Johannes (Hristo Smirnenski Poems)
The night has spread its raven hair,O'er the house and round the trees,And nothing stirs the winter air,The street is ...
The night has spread its raven hair,O'er the house and round the trees,And nothing stirs the winter air,The street is ...
It was like floating in a blessed dream to roamAcross green meadows, far from home,With only trees and quivering sky ...
I could not love if my thought loved not too,Nor could my body touch the body of you,Unless first in ...
Stay, thou desired one, stay!Brighten the curious darkness of the world.Cold through the chill dark swings the sleeping world,Sense-heavy, dreaming ...
The wind fought with the angry trees.All morning in immense uneaseThey wrestled, and ruin strawed the ground, And the north sky ...
To the memory of John Peale Bishop, 1892-1944Attor porsi la mano un poco avante,e colsi un ramicel da un gran ...
ISweet appletree, your branches delight me, Luxuriantly budding my pride and joy! I will put before the lord of Macreu, ...
Johnny Nock, the auctioneer, golden-bearded, ever gay,Spread about him great good cheer in his prosperous heyday; Familiar sight on district ...
The swallows are back, and I'm tuning my lyre, For today 'tis my duty to singA melodious lay that is ...
I said goodbye to the bees last Friday week,To blooms, and to things like these, for Winter bleak Was shouting ...
Oh, how I hate these chills, these winter ills, Bleak blasts and breezes;Abominate the "flu," the fierce "Tishoo" -- All ...
War raged around this troubled world, When I was but a lad,And into battle men were hurled, As some ambition ...
DOWN-SLIPPING Time, sweet, swift, and shallow stream, Here, like a boulder, lies this afternoon Across your eager flow. So you ...
There is a flutter in the trees,And now a sudden, dread uneaseStills all the bushland melodies Amid the gums;Stills now ...
The glare! The heat! O Nice, you blind me!A dull unease upon me settles…Life, like a bird shot down, strains ...
NOT a line of her writing have I, Not a thread of her hair, No mark of her late time ...
'TWAS a death-bed summons, and forth I went By the way of the Western Wall, so drear On that winter ...
at news of her death Not a line of her writing have I Not a thread of her hair, No ...
one morning the bone was there set in the centre of waste ground against the early morning sun the frost ...
A bit of war poetry read by featured poets Brought it back to me that night on the floor Each ...
Unspeakable. The word that fills up the poem, that the head tries to excise. At 6 a.m., the wet lion. ...
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