleaver came and see this show,
Pipidonchik here, here, between the legs shows how to make beautiful,
We are from Russia, Crimea contact with us ёpta Crimea,
I was covered with salt, I was covered with salt,
I Lefortovo,
I have now come to the shorts, if higher, the fag, if lower, the louse,
I want to fuck any thing here, I still have you in the ass vzharil,
Give me a chance to stay with you only,
On the dick? On the dick? On the dick? Well dick? On the dick?
On the dick you came ask me boys, who breathe the glue that breathing salt that breathe huyami, unwashed huyami breathe stolen,
I was robbed, Spice at the entrance, I was thrown, no ice thing,
You're a bitch ass naperdela,
The black hole is your anus,
We go into the abyss, passed as intruders, no matter how produced here - that mixture you like - if glinomesy, there is not enough of the play,
Pat your hands, I will show you prick with a pair Brawley,
No, no, no and Th Tipo Tipo on Egghead, Brawley, Tipo, Brawley, they say, allegedly on Egghead,
Tipo good in a wig or a wig,
Yes, even with an ace, you bitch please,
You know for whom is underground, you remember these names,
I can even stupid not ready to go there once in a lifetime,
I paid a grandmother,
Understand each, I'll fuck your mothers, folders, grandmothers, sisters, I'm here all you fucked in the mouth
Аноним 08/09/16 Чтв 22:58:08  429844
Какой бля сложный язык
Аноним 09/09/16 Птн 03:38:19  429880
Конкретнее можно? В чём именно сложность? В грамматике? Просто подставь then в начале второй строфы.
Аноним 11/09/16 Вск 14:21:26  430412
(170Кб, 1200x1200)
The Rainy Day

Ballads and Other Poems 1842

Blind Bartimeus
It Is Not Always May
The Goblet of Life
The Rainy Day

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
Аноним 11/09/16 Вск 14:37:26  430414
(115Кб, 619x800)
And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?

And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic mills?

Bring me my bow of burning gold:
Bring me my arrows of desire:
Bring me my spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire.

I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.

Аноним 11/09/16 Вск 19:23:53  430510
Ебанутые блядь. Читают стихи на английском языке. А вдруг там автор вас нахуй посылает?
Аноним 11/09/16 Вск 22:45:04  430563
Аноним 19/09/16 Пнд 14:59:14  432091
Fire and Ice
By Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Аноним 19/09/16 Пнд 16:29:05  432108
(27Кб, 500x496)
>>429295 (OP)
Аноним 20/09/16 Втр 09:00:26  432232
(17Кб, 251x284)
Metting at night

The grey sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.

Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match,
And a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears,
Than the two hearts beating each to each!

Аноним 22/09/16 Чтв 07:47:05  432554
(16Кб, 448x293)
Autumn Related Poem Content Details

The thistledown's flying, though the winds are all still,
On the green grass now lying, now mounting the hill,
The spring from the fountain now boils like a pot;
Through stones past the counting it bubbles red-hot.

The ground parched and cracked is like overbaked bread,
The greensward all wracked is, bents dried up and dead.
The fallow fields glitter like water indeed,
And gossamers twitter, flung from weed unto weed.

Hill-tops like hot iron glitter bright in the sun,
And the rivers we're eying burn to gold as they run;
Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air;
Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.
Аноним 07/10/16 Птн 14:20:44  434608
(157Кб, 1200x1200)
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stolen on his wing my three and twentieth year!
My hasting days fly on with full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew’th.
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
That I to manhood am arrived so near,
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That some more timely-happy spirits endu’th.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high,
Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven;
All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great Taskmaster’s eye.
Аноним 07/10/16 Птн 17:04:53  434630
>>429295 (OP)
'Tis time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it hath ceased to move:
Yet though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!

My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of Love are gone;
The worm—the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!

The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone as some Volcanic Isle;
No torch is kindled at its blaze
A funeral pile.

The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain
And power of Love I cannot share,
But wear the chain.

But 'tis not thus—and 'tis not here
Such thoughts should shake my Soul, nor now,
Where Glory decks the hero's bier,
Or binds his brow.

The Sword, the Banner, and the Field,
Glory and Greece around us see!
The Spartan borne upon his shield
Was not more free.

Awake (not Greece—she is awake!)
Awake, my Spirit! Think through whom
Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake
And then strike home!

Tread those reviving passions down
Unworthy Manhood—unto thee
Indifferent should the smile or frown
Of beauty be.

If thou regret'st thy Youth, why live?
The land of honourable Death
Is here:—up to the Field, and give
Away thy breath!

Seek out—less often sought than found—
A Soldier's Grave, for thee the best;
Then look around, and choose thy Ground,
And take thy rest.

Аноним 16/10/16 Вск 15:41:33  436450
>>429295 (OP)
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
OP is faggot.
Аноним 16/10/16 Вск 16:22:05  436461

As well as you
Аноним 16/10/16 Вск 16:23:25  436462
Аноним 16/10/16 Вск 16:37:20  436465
OP is a faggot
And so are you.
ИМХО, ритмически лучше.

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