Poem Daffodils par 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 montrer to me had brought:
For oft, when on my canapé I lie
In vacant ou in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my cœur, coeur 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 montrer to me had brought:
For oft, when on my canapé I lie
In vacant ou in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my cœur, coeur 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 dîner 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 dîner 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...
" This poem is opposite to my mood as I am very happy in my life but I write this poem for the one who are not happy"
This world doesn't seem of mine
and I don't belong to this
I feel the darkness in the place
the place which seems bright to them
These people are not mine
but other recognized me with their names
I am feeling miserable,horrible,terrible here
But they are feeling magical,beautiful,peaceful here
I don't resemble to them in any way
I don't belong to them in any way
Here I am living the life that I never wanted to live
here they are living a life , filling their desires things.
This world doesn't seem of mine
and I don't belong to this
This world doesn't seem of mine
and I don't belong to this
I feel the darkness in the place
the place which seems bright to them
These people are not mine
but other recognized me with their names
I am feeling miserable,horrible,terrible here
But they are feeling magical,beautiful,peaceful here
I don't resemble to them in any way
I don't belong to them in any way
Here I am living the life that I never wanted to live
here they are living a life , filling their desires things.
This world doesn't seem of mine
and I don't belong to this
This poem is all about the beauty of nature that I feel...
This poem is totally opposite to the last poem I wrote"I don't belong to the world"
Look what I see there
those roses are very dear to me
Hear what I am hearing now
those chant birds are very dear to me..
This green herbe freshens up my mood
that blue sky , gives me a hope
that shiny sun brightens up my smile
These winds are calming my heart
See what I see there
a arc en ciel after a very heavy rain
those couleurs can be seen in my eyes
I can feel the magic of this nature
I am flying with the butterflies
even though I am on land
I am chant with the birds
even though I don't have a nest.
a man can feel all this nature
when he own the treasure
the treasure isn't the gold
that treasure is just the happiness.
This poem is totally opposite to the last poem I wrote"I don't belong to the world"
Look what I see there
those roses are very dear to me
Hear what I am hearing now
those chant birds are very dear to me..
This green herbe freshens up my mood
that blue sky , gives me a hope
that shiny sun brightens up my smile
These winds are calming my heart
See what I see there
a arc en ciel after a very heavy rain
those couleurs can be seen in my eyes
I can feel the magic of this nature
I am flying with the butterflies
even though I am on land
I am chant with the birds
even though I don't have a nest.
a man can feel all this nature
when he own the treasure
the treasure isn't the gold
that treasure is just the happiness.
Stopping par Woods on a Snowy Evening
par ROBERT FROST
Whose woods these are I think I know.
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 La Reine des Neiges lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harnais bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
par ROBERT FROST
Whose woods these are I think I know.
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 La Reine des Neiges lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harnais bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
