so much depends
upona red wheel
barrowglazed with rain
waterbeside the white
chickens.http://www.writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88/wcw-red-wheel.html
| Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by: Robert Frost |
| Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of the easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. |
| From "You Come Too", 1916 http://www.internal.org/view_poem.phtml?poemID=103 |
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream–and not make dreams your master,
If you can think–and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings–nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And–which is more–you’ll be a Man, my son!
Van Gogh by Alexander Kushner
Why does the vortex-like Van Gogh
Oppress me with vague anguish so?
How yellow his self-portrait is!
A bandage on his sickly ear,
Green-jacketed, old womanish there,
Why does he follow me with his eyes?
Why, in his midnight café, did he place
That servant with the vicious face?
Those bright billiards no one shoots?
Why is that heavy chair so stood
That, robbed of peace of mind for good,
You await the tears and tramp of boots?
Why are his treetops so windblown?
How come the doctor has been drawn
With that absurd twig in his hand?
Where, in that landscape all askew
It speeds without fare or baggage through,
Where is that empty carriage bound?
Prayer (BY Mikhail Yurevich Lermontov)
“At life’s most testing moment, when
the grieving heart’s replete,
a prayer that is most potent then
I call up and repeat.
There is a power, suffused with grace,
when living words combine,
a breath beyond the commonplace,
that holds a joy divine.
Like dead-weight slipping from the brain
now fades my unbelief -
I trust again, shed tears again,
and such relief, relief…”
Year written: 1839
—————————————-
МОЛИТВА ( Михаил Лермонтов)
“В минуту жизни трудную
Теснится ль в сердце грусть,
Одну молитву чудную
Твержу я наизусть.
Есть сила благодатная
В созвучьи слов живых,
И дышит непонятная,
Святая прелесть в них.
С души как бремя скатится,
Сомненье далеко —
И верится, и плачется,
И так легко, легко…”
1839
Русская Лирика XIX века.
Москва, “Художественная Литература”, 1981.
http://www.litera.ru/stixiya/authors/lermontov/v-minutu-zhizni.html
