Poetry

I am trying to translate a Spanish poem. The sentence is "dos calcetines suaves como liebres", which means "two socks smooth as a hare". It doesn't sound good in English, so I want to replace "hare" with another animal. Any suggestions?

2007-09-18 02:19:41 · 15 answers · asked by Anonymous

Your Grace is Overwhelming
August 27, 2006

Your grace is overwhelming
It brings me to my knees
I bow my head and cry to God
Lord forgive me please.

I have not listened to Your Word
I’ve lived my life my way
I’ve surrounded myself with sinful things
I give them up today

My life has been so full of hurt
Abuse, foul words, and pain
Can You ever forgive me?
Or my very life will you disdain?

How could you forgive such sinful things?
Could this grace I hear about be true?
Jesus did die on the cross
A way for me to You

I knew that you were real my Lord
I was taught of you in church
But my life it got so out of hand
Oh nothing stopped the hurts

I turned to drugs and love of man
To calm the pain of past
But with each new choice I made
I seemed to sink so fast

Deeper in this life of sin
Further from your way
Only when all else had failed
I’d bow my head to pray

But now I seek your face my Lord
I’ve repented for my sins
I now live my life for You
And now my life begins

I hung my head in shame so long
How could you forgive it all?
All the sinful things I’ve done
My Jesus took them all

For I am now forgiven
I’m growing in Your Word
I long to take each breath for You
My gracious Father I now serve

I will share the Grace of God
With everyone I meet
I will tell of His great love
To people on the streets

Your grace is overwhelming
It brings me to my knees
As the tears stream down my face
You’ve given me true peace

Psalm 103:8-13
8 The Lord is compassionate and gracious; slow to anger, abounding in love. 9 He will not always accuse, nor will he harbor his anger forever; 10 he does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities. 11 For as high as the heavens are above the earth. So great is his love for those who fear Him; 12 as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us. 13 As a father has compassion on
His children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him

2007-09-18 02:17:29 · 4 answers · asked by HisPrincess 4

If I was a single drop of rain,
perhaps a tear on your face again,
would you hold me close,
or do you suppose

Perhaps we find life is dear,
as we clinch year after year,
this is work I will never forget,
as the place you have in my heart will set

You have sent my heart afire
you are my only desire
the pain with you not around
makes me want to be underground

The utter hell I live,
shows more than I can give,
You left me alone
feeling cold as a stone

It seems like every other line needs to rhyme
wow,I will need some time
you all are good as I am not,
just a silly snot

As this is fun,I must admit
I'm just a stupid ****,
as I type I cry,
not even knowing why

Sorry all if you feel insulted,
Typing this unleashed the vaulted,
you all have talent where i have none
thanks for reading this and my time in the sun

Still a raindrop falling
still don't know my calling,
I need affection and I need love,
Were these the words you were thinking of?

2007-09-17 21:42:44 · 7 answers · asked by Anonymous

{sorry guys&gals, just came down from manic town and this is what I wrote, a bit morbid}


Finally Dream


Slip inside my mind
and close you eyes
Listen to the voices
telling many lies

Lies about others
wanting me to believe
Especially the lies
they tell on me

Whispers low and frightening,
subtle touch
To pieces of my mind
used not so much

Rested dark and dormant,
simmering
Plotting an attack
on the pain they bring

Blades have scared my skin,
razors cold, profound
Lined up on the counter
for another round

Endorphins got the back
of my unsettled mind
Racing to fend off
what is not their kind

Blood drops hit the floor
almost deafening
Tonight I’ll close my eyes to
finally dream...

2007-09-17 16:08:18 · 13 answers · asked by ? 3

THINKING OF YOU!

I'm here in the bathroom
On the potty I sitI think of you darling
While I take a s---
I shudder and scold myself
For showing no class
As thoughts of you come back to me
As I wipe my a--!!

2007-09-17 12:05:07 · 10 answers · asked by rosemary h 2

anyone wonna write a little poem for me?
I cant write a poem to save my life..its for a history class
anything will do, as long as it makes sence.
it can be as little as four lines up to as big as you please
:[
please help, i cant do it
ive sat here and tried and im nothing of the poem type ha
thank you ahead of time if you can help<3

2007-09-17 07:47:57 · 7 answers · asked by Sunshine 1

for my grandpa..its been 2years & i just got the nerve to go see his grave.

I remember you so well,
your love, your face, your smell.
Almost like it was yesterday,
you came into my life that way.
You used to be so good to me,
it was almost hard to beleive.
It still hurts every now and then,
thinking how didnt win.
You were definatly the best,
you were different than the rest.
I miss you so much buddy,
I want you here with me!


In Loving Memory of:
James "Buddy" Geston Owens
Sept.30, 1928 - Oct. 15, 2005

2007-09-17 06:43:06 · 5 answers · asked by kandi 2

could you explain the terms used in your answer, someone told me I used too many abstract nouns once and I had no idea what they were. (damn wannabe). Also any recommendations on poetry magz, in the uk, which accept first time (wannabe) poets would be nice.

2007-09-17 03:07:48 · 17 answers · asked by Mason 2

Please visit this page and tell me what you think of my poems! Here is the url:

http://www.poemhunter.com/amity-willows/

Thank you!

2007-09-16 16:29:18 · 7 answers · asked by Girl In Green 2

The Liar:

I am a liar. This, in itself, is such a simple parse, but to finally say it, to have it out there for all the word to know, to hear, mean’s that it’s now been liberated from myself and that I may be seen as…just me. Now I may be able to just be myself an s, I guess, I’ll see who stays by my side through it all and who runs away and heads for the hills, so to speak.
Actually I haven’t even been honest with myself for so long that now…I don’t even know who I am anymore. I have become such a good liar that I have not only fooled everyone around me, I’ve also fooled myself. The people who I love, or say I love, I feel they truly love me back…but I’m not really sure if it’s me they love, or just the web of lies I’ve spun. Neither friends nor family are truly safe from my venom.
I have built up this life, this lie, I have so carefully and precisely. I have strung every lie through the rest so that I am completely covered. That I thought I would never be able to fall from my insidious pedestal. I thought that no one would be able see through it all to see the real person I actually am, and so far…no one has.
However, in truly believing this I, again, lied to myself. I truth, if one single story of mine falls through, then I too shall come down with it. I will be within the rubble, undistinguishable from the rest of my lies. My stories.
But now I have a true reason to want to come clean. To admit and accept all of my faults…and my good traits as well. (Even though, these “good traits” I’ve never seen myself…) What could this “great reason” be that would make me give up this entire life that I have so carefully pieced together and made myself be? What could it be that would make me willingly let it all shatter around my feet? What could possibly make me want to stand here, just as I am and let the world see me totally nude of all my lies, just I am.
Actually “who?” would be a better question in this case. So who is it, you may be asking…
Well this person I has been there for me for me my whole life. Through everything, from the highest highs to the lowest lows, they’ve seen me through. So, now, the only right thing I can do is to finally tell the truth, the whole truth, the real truth to this person. And pray that in the end they can still see me and love me the same way they always have.
I’m sure that you’re still probably wondering who this great person is. Who on earth could be this special? And by now you’re assuming that it’s the “next great love” in my life. And, in a way, you’re right…but in the way that it really counts, you’re oh so wrong. Actually this person is none other then…me.
But, in the end, isn’t honesty to yourself what really counts? Then again, I could be totally wrong in thinking and believing this.
Who knows really? I mean, this whole letter could just be a show, a scam. Maybe I’m lying now…we all know that I could be. I guess ya never really know, huh…?

2007-09-16 15:44:34 · 3 answers · asked by ♥femme fatale♥ 2

you search for heart's passion
but discover love's pain
give all your possessions
yet nothing to gain

the garden of eden
now desert's dry kiss
an angel's bright heaven
turned demon's abyss

dark shadow at noon
against stars at midnight
new birth leads to doom
and old death to new life

2007-09-16 12:50:04 · 5 answers · asked by Wallflower 5

Through they eyes of a child
Oh to see life and love
Through the eyes of a child
Long before pain and
Disappointments leave their mark
And glaze over the
Innocent eyes of a child
For such children could grow
Into those who sow
Seeds of innocence and purity
But you cant dispense what you dont possess within

Thought the eyes of a child

Life and love through the eyes of a child
The future leaders our future leaders
What do we offer their hungry eyes?
Our ears deaf and ignorant to their heart felt cries
Those motherless daughters
And fatherless sons
Are forced to live a life of maturity
Long before puberty

Through they eyes of a child
Oh to see life and love
Through the eyes of a child
Long before pain and
Disappointments leave their mark
And glaze over the
Innocent eyes of a child
For such children could grow
Into those who sow
Seeds of innocence and purity
But you cant dispense what you dont possess within

2007-09-16 11:14:25 · 1 answers · asked by Anonymous

"the broken heart"
[[by: me.]]

Everyday I wonder,
how life would be with thunder.

Knowing you're not with that special one,
Giving up, crying a river, oh how fun.
(OR Deaf to hearing, "Honey Bun.")

Eating ice-cream one scoop at a time,
He's not there to tell you, "Girl you looking fine."

Each hour you're checking your voicemail,
Telling yourself, "This isn't my fairytale."

2007-09-16 07:36:49 · 5 answers · asked by that one chick 2

WHEN WILL IT STOP

The world we live in is full of hatred and greed
Not caring about others as long as we succeed
We’re only for ourselves, hey I made it by
For the rest of the world all you have to do is lie

They teach us when were younger to do what you can
But in order for you to do that you must beat every other man
They teach us to steal and how to cheat to get ahead
All around the world all the things are being spread

People being snobby as they pass you on the street
Returning your smile with a frown of bitterness and conceit
They‘re impatient, rude and always on the run
They’re only 14 and already have a gun

They disobey their parents and backtalk people of higher rank
They take things from others and don’t even want to thank
They scream and they fight and threaten to kill
They do what they want and live for the thrill

No matter how much we have all we want is more
When ever something goes wrong all we do is declare war
We never give unless we expect something in return
There’s nothing in the world but money that we yearn

The world we live in is full of hatred and greed
Where everyone thinks that their the higher breed
They cut everyone down to make sure they’re on the top
But tell me please, when will it stop
By: Beverly Hurd ©

2007-09-16 07:27:07 · 12 answers · asked by SO scrumdidlyumptious 4

They keep deleting my account, even though, and I know that it may be hard to understand, I love them. They touched me, sometimes privately, and sometimes, just on the internet. But, I have to have some place to go, where irreverance and lust for life have a meaning outside of "coke or pepsi?" If I write a poem about any subject you come up with, will you accept me into this community?


i wrote a lyric one time
for a girl
named carrie
she, makes it hard
for me to think.
and with her every
twist and turn
i find her
irresistable.

2007-09-15 20:19:46 · 7 answers · asked by Anonymous

2007-09-15 19:15:30 · 10 answers · asked by Barry K 5

It's edited and finished and will take you perhaps ten minutes to read. Because it's too long to post here you can follow this link it you're interested:

http://unmired.livejournal.com/

(It's based on a modern ballet, with dialogue, that was written and performed some years back. Any sincere feedback is more than welcome and it's more than okay to trash this if you feel the need to do so. My ego is healthy enough.)

2007-09-15 16:39:56 · 3 answers · asked by Doc Watson 7

by this wind i lay my dead and in my sins i hold my head so i might bleed free into the crack of forever inside eternity while the cloud cry white and the sky screams blue with love i shall see you near the rushing waves and cracking thunder my soul sheds torn asunder reduced to ashes in hell and feathers in heaven may the never talk and always stay silent while the quiet gives me not a token the darkness lives unspoken, within me the light shines near you without you only shadows breathe and madness teethes stolen tears on a finding wind where i lay my dead betwixt the sins where i hold my head in my dreams my fist be steady my muscles prone me body firm and ready asorbing the blues that life may strike me with in my minds eye i see a rocky rift where both my pain and sorrow seem to drift but i see me standing above the void you resting in my arms thou keepeth me strong your worried glance stops me from wrong and so by these winds i lay my dead and in theese sins i hold my head...

2007-09-15 15:00:24 · 4 answers · asked by Gundead Grimm the War Dog 2

I know its not good but anyways, tell me what ya think! :D

I sit here under the shade of an oak tree
And look out over the mountains, out to the sea
The sea is tossing and churning
The waves make it look like the sea isnt misty blue
but dangerously burning
The wind is starting to roar
The birds fly up and start to soar
I look out to the sea again
and now I see, the hurricane coming in
It looks magestic and beautiful
but to others it looks like a charging bull
The air around me suddenly gets still
As if a tiger is going in for the kill
I know my end is near
I whisper, "Goodbye." And shed my last tear
Then I jump.

2007-09-15 14:57:10 · 9 answers · asked by Anonymous

i have been to poetry.com but i am really not happy with them at all. i would like to find a poets webiste where i can get feedback and possibly published seriously.

2007-09-15 13:35:51 · 9 answers · asked by Anonymous

Let me start off by saying its kind of a sad, emo-ish poem/song with no background. The situation inferred in it has no relation to any event in my life. Its just... emo. I don't normally write this kind of stuff! It just kinda fell into my head, and I like it. Will you suggest improvement? Or, perhaps, another stanza? :3

Here it is:
---
I saw you lying there, gasping
for air. So I kneeled next to
you, and you said to me,
"I can't hold on anymore."
Please don't leave me,
you are not alone.
Please breathe!
I need you next to me;
I can't let you go-
Another sad song written,
another heart beat fading,
another life gone wrong!
Please breathe:
Come back towards my light,
see the tears I cry,
come back to me~
---
Your thoughts?

2007-09-15 13:16:22 · 6 answers · asked by Mary 6

-a soldiers shoulder-
by what means, i'll never know the days idea,
or how the story came to unfold,
but this is one i must confess,
is a story to be told.
a single moment, a solitary soldier,
stood crossroad to my way.
standing in that moment, silent,
not knowing what to say.
all at once it was transparent,
let this soldier pass, he's earned it,
but "ladies first", he politely motioned,
for honor, he would not submit.
i bowed my head so graciously,
passed, then looked over my shoulder,
and saw the glory of my country,
in a single solitary soldier.
by what means, i'll never know my next persuasion,
but suddenly my steps reversed,
headed to what i did not know,
for surly this was not rehersed.
again, a single moment, a solitary soldier,
i stood standing in his way,
breathless in that moment, silent,
now knowing what to say.
as if the words had no retraint,
i simply mumbled "thank you",
confused he spoke, "for what?",
i whispered, "for doing what you do"

2007-09-15 10:13:52 · 2 answers · asked by the critic!! 3

Bliss Sapping Life
-------------------------

Its harder to wake then fall asleep
Naked and blind but no more a sheep
The pain of knowing nothing at all
The shame in believing the things that we saw
Dangerous
Our confidence
Bleeding us
Of Common Sense

We see the way the atoms spin
A pattern seen above again
People try to understand
Holding yet to faith in man
You're speaking words
You do not believe
Reassurance
Non-threatening

Residents of now, like then
The meaning of what seems insane
Slipping through their minds again
Then, accepted as the only way

Instead of keeping open doors
Holding on to you and yours
Grip is solid, safe, and sure.
Anything to be secure

2007-09-15 06:11:24 · 7 answers · asked by The King in Yellow 1

(It's a little to long to fit into Yahoo's alloted space so the last two stanzas will be in 'Details' below it. Please wait for them before responding.)

A Poet’s Lament

We ten thousand poets, pen in hand,
scream outward in anger with our might,
our words flow like blood upon the land
as ten thousand blinded by the light ---
while ten thousand lovers do no right.

With ten thousand muses from above,
each one involved in us making love,
us losing love, us forsaking love,
poets always seem to have it worse;
our broken hearts seeping endless verse.

As ten thousand souls, misunderstood,
in relationships we know that would
bruise us, bang us, slam us to the ground,
we thousand poets will soon be found
explaining pain to the world around.

With ten million single men out there,
ten million single women somewhere,
what would happen if we wisely chose
a good-hearted mate from one of those —
a returned love that we could share?

(I wrote this drivel, by the way.)

2007-09-15 06:08:53 · 6 answers · asked by Doc Watson 7

and was he talking about one of his affairs? please send me an anaysis or your opinion on this poem.

2007-09-15 05:00:44 · 2 answers · asked by Tom 1

William Shakespeare - Sonnet 18
Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? a
Thou art more lovely and more temperate: b
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, a
And summer's lease hath all too short a date: b

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, c
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; d
And every fair from fair sometime declines, c
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; d

But thy eternal summer shall not fade e
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; f
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, e
When in eternal lines to time thou growest: f

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, g
So long lives this and this gives life to thee. g


Oscar Wilde's novel the Picture of Dorian Gray, Chapter 1 – ‘the studio was filled with the rich odour of roses’.

The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.

From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flame like as theirs; and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion. The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ.

In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement and gave rise to so many strange conjectures.

2007-09-15 03:58:56 · 2 answers · asked by MM 1

William Shakespeare - Sonnet 18
Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? a
Thou art more lovely and more temperate: b
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, a
And summer's lease hath all too short a date: b

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, c
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; d
And every fair from fair sometime declines, c
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; d

But thy eternal summer shall not fade e
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; f
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, e
When in eternal lines to time thou growest: f

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, g
So long lives this and this gives life to thee. g


Oscar Wilde's novel the Picture of Dorian Gray, Chapter 1 – ‘the studio was filled with the rich odour of roses’.

The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.

From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flame like as theirs; and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion. The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ.

In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement and gave rise to so many strange conjectures.

2007-09-15 03:57:50 · 1 answers · asked by MM 1

William Shakespeare - Sonnet 18
Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? a
Thou art more lovely and more temperate: b
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, a
And summer's lease hath all too short a date: b

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, c
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; d
And every fair from fair sometime declines, c
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; d

But thy eternal summer shall not fade e
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; f
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, e
When in eternal lines to time thou growest: f

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, g
So long lives this and this gives life to thee. g


Oscar Wilde's novel the Picture of Dorian Gray, Chapter 1 – ‘the studio was filled with the rich odour of roses’.

The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.

From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flame like as theirs; and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion. The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ.

In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement and gave rise to so many strange conjectures.

2007-09-15 03:56:52 · 1 answers · asked by MM 1

William Shakespeare - Sonnet 18
Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? a
Thou art more lovely and more temperate: b
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, a
And summer's lease hath all too short a date: b

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, c
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; d
And every fair from fair sometime declines, c
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; d

But thy eternal summer shall not fade e
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; f
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, e
When in eternal lines to time thou growest: f

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, g
So long lives this and this gives life to thee. g


Oscar Wilde's novel the Picture of Dorian Gray, Chapter 1 – ‘the studio was filled with the rich odour of roses’.

The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.

From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flame like as theirs; and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion. The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ.

In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement and gave rise to so many strange conjectures.

2007-09-15 03:55:13 · 3 answers · asked by MM 1

William Shakespeare - Sonnet 18
Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? a
Thou art more lovely and more temperate: b
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, a
And summer's lease hath all too short a date: b

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, c
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; d
And every fair from fair sometime declines, c
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; d

But thy eternal summer shall not fade e
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; f
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, e
When in eternal lines to time thou growest: f

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, g
So long lives this and this gives life to thee. g


Oscar Wilde's novel the Picture of Dorian Gray, Chapter 1 – ‘the studio was filled with the rich odour of roses’.

The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.

From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flame like as theirs; and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion. The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ.

In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement and gave rise to so many strange conjectures.

2007-09-15 03:54:28 · 1 answers · asked by MM 1