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[NSdjanka]

Auguries of Innocence

"To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour."

Nadam se da ne smeta što su stihovi na engleskom... Mnogo se gubi u prevodu

[Cecara]

Sonnet CXLVII

My love is like a fever, longing still
For that which loner nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as mad men’s are,
At random from the truth vainly express’d;
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who are as black as hell, as dark as night.

William Shakespeare

[NSdjanka]

DUST

The curly hair fell dead on the stairway,
Towards the skies of his piece of mind,
Feeling at ease, entrance

Light and heaven lying,
Floating,
Almost, in this lukewarm bath.

Body and the encrusted smile.
Trace of blood
On the one nostril,

Pointing at the ceiling.
Eyes closed, arms, hands
Dripping-

Did he fall back,
All the way to the bottom
Of the stairs of glass,

Only looking, not touching?
Back to where he came from,
Back to square one?

Rocks broke rocks.
Sand put sand to dust.

Jim Morrison

[NSdjanka]

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

W.B. Yeats, Aedh wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

[Morpheus]

Oriah Mountain Dreamer - The Invitation

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, 'Yes.'
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

[Jerowen]

Moj omiljeni sonet Viljema Sekspira:

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrances of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste.

Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends, lost in Death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long-since-cancell'd woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanished sight.

Then can I grieve for grievances foregone,
And heavily, from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of forbemoaned moan
Which I new pay, as if not paid before.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored, and sorrows end.

A omiljeni citat iz njegovih drama je definitivno:

Prospero: We are such stuff
As dreams are made on,
And our little life is rounded
With a sleep. (The Tempest)

[Zapravo, obozavam sve sto je Sekspir ikada napisao. Po meni, on je najveci pesnik i dramski pisac svih vremena.]

[DrinChe]

Jedna od... tisuću

Dream Land


Where sunless rivers weep
Their waves into the deep,
She sleeps a charmed sleep:
Awake her not.
Led by a single star,
She came from very far
To seek where shadows are
Her pleasant lot.


She left the rosy morn,
She left the fields of corn,
For twilight cold and lorn
And water springs.
Through sleep, as through a veil,
She sees the sky look pale,
And hears the nightingale
That sadly sings.


Rest, rest, a perfect rest
Shed over brow and breast;
Her face is toward the west,
The purple land.
She cannot see the grain
Ripening on hill and plain;
She cannot feel the rain
Upon her hand.


Rest, rest, for evermore
Upon a mossy shore;
Rest, rest at the heart's core
Till time shall cease:
Sleep that no pain shall wake;
Night that no morn shall break
Till joy shall overtake
Her perfect peace.


Christina Rossetti

______________________________________

again

... I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen;
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut
And "Thou shalt not," writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires.

KLIK

"The Garden of Love"
William Blake


~

[CHichaGlisha]

DECLARATION OF LOVE

Devil Incarante,You stand before me -
And I call You 'Angel'.
Tear my heart out and crush it
And I would still say that I Love You Only.
You control my Soul so completely
I didn't even know that I fell
And altho I know I'm just a puppet
To You; I Love You Only.
And I don't care if You're Laffing,
I just wanted You to know
That I'd kill my own mother -
But Only for You.
And if You really do care nothing
At all; I just wanted You to know,
That I Love You like no other
Can do; Only You.
And my own life means nothing,
I don't have any joy,
I'll neva eva know any peace at all
If I can't have You.
And I swear "My blood in place of Yours,Darling"
You only need to ask,Boy,
And I'll watch ova You for evamore -
Loving Only You.

nepoznat autor

[Bazarov]

* * *
Я вас любил: любовь еще, быть может,
В душе моей угасла не совсем;
Но пусть она вас больше не тревожит;
Я не хочу печалить вас ничем.
Я вас любил безмолвно, безнадежно,
То робостью, то ревностью томим;
Я вас любил так искренно, так нежно,
Как дай вам бог любимой быть другим.

(1829)

А.С. Пушкин

[izabelitta]

I Am Vertical

But I would rather be horizontal.
I am not a tree with my root in the soil
Sucking up minerals and motherly love
So that each March I may gleam into leaf,
Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed
Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,
Unknowing I must soon unpetal.
Compared with me, a tree is immortal
And a flower-head not tall, but more startling,
And I want the one's longevity and the other's daring.

Tonight, in the infinitesimallight of the stars,
The trees and the flowers have been strewing their cool odors.
I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.
Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping
I must most perfectly resemble them--
Thoughts gone dim.
It is more natural to me, lying down.
Then the sky and I are in open conversation,
And I shall be useful when I lie down finally:
Then the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me.

Silvia Plat