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قراءة كتاب A Little Window
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 4
class="i0">A silken whisper,
Quite different
Than sound the other trees;
As if the bronzy leaves
Had much to say
Before they part,
And were loath
To bid farewell.
Content
(Westfield, N. Y.)
When I linger in my garden
And see black swallowtails hovering
Over white phlox and orange zinnias,
And morning glories, in a heavenly blue mass
Surge upward on their trellis;
When I watch the scintillating humming-bird
Sip from the trumpet blossoms across my doorway,
I feel no urge of travel to behold
More of earth’s beauty.
Here in my little garden I have it all—
And here I am content.
And see black swallowtails hovering
Over white phlox and orange zinnias,
And morning glories, in a heavenly blue mass
Surge upward on their trellis;
When I watch the scintillating humming-bird
Sip from the trumpet blossoms across my doorway,
I feel no urge of travel to behold
More of earth’s beauty.
Here in my little garden I have it all—
And here I am content.
Rhythm
Firelight, and strains of a symphony
Wafting in.
Outside, bare trees
Against leaden skies
Weave their own music
That throbs with the rhythm
Of the orchestra.
The wind moans, and
Strong, black branches
Sway slowly,
Mark the beat,
Then stop.
The wind hums,
Delicate, lacelike tops
Quiver and ripple
With the quick response
Of the violins.
With the shriek of the wind
They writhe and toss,
Measuring the crescendo
Of the brasses.
Wafting in.
Outside, bare trees
Against leaden skies
Weave their own music
That throbs with the rhythm
Of the orchestra.
The wind moans, and
Strong, black branches
Sway slowly,
Mark the beat,
Then stop.
The wind hums,
Delicate, lacelike tops
Quiver and ripple
With the quick response
Of the violins.
With the shriek of the wind
They writhe and toss,
Measuring the crescendo
Of the brasses.
Contrast
In an old world palace,
Room after room
Is filled with treasures—
Old masters, jewels, glass.
Yet all I remember
Is the stark whiteness of a gardenia
Blowing against a wall,
And the fairy music of a fountain
In the patio.
Room after room
Is filled with treasures—
Old masters, jewels, glass.
Yet all I remember
Is the stark whiteness of a gardenia
Blowing against a wall,
And the fairy music of a fountain
In the patio.
Surety
I needed the dawn, but
My eyes beheld only clouds
And a valley filled with mists
And a mountain shutting out the east.
I needed the dawn, so
I could but wait.
Surely,
Slowly
Through the clouds
The light came,
Like a presence
Dispelling mist and cloud:
Even the mountain
Could not hide it.
My eyes beheld all clear,
And in the roseate glow,
Like a diamond,
Hung the morning star.
My eyes beheld only clouds
And a valley filled with mists
And a mountain shutting out the east.
I needed the dawn, so
I could but wait.
Surely,
Slowly
Through the clouds
The light came,
Like a presence
Dispelling mist and cloud:
Even the mountain
Could not hide it.
My eyes beheld all clear,
And in the roseate glow,
Like a diamond,
Hung the morning star.
Guests
There was emptiness
When the birds left in the fall.
But to fill it came late butterflies,
Dawdling flocks of brilliant things
In clouds of scintillating beauty,
Covering every bush and flower.
As silently as they came did they disappear
And in their place came the music
Of the katydid and the cricket.
Day and night the cheerful songs
Of these tiny insects were our company.
When the birds left in the fall.
But to fill it came late butterflies,
Dawdling flocks of brilliant things
In clouds of scintillating beauty,
Covering every bush and flower.
As silently as they came did they disappear
And in their place came the music
Of the katydid and the cricket.
Day and night the cheerful songs
Of these tiny insects were our company.
An early blizzard
Buried every green blade and bent to earth
Great trees and slender saplings
Under a thick weight of snow.
To our door came the thrushes
That we thought were gone,—
Shy thrushes, that had turned their backs
Upon us in summer and slipped
Into the depth of the woods,—
And whitethroats and tree sparrows,
Unafraid, waiting for food.
Even now the stillness is alive
With the memory of these friendly folk.
Buried every green blade and bent to earth
Great trees and slender saplings
Under a thick weight of snow.
To our door came the thrushes
That we thought were gone,—
Shy thrushes, that had turned their backs
Upon us in summer and slipped
Into the depth of the woods,—
And whitethroats and tree sparrows,
Unafraid, waiting for food.
Even now the stillness is alive
With the memory of these friendly folk.
Storm
When the storm rushes upon the deep woods,
It lets down curtains of mist
And sheets of rain, that drip
Crystal beads among the trees.
Way above, the branches lash and moan
And weave. Below, it is still,
Still as the undersea.
Soft fern and feathery bracken
Loom through the mist
Like branching coral,
And drifting leaves float down
Like snowy fishes,
Lazily moving.
It lets down curtains of mist
And sheets of rain, that drip
Crystal beads among the trees.
Way above, the branches lash and moan
And weave. Below, it is still,
Still as the undersea.
Soft fern and feathery bracken
Loom through the mist
Like branching coral,
And drifting leaves float down
Like snowy fishes,
Lazily moving.
A Reminder
Down beneath the office windows
In a chestnut clump,
A robin sings all day long,
“Joyously, joyously!”
In a chestnut clump,
A robin sings all day long,
“Joyously, joyously!”
Above the whir of traffic,
The bands and the sirens,
Floats his song all day,
“Joyously, joyously!”
The bands and the sirens,
Floats his song all day,
“Joyously, joyously!”
The lilting song brings to me,
The peace of field and merry brook,
And I myself, sing all day, too,
“Joyously, joyously!”
The peace of field and merry brook,
And I myself, sing all day, too,
“Joyously, joyously!”