La Vojo
by Ludwik Lejzer Zamenhof (1859-1917)

Tra densa mallumo, briletas la celo
al kiu kuraĝe ni iras.
Simile al stelo, en nokta ĉielo,
al ni la direkton ĝi diras.
Kaj nin ne timigas la noktaj fantomoj,
            nek batoj de l’ sortoj,
            nek mokoj de l’ homoj,
Ĉar klara, kaj rekta, kaj tre difinita,
ĝi estas la voj’ elektita.

Nur rekte, kuraĝe, kaj ne flankiĝante,
ni iru la vojon celitan.
Eĉ guto malgranda konstante frapante,
traboras la monton granitan.
            L’ espero, l’ obstino,
            kaj la pacienco,
jen estas la signo per kies potenco
ni, paŝo post paŝo, post longa laboro,
atingos la celon en gloro.

Ni semas kaj semas, neniam laciĝas
pri l’ tempoj estontaj pensante.
Cent semoj perdiĝas, mil semoj perdiĝas,
ni semas kaj semas konstante.
            Ho ĉesu, mokante
            la homoj admonas,
Ne ĉesu, ne cesu! En kor’ al ni sonas.
Obstine antaŭen, la nepoj vin benos,
se vi pacience eltenos.

Se longa sekeco, aŭ ventoj subitaj,
velkantajn foliojn deŝiras,
ni dankas la venton, kaj repurigitaj,
ni forton pli freŝan akiras.
            Ne mortos jam nia
            bravega anaro.
Ĝin jam ne timigos la vento, nek staro.
Obstine ĝi paŝas, provita, hardita
al cel’ unufoje signita.

Views: 31

Fidèle
by Paul Éluard (1895-1952)

Vivant dans un village calme
D’où la route part longue et dure
Pour un lieu de sang et de larmes
Nous sommes purs.

Les nuits sont chaudes et tranquilles
Et nous gardons aux amoureuses
Cette fidélité précieuse
Entre toutes: l’es poir de vivre.

Views: 31

Die Lorelei
by Heinrich Heine (1797-1856)

Ich weiß nicht, was soll das bedeuten,
Daß ich so traurig bin.
Ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten,
Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.

Die Luft ist kühl und es dunkelt,
Und ruhig fließt der Rhein;
Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt
Im Abendsonnenschein.

Die schönste Jungfrau sitzet
Dort oben wunderbar;
Ihr goldnes Geschmeide blitzet,
Sie kämmt ihr goldenes Haar.

Sie kämmt es mit goldnem Kamme,
Und singt ein Lied dabei,
Das hat eine wundersame,
Gewaltige Melodei.

Den Schiffer im kleinen Schiffe
Ergreift es mit wildem Weh;
Er schaut nicht die Felsenriffe,
Er schaut nur hinauf in die Höh’.

Ich glaube, die Wellen verschlingen
Am Ende Schiffer und Kahn;
Und das hat mit ihrem Singen
Die Lorelei gethan.

Views: 31

Prospice
by Robert Browning (1812-1889)

Fear death?—to feel the fog in my throat,
         The mist in my face,
When the snows begin, and the blasts denote
         I am nearing the place,
The power of the night, the press of the storm,
         The post of the foe;
Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form,
         Yet the strong man must go:
For the journey is done and the summit attained,
         And the barriers fall,
Though a battle’s to fight ere a guerdon be gained,
         The reward of it all.
I was ever a fighter, so—one fight more.
         The best and the last!
I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forebore,
         And bade me creep past.
No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers
         The heroes of old,
Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life’s arrears
         Of pain, darkness, and cold.
For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave,
         The black minute’s at end.
And the elements’ rage, the fiend-voices that rave
         Shall dwindle, shall blend,
Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain,
         Then a light, then thy breast,
O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again,
         And with God be the rest!

Views: 30

Jamais
by Alfred de Musset (1810-1857)

Jamais, ayez-vous dit, tandis qu’autour de nous
Résonnait de Schubert la plaintive musique;
Jamais, avez-vous dit, tandis que, malgré vous,
Brillait de vos grands yeux l’azur mélancolique.

Jamais, répétiez-vous, pâle et d’un air si doux,
Qu’on eût cru voir sourire une médaille antique.
Mais des trésors secrets l’instinct fier et pudique
Vous couvrit de rougeur, comme un voile jaloux.

Quel mot vous prononcez, marquise, et quel dommage!
Hélas! je ne voyais ni ce charmant visage,
Ni ce divin sourire, en vous parlant d’aimer.

Vos yeux bleus sont moins doux que votre âme n’est belle.
Même en les regardant, je ne regrettais qu’elle,
Et de voir dans sa fleur un tel cœur se fermer.

Views: 32

Escape
by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

I never hear the word “escape”
Without a quicker blood,
A sudden expectation,
A flying attitude.

I never hear of prisons broad
By soldiers battered down,
But I tug childish at my bars,—
Only to fail again!

Views: 36

Lycidas
by John Milton (1608-1674)

In this Monody the Author bewails a learned Friend, unfortunately drown’d in his Passage from Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637. And by occasion fortells the ruin of our corrupted Clergy then in their height.

Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere,
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,
And with forc’d fingers rude
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear
Compels me to disturb your season due;
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.
Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme.
He must not float upon his wat’ry bier
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,
Without the meed of some melodious tear.

Continue reading …

Views: 37

To a Coquette
by Quintus Horatius Flaccus (Horace) (65 B.C.E.-8 C.E.)

Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa
Perfusus liquidis urget odoribus
   Grato, Pyrrha, sub antro?
      Cui flavam religas comam,

Simplex munditiis? Heu quotiens fidem
Mutatosque deos flebit et aspera
   Nigris aequora ventis
      Emirabitur insolens,

Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aurea,
Qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem
   Sperat, nescius aurae
      Fallacis. Miseri, quibus

Intentata nites. Me tabula sacer
Votiva paries indicat uvida
   Suspendisse potenti
      Vestimenta maris deo.

Views: 26

Lament for Marsyas
by Willa Cather (1873-1947)

Marsyas sleeps. Oh, never wait,
Maidens, by the city gate,
Till he come to plunder gold
Of the daffodils you hold,
Or your branches white with May;
He is whiter gone than they.
He will startle you no more
When along the river shore
Damsels beat the linen clean.
Nor when maidens play at ball
Will he catch it where it fall:
Though ye wait for him and call
He will answer not, I ween.

Happy Earth to hold him so,
Still and satisfied and low,
Giving him his will—ah more
Than a woman could before!
Still forever holding up
To his parted lips the cup
Which hath eased him, when to bless
All who loved where powerless.
Ah! for that too-lovely head,
Low among the laureled dead,
Many a rose earth oweth yet;
Many a yellow jonquil brim,
Many a hyacinth dewey-dim,
For the singing breath of him—
Sweeter than the violet.

Marsyas sleeps: Ah! Well-a-day,
He was wise who did not stay
Until hands unworthy bore
Prizes that were his before,
Him the god hath put for long
With the elder choir of song—
They who turned them from the sun
Ere their singing days were done,
Or the lips of praise were chill.
Whether summer come or go,
April bud or winter blow,
He will never heed or know
Underneath the daffodil.

Views: 30

Babel
by Osbert Sitwell (1892-1969)

Therefore is the name of it called Babel
And still we stood and stared far down
Into that ember-glowing town
Which every shaft and shock of fate
Had shorn into its base. Too late
   Came carelessly Serenity.

Now torn and broken houses gaze
On the rat-infested maze
That once sent up rose-silver haze
To mingle through eternity.

The outlines, once so strongly wrought,
Of city walls, are now a thought
Or jest unto the dead who fought…
   Foundation for futurity.

The shimmering sands where once there played
Children with painted pail and spade
Are drearly desolate, — afraid
   To meet Night’s dark humanity,

Whose silver cool remakes the dead,
And lays no blame on any head
For all the havoc, fire, and lead,
   That fell upon us suddenly,

When all we came to know as good
Gave ways to Evil’s fiery flood,
And monstrous myths of iron and blood
   Seem to obscure God’s clarity.

Deep sunk in sin, this tragic star
Sinks deeper still, and wages war
Against itself; strewn all the seas
With victims of a world disease.
— And we are left to drink the lees
Of Babel’s direful prophecy.

Views: 25