sexta-feira, 12 de março de 2010
Let me but live my life from year to year,
With forward face and unreluctant soul;
Not hurrying to, nor turning from the goal;
Not mourning for the things that disappear
In the dim past, nor holding back in fear
From what the future veils; but with a whole
And happy heart, that pays its toll
To Youth and Age, and travels on with cheer.
So let the way wind up the hill or down,
O'er rough or smooth, the journey will be joy:
Still seeking what I sought when but a boy(girl),
New friendship, high adventure, and a crown,
My heart will keep the courage of the quest,
And hope the road's last turn will be the best.
Henry Van Dyke
(1852 – 1933) was an American author, educator, and clergyman.
One of the most beautiful poems (for me) of the English language.
terça-feira, 19 de janeiro de 2010
There is an evening coming in
Across the fields, one never seen before,
That lights no lamps.
Silken it seems at a distance, yet
When it is drawn up over the knees and breast
It brings no comfort.
Where has the tree gone, that locked
Earth to sky? What is under my hands,
That I cannot feel?
What loads my hand down?
*Philip Arthur Larkin
(9 August 1922 – 2 December 1985, England)