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قراءة كتاب Sea Spray: Verses and Translations
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
اللغة: English
Sea Spray: Verses and Translations
الصفحة رقم: 6
of the morning sky,
And the long brown road, where the tired spirit’s load
Slips off as the leagues go by!
Oh, there’s many a one who teaches that the shining river-reaches
Are the place to spend a long June day;
But give me the whirling wheel and a boat of air and steel
To float upon the King’s highway!
Oh, give me the kiss of the morning breeze
And the rose of the morning sky,
And the long brown road, where the tired spirit’s load
Slips off as the leagues go by!
Are the place to spend a long June day;
But give me the whirling wheel and a boat of air and steel
To float upon the King’s highway!
Oh, give me the kiss of the morning breeze
And the rose of the morning sky,
And the long brown road, where the tired spirit’s load
Slips off as the leagues go by!
I know a home of antique ease
Within the smoky city’s pale,
A spot wherein the spirit sees
Old London through a thinner veil.
The modern world, so stiff and stale,
You leave behind you, when you please,
For long clay pipes and great old ale
And supper in the “Cheshire Cheese.”
Within the smoky city’s pale,
A spot wherein the spirit sees
Old London through a thinner veil.
The modern world, so stiff and stale,
You leave behind you, when you please,
For long clay pipes and great old ale
And supper in the “Cheshire Cheese.”
Beneath this board, Burke’s, Goldsmith’s knees
Were often thrust—so runs the tale—
’Twas here the Doctor took his ease,
And wielded speech that, like a flail,
Thresh’d out the golden truth: All hail
Great souls! that met on nights like these,
For talk and laughter, pipes and ale,
And supper in the “Cheshire Cheese.”
Were often thrust—so runs the tale—
’Twas here the Doctor took his ease,
And wielded speech that, like a flail,
Thresh’d out the golden truth: All hail
Great souls! that met on nights like these,
For talk and laughter, pipes and ale,
And supper in the “Cheshire Cheese.”
By kindly sense, and old decrees
Of England’s use you set your sail—
We press to never-furrow’d seas,
For vision-worlds we breast the gale;
And still we seek, and still we fail,
For still the “glorious phantom” flees4—
Ah, well! no phantoms are the ale
And suppers of the “Cheshire Cheese.”
Of England’s use you set your sail—
We press to never-furrow’d seas,
For vision-worlds we breast the gale;
And still we seek, and still we fail,
For still the “glorious phantom” flees4—
Ah, well! no phantoms are the ale
And suppers of the “Cheshire Cheese.”
Envoi
If doubts or debts thy soul assail,
If Fashion’s forms its current freeze,
Try a long pipe, a glass of ale,
And supper at the “Cheshire Cheese.”
If Fashion’s forms its current freeze,
Try a long pipe, a glass of ale,
And supper at the “Cheshire Cheese.”
I know not whether I love you, Dora:
Your beauty moves me, I know not how—
Your eyes that shine with a joy unspoken,
Your pride and sweetness of bosom and brow.
But I had not deemed that our earth could fashion
Of flesh and spirit so rare a thing—
And you lift my heart with the nameless passion
That stirs young blood in the dawn of spring.
Your beauty moves me, I know not how—
Your eyes that shine with a joy unspoken,
Your pride and sweetness of bosom and brow.
But I had not deemed that our earth could fashion
Of flesh and spirit so rare a thing—
And you lift my heart with the nameless passion
That stirs young blood in the dawn of spring.
I know not whether I love you, Dora,
Nor if you be what a man may wed.
Whence came that glory of ancient Hellas
That seems to hover about your head?
Have you roamed with Artemis, talked with Pallas?
Did Hera lend you that look sublime?
Did Bacchus give in a rose-wreathed chalice
That conquering charm of the youth of Time?
Nor if you be what a man may wed.
Whence came that glory of ancient Hellas
That seems to hover about your head?
Have you roamed with Artemis, talked with Pallas?
Did Hera lend you that look sublime?
Did Bacchus give in a rose-wreathed chalice
That conquering charm of the youth of Time?
I know not whether I love you, Dora,
But well I know you are not for me,
So darken’d and marr’d with the bitter travail
Of things that are not, and fain would be.
Keep, keep for ever your grace and gladness,
Bend once to bless me your brow of snow—
Then meet me next like some far-off sadness,
Some dead ambition of long ago.
But well I know you are not for me,
So darken’d and marr’d with the bitter travail
Of things that are not, and fain would be.
Keep, keep for ever your grace and gladness,
Bend once to bless me your brow of snow—
Then meet me next like some far-off sadness,
Some dead ambition of long ago.