Küss die Hand, gute Nacht, die liebe Mutter soll gut schlafen. Eine Kindheit in Wien (German Edition

Küss die Hand, gute Nacht, die liebe Mutter soll gut schlafen. Eine Kindheit in Wien (German Edition). 20 July by Martin Auer.
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Was Delon angeht, sagt Romy: Frankreich hat auf Romy gewartet. Regisseur Claude Sautet verliebt sich in sie. Er hat sie nie getroffen, ist ihr nur in ihren Filmen begegnet, doch er schreibt ihr "Die Dinge des Lebens" so auf den Leib, dass eine unwiderstehliche Beziehungsgeschichte mit Michel Piccoli daraus wird.

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Sie arbeitet weiter, hektisch. In Viscontis "Ludwig II. Doch sie denkt gar nicht daran, daraus politisch Kapital zu schlagen. Sie konnte einem gewaltig auf den Keks gehen. Und als Driest die faulen Eier, die gerade auf Willy Brandt. Sie gefallen mir sehr. Wirkungsvoller geht es gar nicht.

Sie erzielt die Wirkung mit einem Filmtext. Ich liebe ihn sogar sehr. Nur absoluten Diven gelingt ein solcher Auftritt. Sie gefallen mir, Sie gefallen mir sehr. Ich mache mir Angst. Vergiss mich ganz schnell. Aber bitte sage mir noch gute Nacht". Lebeck, der Profi, greift zu seiner Leica, bevor er sich aufmacht. Sie spielt Huren, sie spielt Opfer, und Visconti nennt sie "sehr deutsch in dieser Mischung aus Schamlosigkeit und Keuschheit".

Ihn noch ein bisschen mehr. Biasini sitzt im Schaukelstuhl und raucht, sie kauert daneben und schaut zu ihm auf, stolz. Kaum ein Lebeck-Foto hat je so viel Hass erzeugt wie dieses: Romy verschwendet sich an einen Stenz! Wo ist Romys Geld geblieben? Er missbilligt die neuen Liebschaften Romys. Das Krankenhaus, in dem David stirbt, kennt sie bereits: Sie widmet ihn den Toten: Wie kann sie das spielen? Die zerbrechliche Diva, sie ist restlos zerbrochen.

Am Abend zuvor ist sie mit den Journalisten in eine schummrige Hafenkneipe gezogen. Und dort gibt es einen magischen Moment.

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Ein alter Mann tritt auf sie zu. Er sieht aus wie ein Penner. Er fragt, ob sie Sissi sei. Sie schaut den Mann lange an, und sie nickt. Sie wusste, dass sie nach ihrer Nierenoperation nichts mehr trinken durfte, doch sie trank weiter, Rotwein, auch in der Nacht vor ihrem Tod. Gelesen Verschickt Gesehen 1. Kinder lernen Rechtschreibung am besten mit der Fibel. Untersuchung der Stiftung Warentest: Lasst uns in Ruhe mit euren Kriegen! Ein Streit um Geld und Glauben.

Steuerung wie von Geisterhand: Erstes Motorrad ohne Fahrer vorgestellt. Protest am Hambacher Forst: Teile dieser Seite funktionieren nur mit aktiviertem JavaScript. Topic The poetry corner - Vol. The poetry corner - Vol. A Dirge The wintry west extends his blast, And hail and rain does blaw; Or the stormy north sends driving forth The blinding sleet and snaw: While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down, And roars frae bank to brae; And bird and beast in covert rest, And pass the heartless day.

Then all I want—O do Thou grant This one request of mine! Robert Burns — Comment Santa Claus He comes in the night! He comes in the night! He softly, silently comes, While the little brown heads on the pillows so white Are dreaming of bugles and drums. He cuts thro' the snow like a ship thro' the foam, While the white flakes 'round him whirl.

Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home Of each good little boy and girl. His sleigh it is long, and deep, and wide; It will carry a host of things, While dozens of drums hang over the side, With the sticks sticking under the strings. And yet not the sound of a drum is heard, Not a bugle blast is blown, As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird, And drops to the hearth like stone.

The little red stockings he silently fills, Till the stockings will hold no more; The bright little sleds for the great snow hills Are quickly set down on the floor. Then Santa Claus mounts to the roof like a bird, And glides to his seat in the sleigh; Not the sound of a bugle or drum is heard As he noiselessly gallops away. Presented by Danielle Hollister Author unknown http: Comment Dezemberlied Harter Winter, streng und rauch, Winter, sei willkommen! War je ein Mann gesund wie er?

Matthias Claudius — Claus, ich freue mich auf viele neue und hoffentlich weniger bekannte Gedichte. Comment Constancy to an Ideal Object Since all that beat about in Nature's range, Or veer or vanish; why should'st thou remain The only constant in a world of change, O yearning Thought! Call to the Hours, that in the distance play, The faery people of the future day— Fond Thought!

Yet still thou haunt'st me; and though well I see, She is not thou, and only thou are she, Still, still as though some dear embodied Good, Some living Love before my eyes there stood With answering look a ready ear to lend, I mourn to thee and say—'Ah! That this the meed of all my toils might be, To have a home, an English home, and thee! Home and Thou are one. And art thou nothing? Such thou art, as when The woodman winding westward up the glen At wintry dawn, where o'er the sheep-track's maze The viewless snow-mist weaves a glist'ning haze, Sees full before him, gliding without tread, An image with a glory round its head; The enamoured rustic worships its fair hues, Nor knows he makes the shadow, he pursues!

Comment Hour glass My hour glass in not empy It is full For my life is still young My hour glass is not empty It is fresh It is waiting to be broken My hour glass has dreams That need to be met My hour glass is young Just like a child Joelstine Gonzaga http: I write to music. I'm very unique and i love writing and reading. I can write all day and not know what made me think of it. But it all tells a story. Comment Autumn And Winter Three months bade wane and wax the wintering moon Between two dates of death, while men were fain Yet of the living light that all too soon Three months bade wane.

Cold autumn, wan with wrath of wind and rain, Saw pass a soul sweet as the sovereign tune That death smote silent when he smote again. First went my friend, in life's mid light of noon, Who loved the lord of music: A herald soul before its master's flying Touched by some few moons first the darkling goal Where shades rose up to greet the shade, espying A herald soul; Shades of dead lords of music, who control Men living by the might of men undying, With strength of strains that make delight of dole. The deep dense dust on death's dim threshold lying Trembled with sense of kindling sound that stole Through darkness, and the night gave ear, descrying A herald soul.

One went before, one after, but so fast They seem gone hence together, from the shore Whence we now gaze: Then went, while earth on winter glared aghast, The mortal god he worshipped, through the door Wherethrough so late, his lover to the last, One went before. A star had set an hour before the sun Sank from the skies wherethrough his heart's pulse yet Thrills audibly: All heaven rings back, sonorous with regret, The deep dirge of the sunset: But, O sweet single heart whose work is done, Whose songs are silent, how should I forget That ere the sunset's fiery goal was won A star had set?

Algernon Charles Swinburne — And if you ever saw him, you would even say it glows …like a flashligt All of the other reindeer used to laugh and call him names. Comment Written at Stonehenge Thou noblest monument of Albion's isle! Whether by Merlin's aid, from Scythia's shore, To Amber's fatal plain Pendragon bore, Huge frame of giant-hands, the mighty pile T' entomb his Britons slain by Hengist's guile: Or Druid priests, sprinkled with human gore, Taught 'mid thy massy maze their mystic lore: Or Danish chiefs, enrich'd with savage spoil, To Victory's idol vast, an unhewn shrine, Rear'd the rude heap: Studious to trace thy wondrous origine, We muse on many an ancient tale renown'd.

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Comment The poetry corner - Vol. Oyfn Pripetshik — Wiegenlied. Translation Autumn Day Rilke: Translation The Werewolf Morgenstern: Translation Autumn Feelings Goethe: Translation Unter des Laubdachs Hut From: As You Like It.


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Act 2, Scene 5. Translation Die Tathandlung W. Translation Der Zipferlake Lewis Carroll. Translation Als wir uns trennten Byron: When we two are parted. Translation Ode an Psyche Keats: Translation Sonett 17 Shakespeare: Translation Komet Les Murray: Translation Froschherbst Sylvia Plath: Translation Grenze Sylvia Plath: Vetinari weil sie Nagel E. Translation Day in Autumn Rilke: Translation Early Autumn Agnes Miegel.

Translation Autumn Scene Hebbel: The Moon, how definite its orb!

Ice Age - Sid geht schlafen =)

November Raymond A. When Through The Piazetta. Translation William Shakespeare Under the greenwood tree From: The Solitary Reaper Lines. Wanderer tritt still herein; Schmerz versteinerte die Schwelle. Georg Trakl — Heinrich Heine — Die Stunde, die dich bringet, Bringt mit dir eine Schar; Wer wird, wo tausend fallen, Der einzelnen gewahr? Johann Gabriel Seidl Comment The Snow-Storm Announced by all the trumpets of the sky Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, Seems nowhere to alight: The steed and traveller stopped, the courier's feet Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed In a tumultuous privacy of storm.

Come, see the north wind's masonry. Out of an unseen quarry evermore Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer Curves his white bastions with projected roof Round every windward stake, or tree, or door. Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he For number or proportion. Mockingly On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths; A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn; Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall, Maugre the farmer's sighs, and at the gate A tapering turret overtops the work.

And when his hours are numbered, and the world Is all his own, retiring, as he were not, Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work, The frolic architecture of the snow. Ralph Waldo Emerson — Cramped, you are hardly anything but fidgets. We, active, differentiate the digits: Whilst you are merely little toe and big Or, in the nursery, some futile pig Through vital use as pincers there has come Distinction of the finger and the thumb; Lacking a knuckle you have sadly missed Our meaningful translation to a fist; Not so, my friends.

Please do not think that we intend to please: Shut in the dark, we once were free like you. Though you enslaved us, are you not slaves, too? Johann von Rist Comment Love is like the wild rose-briar; Friendship like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, But which will bloom most constantly?

Mais lequel fleurit avec le plus de constance? Wie feierlich die Gegend schweigt! Nikolaus Lenau — http: La silence solennel du paysage! Les vieux sapins au clair de lune dans leur sereine attente de la mort Tendent leurs branches vers la terre. How solemn is the silent landscape Moonlight falls on the old firs Bending their branches to the ground In their tranquil wait for death. Freeze my heart Deep into its liveliness To be for once in peace Just like this land at night! Du aber bist die Hand. Das Stundenbuch Rainer Maria Rilke. What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!

What old December's bareness every where! And yet this time removed was summer's time The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease: Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit; For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, And, thou away, the very birds are mute: Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer, That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

William Shakespeare — http: Immer, wenn Du meinst allein zu sein, wird jemand an Dich denken. Immer, wenn Du meinst, dass alles so sinnlos ist, wird jemand an Dich denken. Auch, wenn die ganze Welt zerbricht, wird es immer jemanden geben, der an Dich denkt. Denn Du bist nicht allein.

Gustav Falke auch von mir schoene Weihnachtsgruesse! Comment I heard the bells on Christmas day I heard the bells on Christmas day Their old familiar carols play, And wild and sweet the words repeat Of peace on earth, good will to men. I thought how, as the day had come, The belfries of all Christendom Had rolled along th'unbroken song Of peace on earth, good will to men. And in despair I bowed my head: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - Was die Mamas bepackt nach Hause fuhren, wir kriegens jetzo freundlich dargebracht.

Kann Emil das gebrauchen? Wir jungen Leute lauschen auf einen stillen heiligen Grammophon. Das Christkind kommt und ist bereit zu tauschen den Schlips, die Puppe und das Lexikohn. Und wie ich strolch' durch des finstern Tann, da rief's mich mit heller Stimme an: Die Kerzen fangen zu brennen an, das Himmelstor ist aufgetan, alt und jung sollen nun von der Jagd des Lebens einmal ruhn, und morgen flieg ich hinab zur Erden; denn es soll wieder Weihnachten werden! Nun sprecht, wie ich's hier innen find! Comment A Christmas Prayer Loving Father, help us to remember the birth of Jesus, that we may share in the song of the angels, the gladness of the shepherds, and the worship of the wise men.

Close the door of hate and open the door of love all over the world. Let kindness come with every gift and good desires with every greeting. Deliver us from evil by the blessing which Christ brings, and teach us to be merry with clear hearts. May the Christmas morning make us happy to be Thy children, and the Christmas evening bring us to our beds with grateful thoughts, forgiving and forgiven, for Jesus' sake.

Robert Louis Stevenson — Schade, nur schade, Er bemerkte es kaum, Wie schnurgerade Die Bleisoldaten auf dem Baukasten standen Und wie schnell die Pfefferkuchen verschwanden. Lautlos horchten die andern Vier. Da dachte er an verflossene Zeit Und an eine andere Linde, Die am Waldrand einst neben ihm stand, Sie hatten in guten und schlechten Tagen Einander immer so lieb gehabt. Dann wurde die Tanne abgeschlagen, Zusammengebunden und fortgetragen.

So hatte sie damals gewinkt noch zuletzt. Was du als richtig empfunden, Das sage und zeige, Oder schweige. Joachim Ringelnatz — Te souvient-il de notre extase ancienne? Pourquoi voulez-vous donc qu'il m'en souvienne? L'espoir a fui, vaincu, vers le ciel noir. Tels ils marchaient dans les avoines folles, Et la nuit seule entendit leurs paroles.

Paul Verlaine — Sentimental dialogue In the old park's desolation and frost the paths of two ghostly figures have crossed. Their eyes are dead and their lips slack and gray and one can scarcely hear the words they say. In the old park's desolation and frost two spectres have been evoking the past. Arise from out the dewy grass; Night is worn, And the morn Rises from the slumberous mass.

Turn away no more; Why wilt thou turn away? The starry floor, The wat'ry shore, Is giv'n thee till the break of day. Her light fled, Stony dread! And her locks cover'd with grey despair. Cold and hoar, Weeping o'er, I hear the Father of the ancient men. Selfish father of men! Cruel, jealous, selfish fear! Can delight, Chain'd in night, The virgins of youth and morning bear? Does spring hide its joy When buds and blossoms grow? Does the sower Sow by night, Or the plowman in darkness plow? Break this heavy chain That does freeze my bones around. That free Love with bondage bound.

Comment Jabberwocky Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch! He took his vorpal sword in hand: Long time the manxome foe he sought So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back. And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! He chortled in his joy. Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. I show you pretty things in vain-- You must be blind, Matilda Jane!

I ask you riddles, tell you tales, But all our conversation fails. You never answer me again-- I fear you're dumb, Matilda Jane! Matilda darling, when I call, You never seem to hear at all. I shout with all my might and main-- But you're so deaf, Matilda Jane! Matilda Jane, you needn't mind, For, though you're deaf and dumb and blind, There's some one loves you, it is plain-- And that is me , Matilda Jane!

Lewis Carroll - Comment The Journey The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs; and the flowers were all merry by the roadside; and the wealth of gold was scattered through the rift of the clouds while we busily went on our way and paid no heed. We sang no glad songs nor played; we went not to the village for barter; we spoke not a word nor smiled; we lingered not on the way. We quickened our pace more and more as the time sped by. The sun rose to the mid sky and doves cooed in the shade.

Withered leaves danced and whirled in the hot air of noon. The shepherd boy drowsed and dreamed in the shadow of the banyan tree, and I laid myself down by the water and stretched my tired limbs on the grass. Journey Home The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it long. I came out on the chariot of the first gleam of light, and pursued my voyage through the wildernesses of worlds leaving my track on many a star and planet.

It is the most distant course that comes nearest to thyself, and that training is the most intricate which leads to the utter simplicity of a tune. The traveler has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end. Also habe ich mir meinen Mantel geschnappt und bin kurzerhand in die Stadt getrabt. Wie elend und altersschwach ist dieses Jahr, das einmal so jung und verheissungsvoll war! Ich nehm's mit nach Hause und leg es zur Ruh und decke es mit meiner Wolldecke zu. Ich lenke dich mit leiser Hand.

Du ahnst nicht, wer ich bin. Ich bin dir, die du nie gekannt, Treuste Begleiterin: Ich nehme dich an meine Brust, -- Wenn schmerzlich auf die schreist — Ich bin es, der du unbewusst Dein bestes Leben weihst! Comment Ein neues Jahr! Tritt froh herein, mit aller Welt in Frieden. Vergiss, wie viel der Plag und Pein Das alte Jahr beschieden. Friedlich Wilhelm Weber Nicht zage gleich den Feigen Und klag' in der Gefahr! Schwing auf zum Sonnenreigen Dich schweigend wie der Aar! Comment Le Jardin Des Tuileries This winter air is keen and cold, And keen and cold this winter sun, But round my chair the children run Like little things of dancing gold.

Sometimes about the painted kiosk The mimic soldiers strut and stride, Sometimes the blue-eyed brigands hide In the bleak tangles of the bosk. And sometimes, while the old nurse cons Her book, they steal across the square, And launch their paper navies where Huge Triton writhes in greenish bronze. And now in mimic flight they flee, And now they rush, a boisterous band - And, tiny hand on tiny hand, Climb up the black and leafless tree. Oscar Wilde — Comment The Snow Man One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow; And have been cold a long time To behold the junipers shagged with ice, The spruces rough in the distant glitter Of the January sun; and not to think Of any misery in the sound of the wind,.

Und sie sind es nicht; Sie sind die Seelen des Liedes geworden. Sind das seine eigenen Lieder? Oder von einem anderen, die er singt? Ich werde von der Sonne singen. Claus, with input from Phillipp, B. Bid thy 'flugence bear away care related discussion: Comment penguin, eine solche Bitte Deinerseits habe ich nirgendwo gesehen.

Comment Ich bin ziemlich sauer. Comment eine solche Bitte Deinerseits habe ich nirgendwo gesehen. Daran habe ich keinerlei Interesse. Rudolf Presber — Es blickt ein jedes so nach seiner Gegebenen Art in seine Welt. Wer hat die Menschen so entstellt?? Ich sehe sie getrieben treiben. Warum sie wohl nie stehenbleiben, Zu sehen, was nach ihnen sieht? Warum der Mensch vorm Menschen flieht? Comment Endlich gemein frei http: Copyright Law of the UK http: Copyright length charts http: Charles Baudelaire — The Owls Under the overhanging yews, The dark owls sit in solemn state, Like stranger gods; by twos and twos Their red eyes gleam.

From their still attitude the wise Will learn with terror to despise All tumult, movement, and unrest; For he who follows every shade, Carries the memory in his breast, Of each unhappy journey made. Welch dunkle Tage liegen hinter mir, Welch ein Dezemberfrost hat mich umgeben! Karl Richter — ? Und hier das Link zu einer moderneren Version http: Hanno Helbling — http: Comment Meditations Sunday, 12 May The clouds are marshalling across the sky, Leaving their deepest tints upon yon range Of soul-alluring hills.

The breeze comes softly, Laden with tribute that a hundred orchards Now in their fullest blossom send, in thanks For this refreshing shower. I sigh, half-charmed, half-pained. My sense is living, And, taking in this freshened beauty, tells Its pleasure to the mind.

The mind replies, And strives to wake the heart in turn, repeating Poetic sentiments from many a record Which other souls have left, when stirred and satisfied By scenes as fair, as fragrant. But the heart Sends back a hollow echo to the call Of outward things, — and its once bright companion, Who erst would have been answered by a stream Of life-fraught treasures, thankful to be summoned, — Can now rouse nothing better than this echo; Unmeaning voice, which mocks their softened accents.

Content thee, beautiful world! My heart hath sealed its fountains. To the things Of Time they shall be oped no more. Too long, Too often were they poured forth: No so the voice which hailed me from the depths Of yon dark-bosomed cloud, now vanishing Before the sun ye greet. Ah no how different!

Die Königin der Schmerzen - DER SPIEGEL 21/

The proud delight of that keen sympathy Is gone; no longer riding on the wave, But whelmed beneath it: Today, for the first time, I felt the Deity, And uttered prayer on hearing thunder. This Must be thy will, — for finer, higher spirits Have gone through this same process, — yet I think There was religion in that strong delight, Those sounds, those thoughts of power imparted. But O, might I but see a little onward! Margaret Fuller — "Sarah Margaret Fuller Ossoli, commonly known as Margaret Fuller, was an American journalist, critic, and women's rights advocate associated with the American transcendentalism movement.

She was the first full-time American female book reviewer in journalism. Her book Woman in the Nineteenth Century is considered the first major feminist work in the United States". Comment On Teaching the Young A poem is what stands When imperceptive hands, Feeling, have gone astray. It is what one should say. Few minds will come to this. Yvor Winters —68 http: Volles Gedicht hier einsehbar: Comment The One in All There are who separate the eternal light In forms of man and woman, day and night; They cannot bear that God be essence quite.

Existence is as deep a verity: Without the dual, where is unity? Thus love must answer to its own unrest; The bad commands us to expect the best, And hope of its own prospects is the test. And dost thou seek to find the one in two? Only upon the old can build the new; The symbol which you seek is found in you. The heart and mind, the wisdom and the will, The man and woman, must be severed still, And Christ must reconcile the good and ill. There are to whom each symbol is a mask; The life of love is a mysterious task; They want no answer, for they would not ask.

A single thought transfuses every form; The sunny day is changed into the storm, For light is dark, hard soft, and cold is warm. One presence fills and floods the whole serene; Nothing can be, nothing has ever been, Except the one truth that creates the scene. Does the heart beat, — that is a seeming only; You cannot be alone, though you are lonely; The All is neutralized in the One only. The Presence all thy fancies supersedes, All that is done which thou wouldst seek in deeds, The wealth obliterates all seeming needs.

Both these are true, and if they are at strife, The mystery bears the one name of Life, That, slowly spelled, will yet compose the strife. Believe that human nature is the way, And know both Son and Father while you pray; And one in two, in three, and none alone, Letting you know even as you are known, Shall make the you and me eternal parts of one.

But say that Love and Life eternal seem, And if eternal ties be but a dream, What is the meaning of that self-same seem? Your nature craves Eternity for Truth; Eternity of Love is prayer of youth; How, without love, would have gone forth your truth? I do not think we are deceived to grow, But that the crudest fancy, slightest show, Covers some separate truth that we may know.

In the one Truth, each separate fact is true; Eternally in one I many view, And destinies through destiny pursue. This is my tendency; but can I say That this my thought leads the true, only way? I only know it constant leads, and I obey. Let me not by vain wishes bar my claim, Nor soothe my hunger by an empty name, Nor crucify the Son of man by hasty blame. But in the earth and fire, water and air, Live earnestly by turns without despair, Nor seek a home till home be every where!

Die Königin der Schmerzen

Comment Faith What are we bound for? Why do we spend ourselves and build With such an empty haste? Louis Untermeyer — Comment Find below a poem from Wallace Stevens's first book of poetry, Harmonium. It was first published in in the journal Rogue, so it is in the public domain. Tea When the elephant's-ear in the park Shrivelled in frost, And the leaves on the paths Ran like rats, Your lamp-light fell On shining pillows, Of sea-shades and sky-shades Like umbrellas in Java.

His house is in the village, though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The work was published before 1 August , and copyright expired 50 years after publication, i. Please refer to Comment My Fancy I painted her a gushing thing, With years about a score; I little thought to find they were A least a dozen more; My fancy gave her eyes of blue, A curly auburn head: I came to find the blue a green, The auburn turned to red.

She boxed my ears this morning, They tingled very much; I own that I could wish her A somewhat lighter touch; And if you ask me how Her charms might be improved, I would not have them added to, But just a few removed! She has the bear's ethereal grace, The bland hyaena's laugh, The footstep of the elephant, The neck of a giraffe; I love her still, believe me, Though my heart its passion hides; "She's all my fancy painted her," But oh! Comment The Idler An idle lingerer on the wayside's road, He gathers up his work and yawns away; A little longer, ere the tiresome load Shall be reduced to ashes or to clay.

No matter if the world has marched along, And scorned his slowness as it quickly passed; No matter, if amid the busy throng, He greets some face, infantile at the last. Well, there is but one, And if it is a mission he knows it, nay, To be a happy idler, to lounge and sun, And dreaming, pass his long-drawn days away. So dreams he on, his happy life to pass Content, without ambitions painful sighs, Until the sands run down into the glass; He smiles—content—unmoved and dies.

And yet, with all the pity that you feel For this poor mothling of that flame, the world; Are you the better for your desperate deal, When you, like him, into infinitude are hurled? Among the first generation born free in the South after the Civil War, she was one of the prominent African Americans involved in the artistic flourishing of the Harlem Renaissance.

Der Himmel ist einsam und ungeheuer. Ein Schweigen in schwarzen Wipfeln wohnt. Bisweilen schnellt sehr fern ein Schlitten Und langsam steigt der graue Mond. Das Rohr bebt gelb und aufgeschossen. Frost, Rauch, ein Schritt im leeren Hain. Comment Zu 54 Cino. Cloud and rain-tears pass they fleet! Charlotte von Ahlefeld, Wodurch - gesagt mit Reverenz - Kann er sein Recht beweisen? Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Comment The Skylark The rolls and harrows lie at rest beside The battered road; and spreading far and wide Above the russet clods, the corn is seen Sprouting its spiry points of tender green, Where squats the hare, to terrors wide awake, Like some brown clod the harrows failed to break.

Opening their golden caskets to the sun, The buttercups make schoolboys eager run, To see who shall be first to pluck the prize— Up from their hurry, see, the skylark flies, And o'er her half-formed nest, with happy wings Winnows the air, till in the cloud she sings, Then hangs a dust-spot in the sunny skies, And drops, and drops, till in her nest she lies, Which they unheeded passed—not dreaming then That birds which flew so high would drop agen To nests upon the ground, which anything May come at to destroy. Had they the wing Like such a bird, themselves would be too proud, And build on nothing but a passing cloud!

As free from danger as the heavens are free From pain and toil, there would they build and be, And sail about the world to scenes unheard Of and unseen—Oh, were they but a bird! So think they, while they listen to its song, And smile and fancy and so pass along; While its low nest, moist with the dews of morn, Lies safely, with the leveret, in the corn. Ein schwarzer Kater schleicht herzu, Die Krallen scharf, die Augen gluh. Der Vogel scheint mir, hat Humor.

Comment Hitchhiker 'Tryna get to sunny Californy' -. Comment Next a metaphorical poem written in blank verse, published in , thus in the public domain. Mending Wall Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one stone on a stone, But they would have the rabbit out of hiding, To please the yelping dogs.

The gaps I mean, No one has seen them made or heard them made, But at spring mending-time we find them there. I let my neighbour know beyond the hill; And on a day we meet to walk the line And set the wall between us once again. We keep the wall between us as we go. To each the boulders that have fallen to each. And some are loaves and some so nearly balls We have to use a spell to make them balance: Oh, just another kind of out-door game, One on a side. It comes to little more: