الرئيسية › منتديات › مجلس اللغات الأجنبية › Emily Dickinson
- This topic has 5 ردود, 5 مشاركون, and was last updated قبل 18 سنة، شهرين by عاشق بلا هدف جمس.
-
الكاتبالمشاركات
-
8 أبريل، 2006 الساعة 8:29 م #52496eyelashمشارك
السلام عليكم ورحمة الله وبركاته …
كيف الحال اخواني وخواتي؟؟ والله لو تدرون بمشكلتي بتشفقون علي
مشكلتي :
هذا الكوورس ماخذه مساق اسمه Major: American or British writer وندرس عن Emily dickinson المشكله البروجكت مال هذا المساق ناخذ وحده من قصايدها ونحللها ونشرح في 7 اوراق اقل شي وانا عندي غيير هذا المساق خمس مساقات كلهن يبالهن برووجكت كبر الدنيا وماعرف شو اسوي هوه مايبا نطلع من النت يبا كتب والبنات شلن كل الكتب اللي في المكتبه وانا مابقالي شي فقلت يمكن القا مساعده من خواني وخواتي في المنتدى … بليزز اي حد عنده مقدره يطلع لي اي شي او حتى جزء بسيط بس من الموضوع بكوون شاكره وبدعيييييييلكم بالخييييييييير … ومشكورين ع كل شي وجزاكم الله خيير
9 أبريل، 2006 الساعة 9:34 م #656679mobiمشاركEmily dickinson
Selected Poems by Emily Dickinson
A bird came down the walk:
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.And then he drank a dew
From a convenient grass,
And then hopped sidewise to the wall
To let a beetle pass.He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroad,–
They looked like frightened beads, I thought;
He stirred his velvet headLike one in danger; cautious,
I offered him a crumb,
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer homeThan oars divide the ocean,
Too silver for a seam,
Or butterflies, off banks of noon,
Leap, splashless, as they swim.=============
A clock stopped — not the mantel’s
Geneva’s farthest skill
Can’t put the puppet bowing
That just now dangled still.An awe came on the trinket!
The figures hunched with pain,
Then quivered out of decimals
Into degreeless noon.It will not stir for doctors,
This pendulum of snow;
The shopman importunes it,
While cool, concernless NoNods from the gilded pointers,
Nods from seconds slim,
Decades of arrogance between
The dial life and him.===========
A light exists in spring
Not present on the year
At any other period.
When March is scarcely hereA color stands abroad
On solitary hills
That science cannot overtake,
But human naturefeels.It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.Then, as horizons step,
Or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
It passes, and we stay:A quality of loss
Affecting our content,
As trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a sacrament.======
Death sets a thing significant
The eye had hurried by,
Except a perished creature
Entreat us tenderlyTo ponder little workmanships
In crayon or in wool,
With “This was last her fingers did,”
Industrious untilThe thimble weighed too heavy,
The stitches stopped themselves,
And then ‘t was put among the dust
Upon the closet shelves.A book I have, a friend gave,
Whose pencil, here and there,
Had notched the place that pleased him,–
At rest his fingers are.Now, when I read, I read not,
For interrupting tears
Obliterate the etchings
Too costly for repairs.=======
I cannot live with you,
It would be life,
And life is over there
Behind the shelfThe sexton keeps the key to,
Putting up
Our life, his porcelain,
Like a cupDiscarded of the housewife,
Quaint or broken;
A newer Sevres pleases,
Old ones crack.I could not die with you,
For one must wait
To shut the other’s gaze down,–
You could not.And I, could I stand by
And see you freeze,
Without my right of frost,
Death’s privilege?Nor could I rise with you,
Because your face
Would put out Jesus’.
That new graceGlow plain and foreign
On my homesick eye,
Except that you, than he
Shone closer by.They’d judge us–how?
For you served Heaven, you know
Or sought to;
I could not,Because you saturated sight,
And I had no more eyes
For sordid excellence
As Paradise.And were you lost, I would be,
Though my name
Rang loudest
On the heavenly fame.And were you saved,
And I condemned to be
Where you were not,
That self were hell to me.So we must keep apart,
You there, I here,
With just the door ajar
That oceans are,
And prayer,
And that pale svustenance,
Despair!========
This is my letter to the world,
That never wrote to me,–
The simple news that Nature told,
With tender majesty.Her message is committed
To hands I cannot see;
For love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge tenderly of me!========
‘T was just this time last year I died.
I know I heard the corn,
When I was carried by the farms,–
It had the tassels on.I thought how yellow it would look
When Richard went to mill;
And then I wanted to get out,
But something held my will.I thought just how red apples wedged
The stubble’s joints between;
And carts went stooping round the fields
To take the pumpkins in.I wondered which would miss me least,
And when Thanksgiving came,
If father’d multiply the plates
To make an even sum.And if my stocking hung too high,
Would it blur the Christmas glee,
That not a Santa Claus could reach
The altitude of me?But this sort grieved myself, and so
I thought how it would be
When just this time, some perfect year,
Themselves should come to me.========
I hope you will like it
Best Regards
11 أبريل، 2006 الساعة 5:50 م #657252eyelashمشاركمشكووووووور يا اخوووي ع poems
بس المشكلة انا مابا قصايدها انا ابا وحده من قصايدها مشرووحه شررح مفصل…
مشكوور ع العمووم وماتقصر اخوي جزاك الله الف خيير
2 مايو، 2006 الساعة 5:26 م #663786MoOn FaCeمشاركIN WHICH COLLEGE ARE YOU STUDY ? BECAUSE I DID SAME PROJECT
8 مايو، 2006 الساعة 5:10 ص #665672azooa82مشاركi did this before sister .
do you still work on it ,or if you still need help just e-mail me at this mail (azuz82@hotmail.com) and i will gives you the hole project10 مايو، 2006 الساعة 3:55 م #666777عاشق بلا هدف جمسمشاركwhat is it
-
الكاتبالمشاركات
- يجب تسجيل الدخول للرد على هذا الموضوع.