Laughing song

Twilight

Afternoon in February

Seagull

The Brook

I come from haunts of coot and hern,

I make a sudden sally

And sparkle out among the fern,

To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,

Or slip between the ridges,

By twenty thorps, a little town,

And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm

I flow To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,

But I go on for ever.

I chatter over stony ways,

In little sharps and trebles,

I bubble into eddying bays,

I bubble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks

I fret By many a field and fallow,

Arid many a fairy foreland set

With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter as I flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,

But I go on for ever.

I wind about, and in and out,

With here a blossom sailing.

And here and there a lusty trout,

And here and there a grayling.

And here and there a foamy flake

Upon me, as I travel

With many a silvery waterbreak

Above the golden gravel.

And draw them all along, and flow

To join the brimming river,

or men may come and men may go,

But I go on for ever. Alfred Tennyson

What does a seagull

know about being a seagull?

What does it feel

as it hangs above the cliff edge

adjusting its wings to the wind,

turning its bright yellow eye

this way and that?

Watching it hover

then fall away sideways

and, gathering speed,

glide so effortlessly down

to a gleaming wet rock,

we are moved by its movement.

We feel it like music.

But what of the seagull?

Bob Rogers

The day is ending,

The night it descending;

The marsh is frozen,

The river dead.

Through clouds like ashes

The red sun flashes

On village windows

That glimmer red.

The snow recommences;

The buried fences

Mark no longer

The road o'er plain.

H.W.Longfellow

It is the hour when from the boughs

The nightingale's high note is heard;

It is the hour when lover's vows

Seem sweet in every whispered word;

And gentle winds, and waters near.

Make music to the lonely ear.

Each flower the dews have lightly wet,

And in the sky the stars are met,

And on the wave is deeper blue,

And on the leaf a browner hue,

And in the heaven that clear obscure,

So softly dark, and darkly pure,

Which follows the decline of day,

As twilight melts beneath the moon away.

G. G. Byron

When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy,

And the dimpling stream runs laughing by;

When the air does laugh with our merry wit,

And the green hill laughs with the noise of it;

When the meadows tough laugh with lively green,

And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene,

When Mary and Susan and Emily

With their sweet round mouths sing Ha, Ha, He!

When the painted birds laugh in the shade,

Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread,

Come live and be merry, and join with me,

To sing the sweet chorus of Ha, Ha, He!

William Blake

Дата добавления: 2015-05-24