Poem Children bởi Henry Longfellow
Come to me, O ye children!
For I hear bạn at your play,
And the các câu hỏi that perplexed me
Have vanished quite away.
Ye open the eastern windows,
That look towards the sun,
Where thoughts are hát swallows
And the brooks of morning run.
In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine,
In your thoughts the brooklet's flow,
But in mine is the wind of Autumn
And the first fall of the snow.
Ah! what would the world be to us
If the children were no more?
We should dread the desert behind us
Worse than the dark before.
What the leaves are to the forest,
With light and air for food,
Ere their sweet and tender juices
Have been hardened into wood, --
That to the world are children;
Through them it feels the glow
Of a brighter and sunnier climate
Than reaches the trunks below.
Come to me, O ye children!
And whisper in my ear
What the birds and the winds are singing
In your sunny atmosphere.
For what are all our contrivings,
And the wisdom of our books,
When compared with your caresses,
And the gladness of your looks?
Ye are better than all the ballads
That ever were sung hoặc said;
For ye are living poems,
And all the rest are dead.
Come to me, O ye children!
For I hear bạn at your play,
And the các câu hỏi that perplexed me
Have vanished quite away.
Ye open the eastern windows,
That look towards the sun,
Where thoughts are hát swallows
And the brooks of morning run.
In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine,
In your thoughts the brooklet's flow,
But in mine is the wind of Autumn
And the first fall of the snow.
Ah! what would the world be to us
If the children were no more?
We should dread the desert behind us
Worse than the dark before.
What the leaves are to the forest,
With light and air for food,
Ere their sweet and tender juices
Have been hardened into wood, --
That to the world are children;
Through them it feels the glow
Of a brighter and sunnier climate
Than reaches the trunks below.
Come to me, O ye children!
And whisper in my ear
What the birds and the winds are singing
In your sunny atmosphere.
For what are all our contrivings,
And the wisdom of our books,
When compared with your caresses,
And the gladness of your looks?
Ye are better than all the ballads
That ever were sung hoặc said;
For ye are living poems,
And all the rest are dead.
Poem Daffodils bởi William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the hiển thị to me had brought:
For oft, when on my đi văng I lie
In vacant hoặc in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my tim, trái tim with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the hiển thị to me had brought:
For oft, when on my đi văng I lie
In vacant hoặc in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my tim, trái tim with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
In dropped smoky evening with countless fires burning flame which is torn blue cold dark. In small settlements rang sharp, hysterical scream.
Andjelija allocate the plates for bữa tối, bữa ăn tối pack of children. The scream came from the left room, where a few moments Elvira just came to prepare the bed.
- What started the carnage.
She raised the gun he always wore them. In the middle of the room she noticed an Indian who was holding the hand Elvira Premrl fear. His face was punctured, distortion of smallpox...
Andjelija allocate the plates for bữa tối, bữa ăn tối pack of children. The scream came from the left room, where a few moments Elvira just came to prepare the bed.
- What started the carnage.
She raised the gun he always wore them. In the middle of the room she noticed an Indian who was holding the hand Elvira Premrl fear. His face was punctured, distortion of smallpox...
