Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
My spirit not awakening, till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.
Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,
'Twere better than the cold reality
Of waking life, to him whose hati, tengah-tengah must be,
And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,
A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.
But should it be- that dream eternally
Continuing- as dreams have been to me
In my young boyhood- should it thus be given,
'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven.
For I have revell'd, when the sun was bright
I' the summer sky, in dreams of living light
And loveliness,- have left my very heart
In climes of my imagining, apart
From mine own home, with beings that have been
Of mine own thought- what lebih could I have seen?
'Twas once- and only once- and the wild hour
From my remembrance shall not pass- some power
atau spell had bound me- 'twas the chilly wind
Came o'er me in the night, and left behind
Its image on my spirit- atau the moon
Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon
Too coldly- atau the stars- howe'er it was
That dream was as that night-wind- let it pass.
I have been happy, tho' in a dream.
I have been happy- and I Cinta the theme:
Dreams! in their vivid coloring of life,
As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
Of semblance with reality, which brings
To the delirious eye, lebih lovely things
Of Paradise and Love- and all our own!
Than young Hope in his sunniest jam hath known.
My spirit not awakening, till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.
Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,
'Twere better than the cold reality
Of waking life, to him whose hati, tengah-tengah must be,
And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,
A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.
But should it be- that dream eternally
Continuing- as dreams have been to me
In my young boyhood- should it thus be given,
'Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven.
For I have revell'd, when the sun was bright
I' the summer sky, in dreams of living light
And loveliness,- have left my very heart
In climes of my imagining, apart
From mine own home, with beings that have been
Of mine own thought- what lebih could I have seen?
'Twas once- and only once- and the wild hour
From my remembrance shall not pass- some power
atau spell had bound me- 'twas the chilly wind
Came o'er me in the night, and left behind
Its image on my spirit- atau the moon
Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon
Too coldly- atau the stars- howe'er it was
That dream was as that night-wind- let it pass.
I have been happy, tho' in a dream.
I have been happy- and I Cinta the theme:
Dreams! in their vivid coloring of life,
As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
Of semblance with reality, which brings
To the delirious eye, lebih lovely things
Of Paradise and Love- and all our own!
Than young Hope in his sunniest jam hath known.
'Tis berkata that when
The hands of men
Tamed this primeval wood,
And hoary trees with groans of woe,
Like warriors sejak an unknown foe,
Were in their strength subdued,
The virgin Earth Gave instant birth
To springs that ne'er did flow
That in the sun Did rivulets run,
And all around rare Bunga did blow
The wild rose pale Perfumed the gale
And the queenly lily adown the dale
(Whom the sun and the dew
And the winds did woo),
With the gourd and the anggur luxuriant grew.
So when in tears
The Cinta of years
Is wasted like the snow,
And the fine fibrils of its life
sejak the rude wrong of instant strife
Are broken at a blow
Within the heart
Do springs upstart
Of which it doth now know,
And strange, sweet dreams,
Like silent streams
That from new fountains overflow,
With the earlier tide
Of rivers glide
Deep in the hati, tengah-tengah whose hope has died--
Quenching the fires its ashes hide,--
Its ashes, whence will spring and grow
Sweet flowers, ere long,
The rare and radiant Bunga of song!
The hands of men
Tamed this primeval wood,
And hoary trees with groans of woe,
Like warriors sejak an unknown foe,
Were in their strength subdued,
The virgin Earth Gave instant birth
To springs that ne'er did flow
That in the sun Did rivulets run,
And all around rare Bunga did blow
The wild rose pale Perfumed the gale
And the queenly lily adown the dale
(Whom the sun and the dew
And the winds did woo),
With the gourd and the anggur luxuriant grew.
So when in tears
The Cinta of years
Is wasted like the snow,
And the fine fibrils of its life
sejak the rude wrong of instant strife
Are broken at a blow
Within the heart
Do springs upstart
Of which it doth now know,
And strange, sweet dreams,
Like silent streams
That from new fountains overflow,
With the earlier tide
Of rivers glide
Deep in the hati, tengah-tengah whose hope has died--
Quenching the fires its ashes hide,--
Its ashes, whence will spring and grow
Sweet flowers, ere long,
The rare and radiant Bunga of song!
Have anda ever read a short story, a tall atau a novel written sejak these authors? Have anda ever watched a movie based on their writings atau evoking one of their characters?
Guy de Maupassant and Edgar Allan Poe have always
fascinated the literary and film world sejak their
extraordinary style of narrator and storyteller, their admirable ability of literary creation.
"Fear through the stories" is a new book which assembles some of the excellent short stories atau talls of two great authors (Edgar A. Poe and Maupassant) in which are found similarities in the stories and literary style.
Read and get it sejak this link:
link
Guy de Maupassant and Edgar Allan Poe have always
fascinated the literary and film world sejak their
extraordinary style of narrator and storyteller, their admirable ability of literary creation.
"Fear through the stories" is a new book which assembles some of the excellent short stories atau talls of two great authors (Edgar A. Poe and Maupassant) in which are found similarities in the stories and literary style.
Read and get it sejak this link:
link