Car poems
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The Deserted Garden
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I mind me in the days departed,
How often underneath the sun
With childish bounds I used to run
To a garden long deserted.
The House Of Clouds
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I would build a cloudy House
For my thoughts to live in;
When for earth too fancy-loose
And too low for Heaven!
A Curse For A Nation
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I heard an angel speak last night,
And he said 'Write!
Write a Nation's curse for me,
And send it over the Western Sea.'
Sonnet 04 - Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems! where
The dancers will break footing, from the care
Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more.
Sonnet 15 - Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
Too calm and sad a face in front of thine;
For we two look two ways, and cannot shine
With the same sunlight on our brow and hair.
My Heart and I
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I.ENOUGH ! we're tired, my heart and I.
We sit beside the headstone thus,
And wish that name were carved for us.
The moss reprints more tenderly
The Runaway Slave at Pilgrim's Point
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I.
I stand on the mark beside the shore
Of the first white pilgrim's bended knee,
Where exile turned to ancestor,
Bianca Among The Nightingales
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
The cypress stood up like a church
That night we felt our love would hold,
And saintly moonlight seemed to search
And wash the whole world clean as gold;
The Cry Of The Children
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
Ere the sorrow comes with years?
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers,
And that cannot stop their tears.
The Wish
© Alexander Pushkin
I shed my tears; my tears my consolation;
And I am silent; my murmur is dead,
My soul, sunk in a depressions shade,
Hides in its depths the bitter exultation.
The Water-Nymph
© Alexander Pushkin
Translated by: Genia Gurarie, summer of 1995
Copyright retained by Genia Gurarie.
email: egurarie@princeton.edu
http://www.princeton.edu/~egurarie/
For permission to reproduce, write personally to the translator.
The Drowned Man
© Alexander Pushkin
Translated by: Genia Gurarie, 11/95
Copyright retained by Genia Gurarie.
email: egurarie@princeton.edu
http://www.princeton.edu/~egurarie/
For permission to reproduce, write personally to the translator.
Devils
© Alexander Pushkin
Translated by Genia Gurarie July 29, 1995.
Copyright retained by Genia Gurarie.
email: egurarie@princeton.edu
http://www.princeton.edu/~egurarie/
For permission to reproduce, write personally to the translator.
Confession (to Alina Osipova, 1826)
© Alexander Pushkin
(tr. by Genia Gurarie, 10.95 - 4.99)
Copyright retained by Genia Gurarie.
email: egurarie@princeton.edu
http://www.princeton.edu/~egurarie/
For permission to reproduce, write personally to the translator.
Arion
© Alexander Pushkin
A lot of us were on the bark:
Some framed a sail for windy weather,
The others strongly and together
Moved oars. In silence sunk,
An Invocation
© Alexander Pushkin
O if it's true that in the night,
When rest the living in their havens
And liquid rays of lunar light
Glide down on tombstones from the heavens,
An Elegy
© Alexander Pushkin
The senseless years' extinguished mirth and laughter
Oppress me like some hazy morning-after.
But sadness of days past, as alcohol -
The more it age, the stronger grip the soul.
My course is dull. The future's troubled ocean
Forebodes me toil, misfortune and commotion.
God Lyaeus
© John Fletcher
GOD Lyaeus, ever young,
Ever honour'd, ever sung,
Stain'd with blood of lusty grapes,
In a thousand lusty shapes
Care-charming Sleep
© John Fletcher
Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes,Brother to Death, sweetly thyself disposeOn this afflicted prince; fall like a cloudIn gentle showers; give nothing that is loudOr painful to his slumbers; easy, sweet,And as a purling stream, thou son of Night,Pass by his troubled senses; sing his pain,Like hollow murmuring wind or silver rain;Into this prince gently, oh gently slide,And kiss him into slumbers like a bride
Sleep
© John Fletcher
COME, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving
Lock me in delight awhile;
Let some pleasing dreams beguile
All my fancies; that from thence
I may feel an influence
All my powers of care bereaving!
