Τα ποιήματα

Αυτό που συνεχίζει να τραγουδά στην κακοκαιρία, χωρίς να ζητά αντάλλαγμα.

Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I ‘ve heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.

Ποιήματα · Emily Dickinson

Η στιγμή που μπλέκονται η όραση, η ακοή και το συναίσθημα.

Tess was conscious of neither time nor space. The exaltation which she had described as being producible at will by gazing at a star came now without any determination of hers; she undulated upon the thin notes of the second-hand harp, and their harmonies passed like breezes through her, bringing tears into her eyes. The floating pollen seemed to be his notes made visible, and the dampness of the garden the weeping of the garden’s sensibility. Though near nightfall, the rank-smelling weed-flowers glowed as if they would not close for intentness, and the waves of colour mixed with the waves of sound.

Τες των Ντ’Έρμπερβιλ · Thomas Hardy

Η αγάπη του ναυτικού για τη θάλασσα έχει μέσα της φόβο

We men hat go down for a livin’ in ships to the sea— We love it a different way from you poets that ’bide on the land. We are fond of it, sure! But, you take it as comin’ from me, There’s a fear and a hate in our love that a landsman can’t understand. Oh, who could help likin’ the salty smell, and the blue Of the waves that are lazily breathin’ as if they dreamed in the sun? She’s a Sleepin’ Beauty, the sea—but you can’t tell what she’ll do; And the seamen never trust her—they know too well what she’s done!

Poetry · Henry van Dyke Jr.