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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.
Imitation
© Alexander Pushkin
I saw the Death, and she was seating
By quiet entrance at my own home,
I saw the doors were opened in my tomb,
And there, and there my hope was a-flitting
Bound for your distant home
© Alexander Pushkin
Bound for your distant home
you were leaving alien lands.
In an hour as sad as Ive known
I wept over your hands.
To Various Persons Talked To All At Once
© Kenneth Koch
You have helped hold me together.
I'd like you to be still.
Stop talking or doing anything else for a minute.
No. Please. For three minutes, maybe five minutes.
One Train May Hide Another
© Kenneth Koch
(sign at a railroad crossing in Kenya)In a poem, one line may hide another line,
As at a crossing, one train may hide another train.
That is, if you are waiting to cross
The tracks, wait to do it for one moment at
On Opening a Place for Social Prayer
© William Cowper
Jesus! where'er Thy people meet,
There they behold Thy mercy seat;
Where'er they seek Thee, Thou art found,
And every place is hallow'd ground.
Self-Acquaintance
© William Cowper
Dear Lord! accept a sinful heart,
Which of itself complains,
And mourns, with much and frequent smart,
The evil it contains.
Epitaph on a Hare
© William Cowper
Here lies, whom hound did neer pursue,
Nor swiftewd greyhound follow,
Whose foot neer tainted morning dew,
Nor ear heard huntsmans hallo,
The Task: Book VI, The Winter Walk at Noon (excerpts)
© William Cowper
Thus heav'nward all things tend. For all were once
Perfect, and all must be at length restor'd.
So God has greatly purpos'd; who would else
In his dishonour'd works himself endure
The Task: Book IV, The Winter Evening (excerpts)
© William Cowper
Hark! 'tis the twanging horn! O'er yonder bridge,
That with its wearisome but needful length
Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright,
On Receipt Of My Mother's Picture
© William Cowper
Oh that those lips had language! Life has pass'd
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thine--thy own sweet smiles I see,
The same that oft in childhood solaced me;
The Task: Book II, The Time-Piece (excerpts)
© William Cowper
England, with all thy faults, I love thee still--
My country! and, while yet a nook is left
Where English minds and manners may be found,
Shall be constrain'd to love thee. Though thy clime
Jehovah-Rophi. I Am the Lord That Healeth Thee
© William Cowper
Heal us, Emmanuel! here we are,
Waiting to feel Thy touch:
Deep-wounded souls to Thee repair
And, Saviour, we are such.
The Waiting Soul
© William Cowper
Breathe from the gentle south, O Lord,
And cheer me from the north;
Blow on the treasures of thy word,
And call the spices forth!
The Castaway
© William Cowper
Obscurest night involv'd the sky,
Th' Atlantic billows roar'd,
When such a destin'd wretch as I,
Wash'd headlong from on board,
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft,
His floating home for ever left.
Small Comfort
© Katha Pollitt
Coffee and cigarettes in a clean cafe,
forsythia lit like a damp match against
a thundery sky drunk on its own ozone,
Poem 16
© Edmund Spenser
AH when will this long vveary day haue end,
and lende me leaue to come vnto my loue?
Hovv slovvly do the houres theyr numbers spend?
How slowly does sad Time his feathers moue?
Sonnet LII
© Edmund Spenser
SO oft as homeward I from her depart,
I goe lyke one that hauing lost the field:
is prisoner led away with heauy hart,
despoyld of warlike armes and knowen shield.
Poem 14
© Edmund Spenser
NOw al is done; bring home the bride againe,
bring home the triumph of our victory,
Bring home with you the glory of her gaine,
With ioyance bring her and with iollity.
The Shepheardes Calender: April
© Edmund Spenser
APRILL: Ægloga QuartaTHENOT & HOBBINOLL
Tell me good Hobbinoll, what garres thee greete?
What? hath some Wolfe thy tender Lambes ytorne?
Or is thy Bagpype broke, that soundes so sweete?
Or art thou of thy loved lasse forlorne?
