Flyttfåglarna
by Johan Ludvig Runeberg (1804-1877)

I, flyktande gäster på främmande strand,
när söken I åter ert fädernesland?
När sippan sig döljer
i fädernedalen
och bäcken besköljer
den grönskande alen,
då lyfta de vingen,
då komma de små;
väg visar dem ingen
i villande blå;
de hitta ändå.

De finna så säkert den saknade nord,
där våren dem väntar med hydda och bord,
där källornas spenar
de trötta förfriska
och vaggande grenar
om njutningar viska,
där hjärtat får drömma
vid nattsolens gång
och kärleken glömma
vid lekar och sång,
att vägen var lång.

De lyckliga glada, de bygga i ro
bland mossiga tallar sitt fredliga bo;
och stormarne, krigen,
bekymren och sorgen,
de känna ej stigen
till värnlösa borgen,
där glädjen behöver
blott majdagens brand
och natten, som söver
med rosende hand
de späda ibland.

Du, flyktande ande på främmande strand,
när söker du åter ditt fädernesland?
När palmerna mogna
i fädernevärlden,
då börjar du, trogna,
den fröjdfulla färden,
då lyfter du vingen
som fåglarna små;
väg visar dig ingen
i villande blå;
du hittar ändå.

Views: 42

The Ground-Swell
by E.J. Pratt (1882-1964)

Three times we heard it calling with a low,
      Insistent note; at ebb-tide on the noon;
      And at the hour of dusk, when the red moon
Was rising and the tide was on the flow;
Then, at the hour of midnight once again,
      Though we had entered in and shut the door
      And drawn the blinds, it crept up from the shore
And smote upon a bedroom window-pane;
Then passed away as some dull pang that grew
Out of the void before Eternity
      Had fashioned out an edge for human grief;
Before the winds of God had learned to strew
His harvest-sweepings on a winter sea
      To feed the primal hungers of a reef.

Views: 26

Seele des Lebens
by Georg Trakl (1887-1914)

Verfall, der weich das Laub umdüstert,
Es wohnt im Wald sein weites Schweigen.
Bald scheint ein Dorf sich geisterhaft zu neigen.
Der Schwester Mund in schwarzen Zweigen flüstert.

Der Einsame wird bald entgleiten,
Vielleicht ein Hirt auf dunklen Pfaden
Ein Tier tritt leise aus den Baumarkaden,
Indes die Lider sich vor Gottheit weiten.

Der blaue Fluß rinnt schön hinunter,
Gewölke sich am Abend zeigen;
Die Seele auch in engelhaftem Schweigen.
Vergängliche Gebilde gehen unter.

Views: 23

Dear Heart, Why Will You Use Me So?
by James Joyce (1882-1941)

Dear heart, why will you use me so?
      Dear eyes that gently me upbraid,
Still are you beautiful — but O,
      How is your beauty raimented!

Through the clear mirror of your eyes,
      Through the soft cry of kiss to kiss,
Desolate winds assail with cries
      The shadowy garden where love is.

And soon shall love dissolved be
      When over us the wild winds blow —
But you, dear love, too dear to me,
      Alas! why will you use me so?

Views: 35

The Negro Speaks of Rivers
by Langston Hughes (1902-1849)

I’ve known rivers:
I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
   flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
   went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy
   bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

Views: 34

Wordsworth Unread
by Hartley Coleridge (1796-1849)

He lived amidst the untrodden ways
      To Rydal Lake that lead;
A bard whom there were none to praise,
      And very few to read.

Behind a cloud his mystic sense,
      Deep hidden, who can spy?
Bright as the night when not a star
      Is shining in the sky.

Unread his works—his ‛Milk White Doe’
      With dust is dark and dim;
It’s still in Longman’s shop, and oh!
      The difference to him!

Views: 49

The Dragon-Fly
by Walter Savage Landor (1775-1864)

Life (priest and poet say) is but a dream;
I wish no happier one than to be laid
Beneath a cool syringa’s scented shade,
Or wavy willow, by the running stream,
Brimful of moral, where the dragon-fly,
Wanders as careless and content as I.

Thanks for this fancy, insect king,
Of purple crest and filmy wing,
Who with indifference givest up
The water-lily’s golden cup,
To come again and overlook
What I am writing in my book.
Believe me, most who read the line
Will read with hornier eyes than thine;
And yet their souls shall live for ever,
And thine drop dead into the river!
God pardon them, O insect king,
Who fancy so unjust a thing!

Views: 50

Fire and Ice
by Robert Frost (1874-1963)

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 know that for destruction ice
Is also great,
      And would suffice.

Views: 41

La perla de la mora
by José Martí (1853-1895)

Una mora de Trípoli tenía
Una perla rosada, una gran perla:
Y la echó con desdén al mar un día:
-«¡Siempre la misma! ¡ya me cansa verla!»

Pocos años después, junto a la roca
De Trípoli… ¡la gente llora al verla!
Así le dice al mar la mora loca:
-«¡Oh mar! ¡oh mar! ¡devuélveme mi perla!»

Views: 41

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Bat
by Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)

Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder what you’re at!
Up above the world you fly,
Like a tea-tray in the sky.

Views: 44