Category Archives: Poetry

Eldorado

…from the quills of the dead white poets Edgar Allan Poe (1809 – 1849) Gaily bedight, A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long, Singing a song, In search of Eldorado. But he grew old- This knight … Continue reading

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Vlastní podobizna

…from the quills of the dead white poets   Karel Toman (1877 – 1946) Daleko v hlubokém lese vyvěrá zpěvavý pramen. Z tmy k světlu se rodí a třese podsvětní píseň. Život mě křtil vodou živou, chuť hlubin a temnot … Continue reading

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Love And Death

…from the quills of dead white poets Lord Byron (1788 – 1824) I watched thee when the foe was at our side, Ready to strike at him – or thee and me Were safety hopeless – rather than divide Aught … Continue reading

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O heavens, heavens,

…from the quills of the dead white poets Osip Mandelshtam 1891 -1938 O heavens, heavens, see you in my dreams! It is impossible — you had become so blind, And day was burned as if a page — to rims: … Continue reading

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“By the Hoof of the Wild Goat”

…from the quills of the dead white poets Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936) By the Hoof of the Wild Goat uptossed From the cliff where she lay in the Sun Fell the Stone To the Tarn where the daylight is … Continue reading

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Poverty

…from the quills of the dead white poets Samuel Johnson (1709 – 1784) Has heaven reserv’d, in pity to the poor, No pathless waste, or undiscover’d shore? No secret island in the boundless main? No peaceful desert yet unclaim’d by … Continue reading

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The Dalliance of the Eagles

…from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892) Skirting the river road, (my forenoon walk, my rest,) Skyward in air a sudden muffled sound, the dalliance of the eagles, The rushing amorous contact high in … Continue reading

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Hlas noci

…from the quills of the dead white poets Karel Toman (1877 – 1946) Město tě volá, odbojného syna, ó slyš. Ať kladivo jsi, nebo kovadlina, ty zníš. Odvěká píseň, boj a věčné drama hrá v tmách, a tvoje duše žíti … Continue reading

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I Am He that Aches with Love

…from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)   I am he that aches with amorous love; Does the earth gravitate? Does not all matter, aching, attract all matter? So the body of me to … Continue reading

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Beast and Man in India

…from the quills of the dead white poets Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936) They killed a Child to please the Gods In Earth’s young penitence, And I have bled in that Babe’s stead Because of innocence. I bear the sins … Continue reading

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No Labor

…from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892) No Labor-Saving Machine Nor discovery have I made, Nor will I be able to leave behind me any wealthy bequest to found a hospital or library, Nor … Continue reading

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“I Had Not Tried the Wine…”

…from the quills of the dead white poets Osip Mandelshtam 1891 -1938 I had not tried the wine that ancients made, And had not heard of Ossian’s old tune; So why, on earth, I seem to see the glade, And, … Continue reading

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Mým snem jsi prošla

…from the quills of the dead white poets Karel Toman (1877 – 1946) Mým snem jsi prošla, jako zjevení alejí tmavou v půlnoci jde tiše. A skoupý vínek černé zeleni, jehož celovat chtěl čelo tvé i vlas, jež vadne, chřadne, … Continue reading

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Sea Dreams

…from the quills of the dead white poets Alfred Tennyson (1809 – 1892) What does little birdie say In her nest at peep of day? Let me fly, says little birdie, Mother, let me fly away. Birdie, rest a little … Continue reading

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The Fabulists

…from the quills of the dead white poets Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936) “The Vortex”–A Diversity of Creatures When all the world would keep a matter hid, Since Truth is seldom Friend to any crowd, Men write in fable, as … Continue reading

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Zem?

…from the quills of the dead white poets Otokar Březina (1868 -1929) Sen rozkládá se za světem, za hvězdou hvězda, když půlnoc se tmí, a mezi nimi je jeden, krouží kolem bílého slunce, a let jeho hudbou tajemné radosti hřmí, … Continue reading

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The City of Sleep

…from the quills of the dead white poets Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936) (“The Brushwood Boy” — The Day’s Work) Over the edge of the purple down, Where the single lamplight gleams, Know ye the road to the Merciful Town … Continue reading

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A Dream Within a Dream

…from the quills of the dead white poets Edgar Allan Poe (1809 – 1849) Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow- You are not wrong, who deem That my days … Continue reading

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Thought

…from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892) Of persons arrived at high positions, ceremonies, wealth, scholarships and the like; (To me all that those persons have arrived at sinks away from them, except as … Continue reading

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Čisté jitro

…from the quills of the dead white poets Otokar Březina (1868 -1929) Když za jitra, snů množstvím zemdleni, jsme vyšli do zahrad, zem celou, jako duši svou, jsme zřeli v ohni rozkvétat; i ptali jsme se větrů, vod a stromů, … Continue reading

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