Category Archives: Poetry

Orel Balkánu

…from the quills of the dead white poets Svatopluk Čech (1846 -1908)   Sedl orel na mečetu, sivý orel Balkánu, pod ním muezzíni světu hlásají zvěst koránu, pod ním moslemím se beře k harému, by touhy své vlíbal bujné do … Continue reading

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London 1802

…from the quills of the dead white poets   William Wordsworth (1770 – 1850) Milton! Thou shouldst be living at this hour: England hath need of thee; she is a fen Of stagnant waters; altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the … Continue reading

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Les

…from the quills of the dead white poets Fráňa Šrámek (1877 -1952)   Kyj v pravé ruce, v levé mladou krásnou ženu, jež vínem smíchu třísní jalovčí a mech, tak potkám já tě zas, hruď rozhalenu, kyj křikem pozdravím a … Continue reading

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Facing West from California’s Shores

…from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892) Facing West from California’s Shores, Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound, I, a child, very old, over waves, towards the house of maternity, the land of … Continue reading

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Beginners

…from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892) How they are provided for upon the earth, (appearing at intervals,) How dear and dreadful they are to the earth, How they inure to themselves as much … Continue reading

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‘My heart leaps up…’

 …from the quills of the dead white poets William Wordsworth (1770 – 1850)     My heart leaps up when I behold  A rainbow in the sky:  So was it when my life began,  So is it now I am … Continue reading

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Po nás ať přijde potopa!

  …from the quills of the dead white poets      František Gellner (1881 -1914) Vy dobří hoši, co jste vyšli bořit se vzdorem v srdcích, s pěstí sevřenou,  co lidstvu nové ráje chcete stvořit,  vám zpívám píseň na rozloučenou. … Continue reading

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The Solitary Reaper

 …from the quills of the dead white poets William Wordsworth (1770 – 1850) Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and bind the grain, … Continue reading

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The Lost Legion

  …from the quills of the dead white poets Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936) There’s a Legion that never was listed, That carries no colours or crest, But, split in a thousand detachments, Is breaking the road for the rest. … Continue reading

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Drobky pod stůl hází nám osud

  …from the quills of the dead white poets František Gellner (1881 -1914) Drobky pod stůl hází nám osud, ostatní vše je nicota. Alkohol ještě je! Holky jsou posud! Jsou ještě radosti života! Žena jak žena. V životě vraku konečně … Continue reading

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The White Man’s Burden

..from the quills of the dead white poets Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936) Take up the White man’s burden – Send forth the best ye breed – Go bind your sons to exile To serve your captives’ need; To wait … Continue reading

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In Former Songs

  …from the quills of the dead white poets     Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)   In former songs Pride have I sung, and Love, and passionate, joyful Life,   But here I twine the strands of Patriotism and … Continue reading

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Bez ovoce

  …from the quills of the dead white poets     Josef Svatopluk Machar (1864 – 1942)       Jak zvadlý úsměv stařeny svit slunce žlutým parkem chví  a hází záblesk zlacený  v zem do mokrého listoví.     … Continue reading

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‘Hail, holy light…’

  …from the quills of the dead white poets   John Milton (1608 – 1674)    Hail, holy light, offspring of Heaven first-born,  Or of th’ Eternal coeternal beam  May I express thee unblam’d? Since God is light,  And never … Continue reading

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The Critic’s Task

  …from the quills of the dead white poets   Alexander Pope (1688 – 1744)     A little earning is a dangerous thing;  Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:  There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,  And drinking … Continue reading

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Long, too long America

  …from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892) Long, too long America,  Travelling roads all even and peaceful you learn from joys and prosperity only,  But now, ah now, to learn from crises of … Continue reading

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Všichni mi lhali

  …from the quills of the dead white poets František Gellner (1881 -1914) Všichni mi lhali, všichni mi lhali, blázna si ze mne dělali. Přede mnou citem se rozplývali, a zády se mi vysmáli. Žurnály, básníci, učenci lhali, po léta … Continue reading

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I hear America singing

  …from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892) I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear, Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong, The carpenter singing … Continue reading

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Maids of Australia

  …from the quills of the dead white poets   Banjo Paterson (1864 -1941)    One day as I strolled by the Hawkesbury banks,  Where the maids of Australia, they play their wild pranks,  Near a palm-shaded tree, I laid … Continue reading

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A Pub with No Beer

…from the quills of the white poets Dan Shean / Gordon Parson   It’s lonesome away from your kindred and all, By the campfire at night where the wild dingoes call, But there’s nothing so lonesome, so morbid or drear … Continue reading

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