Академический Документы
Профессиональный Документы
Культура Документы
Please memorize a poem, but be prepared to explain the theme to me when you recite it to pass it off. DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT Dylan Thomas Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rage at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
No Man is an Island By John Donne No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as a manor of thy friends or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. Death by John Donne
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so; For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. Thou'art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy'or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avowYou are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sandHow few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep- while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?
Democracy
by Langston Hughes Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right As the other fellow has To stand On my two feet And own the land. I tire so of hearing people say, Let things take their course. Tomorrow is another day. I do not need my freedom when I'm dead. I cannot live on tomorrow's bread. Freedom Is a strong seed Planted In a great need. I live here, too. I want freedom Just as you.
As I Grew Older
by Langston Hughes
It was a long time ago. I have almost forgotten my dream. But it was there then, In front of me, Bright like a sun-My dream. And then the wall rose, Rose slowly, Slowly, Between me and my dream. Rose until it touched the sky-The wall. Shadow. I am black. I lie down in the shadow. No longer the light of my dream before me, Above me. Only the thick wall. Only the shadow. My hands! My dark hands! Break through the wall! Find my dream! Help me to shatter this darkness, To smash this night, To break this shadow Into a thousand lights of sun, Into a thousand whirling dreams Of sun!
The Lorelei by Heinrich Heine I wish I knew the meaning, A sadness has fallen on me. The ghost of an ancient legend That will not let me be. The air is cool in the twilight And gently flows the Rhine; A mountain peak in the setting sun Catches the faltering shine. The highest peak still gleaming Reveals enthroned in the air, A Siren lost in her dreaming Combing her golden hair. With golden combs she caresses Her hair as she sings her song; Echoing through the gloaming Filled with a magic so strong. The boatman has heard, it has bound him In throes of desire and love. He's blind to the reefs that surround him, He sees but the Maiden above. And now the wild waters awaken Then boat and the boatman are gone. And this is what with her singing, The Lorelei has done