Poems of the English Faculty of Education Port Said

Saturday, November 14, 2009

"She Dwelt among the Untrodden Ways," A Poem by William Wordsworth


"She Dwelt among the Untrodden ways"



She dwelt among the untrodden ways

Beside the springs of Dove,

A Maid whon there were none to praise

And very few to love:



A violet by a mossy stone

Half hidden from the eye!

--Fair as a star, when only one

Is shiningin in the sky.



She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and, oh,

The difference to me!

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It was a Lover and his Lass by William Shakespeare


IT was a lover and his lass
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
That o'er the green corn-field did pass,
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

Between the acres of the rye,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
These pretty country folks would lie,
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

This carol they began that hour,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
How that life was but a flower
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

And, therefore, take the present time
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
For love is crown`d with the prime
In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.



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Saturday, October 31, 2009


"When we two Parted," A Pem by George Gordon, Lord Byron


When we two parted

In silence and tears,

Half broken-hearted

To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.



The dew of the mourning

Sunk chill on my brow--

It felt like the waning

Of what I feel now.

Thy vows are all broken,

And light is thy fame:

hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.



They name thee before me,

Aknell to mine ear;

A shudder comes o'er me--

Why wert thou so dear?

They know not I know thee,

Who knew thee too well:--

Long, long shall I rue thee,

Too deeply to tell.



In secret we met--

In silence I grieve,

That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet hee

After long years,

How should I greet thee?--

With silence and tears.



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"Love's Philosophy," A Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley


I

The fountains mingle with the river

And the rivers with the Ocean,

The winds of Heaven mix for ever

With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single;

All things by a law divine

In one spirit meet and mingle.

Why not I with thine?--




II

See the mountains kiss Heaven

And the waves clasp one another;

No sister-flower would be forgiven

If it disdained its brother;

And the sunlight clasps the earth

And the moonbeams kiss the sea:

What is all this sweet work worth

If thou kiss not me?




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Tuesday, October 20, 2009


"Something Childish, but very Natural," A Poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge



"Something Childish, but very Natural"


If I had but two little wings

And were a little feathery bird,

To you, I'd fly, my dear!

But thoughts like these are idle things,

And I stay here.



But in my sleep to you I fly:

I'm always with you in my sleep!

The world is all one's own.

But then one wakes, and where am I?

All, all alone.



Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids:

So I love to wake ere break of day:

For though my sleep be gone,

Yet while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids,

And still dreams on.




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Monday, October 12, 2009


"To Mary," A Poem by Charles Wolfe



"To Mary"


If I had thought thou couldst have died,
I might not sweep for thee;
But I forgot, when by thy side,
That thou couldst mortal be:
It never through my mind had past
The time would e'er be over,
And I on thee shouldst smile on me!


And still upon that face I look,
And think 'twill smile again;
And still the thought I will not brook,
That I must look in vain.
But when I speak--thou dost not say
What thou ne'er left'st unsaid;
And now I feel , as well I may,
Sweet Mary, thou art dead!


If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art,
All cold and all serene--
I still might press thy silent heart,
And where thy smiles have been.
While e'en thy chill, blake corse I have,
Thou seemest still mine own;
But there--I lay thee in thy grave,
And I am now alone!


I do not think, where'er thou art,
Thou hast forgotten me;
And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart
In thinking too of thee:
Yet there wqas round thee such a dawn
Of light ne'er seen before,
As fancy never could have drwan,
And never can restore!