agonia magyar v3 |
Agónia - Művészeti Műhelyek | Szabályo | Mission | Lépj kapcsolatba velün | Regisztrál | ||||
Cikk Közösségek Pályazat Esszé Multimédia Személyese Vers Sajt? Próza _QUOTE Forgatókönyv Speciáli | ||||||
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Romanian Spell-Checker Lépj kapcsolatba velün |
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2005-03-31 | [Ezt a szöveget a következ. nyelven kell olvasni english] | Könyvtárba beírt x The firm house lingers, though averse to square With the new city street it has to wear A number in. But what about the brook That held the house as in an elbow-crook? I ask as one who knew the brook, its strength And impulse, having dipped a finger length And made it leap my knuckle, having tossed A flower to try its currents where they crossed. The meadow grass could be cemented down From growing under pavements of a town; The apple trees be sent to hearth-stone flame. Is water wood to serve a brook the same? How else dispose of an immortal force No longer needed? Staunch it at its source With cinder loads dumped down? The brook was thrown Deep in a sewer dungeon under stone In fetid darkness still to live and run - And all for nothing it had ever done Except forget to go in fear perhaps. No one would know except for ancient maps That such a brook ran water. But I wonder If from its being kept forever under The thoughts may not have risen that so keep This new-built city from both work and sleep.
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Az irodalom, kultúra és vers háza. Írj és élvezd a cikkeket, esszéket, prózát, klasszihus verseket és versenyeket | |||||||||
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