Category Archives: Poetry

Po letech

…from the quills of the dead white poets Ivan Sabinov Děvčátko tichoučké s milýma očima až budeš po letech obracet tento list, až mládí uteče, jak horská bystřina, pak vzpomeň, kdo chtěl dát srdéčku kdysi jíst… Až vlásky zbělají, až … Continue reading

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The Means to attain a Happy Life

…from the quills of the dead white poets Henry Howard (c.1517 -1547) My friend, the things that do attain The happy life be these, I find; The riches left, not got with pain; The fruitful ground, the quiet mind; The … Continue reading

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Demaskovaná láska

…from the quills of the dead white poets František Gellner (1881 -1914) Dobře jsem jedl a dobře jsem pil navečer ve Pšorboji a v noci jsem se nasytil smyslnou láskou tvojí. Tvá malá ramena líbal jsem něžně znova a znova. … Continue reading

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To His Love (i)

…from the quills of the dead white poets Edmund Spenser (1552 – 1599) Mark when she smiles with amiable cheer, And tell me whereto can ye liken it: When one each eyelid sweetly do appear An hundred graces as in … Continue reading

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“I Know the Only Truth…”

  …from the quills of the dead white poets Marina Tsvetaeva (1892 – 1941) 1915 I know the only truth! The others – cast aside! There’s no need for the men of Earth to fight with others! Look, there’s the … Continue reading

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to my love

…from the quills of the dead white poets Edmund Spenser (1552 – 1599) One day I wrote her name upon the sand But came the waves and washed it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came … Continue reading

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The Vagabond

…from the quills of the dead white poets Robert Louis Stevenson (1850 – 1894) From Songs of Travel Give to me the life I love, Let the lave go by me, Give the jolly heaven above And the byway night … Continue reading

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The Dismantled Ship

  …from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)   In some unused lagoon, some nameless bay, On sluggish, lonesome waters, anchor’d near the shore, An old, dismasted, gray and batter’d ship, disabled, done, After … Continue reading

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Večer

…from the quills of the dead white poets Fráňa Šrámek (1877 -1952) Přetiché ruce modřínů a tišší ještě tvář, v těch tichých rukách spočinu a zahledím se v tvář: Co bylo, už se jenom zdá, co zdálo se, je blíž, … Continue reading

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“No, Not with You…”

  …from the quills of the dead white poets Mikhail Lermontov (1814 – 1841) 1841 No, not with you I fell in love so fast, And not for me your beauty is succeeding; I love in you my suffering preceding, … Continue reading

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Večer

  …from the quills of the dead white poets Fráňa Šrámek (1877 -1952) Přetiché ruce modřínů a tišší ještě tvář, v těch tichých rukách spočinu a zahledím se v tvář: Co bylo, už se jenom zdá, co zdálo se, je … Continue reading

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England’s Answer

…from the quills of the dead white poets Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936) Truly ye come of The Blood; slower to bless than to ban; Little used to lie down at the bidding of any man. Flesh of the flesh … Continue reading

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Podzim

  …from the quills of the dead white poets   Karel Toman (1877 – 1946) Hle, stříbrná hvězda v modřínech tryskla na pokraji lesa. A zádumčivý večer závoj stáh na svět i duše. Kdes v pustnoucí vile alt vroucí zpívá. … Continue reading

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When you are old

…from the quills of the dead white poets William Ernest Henley 1849 -1903 When you are old, and I am passed away – Passed, and your face, your golden face is gray – I think, whate’er the end, this dream … Continue reading

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“Night, Streets, the Lantern…”

  …from the quills of the dead white poets Alexandr Alexandrovich Blok (1880 – 1921) Night, streets, the lantern, the drugstore, The meaningless and dusky light. A quarter of the century more — All fall the same into your sight! … Continue reading

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Sentimentální žádosti

  …from the quills of the dead white poets František Gellner (1881 -1914)   Má touha rameno hubené v pláči vášnivém zvedá. Teplo zhaslého plamene v studeném popeli hledá. Sentimentální žádosti v duši mé křídlama tlukou. Má touha pláče a … Continue reading

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Tests

…from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)   All submit to them where they sit, inner, secure, unapproachable to analysis in the soul, Not traditions, not the outer authorities are the judges, They are … Continue reading

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Pokoj s nábytkem

  …from the quills of the dead white poets František Gellner (1881 -1914) Šli světem v mladém horování zprvu – a pak již bez zájmu. U starých vdov a mladých paní své žití tráví v podnájmu. Na stěně z oprýskaných … Continue reading

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Year that Trembled and Reel’d beneath Me

  …from the quills of the dead white poets Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)   Year that Trembled and Reel’d beneath Me! Your summer wind was warm enough, yet the air I breathed froze me, A thick gloom fell through … Continue reading

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Březen

…from the quills of the dead white poets Karel Toman (1877 – 1946) Na naší studni ráno hvízdal kos. Jde jaro, jde jaro. A když jsem okno na sad otvíral, šeptaly pukající pupeny: Jde jaro, jde jaro. Bez chvěje se … Continue reading

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