Comel

The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. `'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door - Only this, and nothing more.' Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore - For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore - Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating `'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door - Some late visitor entreating ent...

 Jabberwocky Karya Lewis Carroll  'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. "Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!" He took his vorpal sword in hand: Long time the manxome foe he sought-- So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood awhile in thought. And as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back. "And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!" He chortled in his joy. 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. Source :...

 The Walrus and the Carpenter by Lewis Carroll The Walrus and the Carpenter adalah puisi naratif dari Through the Looking Glass. Puisi itu dibacakan untuk Alice oleh Tweedledee dan Tweedledum. "The sun was shining on the sea, Shining with all his might: He did his very best to make The billows smooth and bright— And this was odd, because it was The middle of the night. The moon was shining sulkily, Because she thought the sun Had got no business to be there After the day was done— 'It's very rude of him,' she said, 'To come and spoil the fun!' The sea was wet as wet could be, The sands were dry as dry. You could not see a cloud, because No cloud was in the sky: No birds were flying overhead— There were no birds to fly. The Walrus and the Carpenter Were walking close at hand; They wept like anything to see Such quantities of sand: 'If this were only cleared away,' They said, 'it would be grand!' 'If seven maids with seven mops Swept it for h...

  When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d by Walt Whitman 1 When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d, And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night, I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring. Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west, And thought of him I love. 2 O powerful western fallen star! O shades of night—O moody, tearful night! O great star disappear’d—O the black murk that hides the star! O cruel hands that hold me powerless—O helpless soul of me! O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul. 3 In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash’d palings, Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green, With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love, With every leaf a miracle—and from this bush in the dooryard, With delicate-color’d blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green, A sprig with its f...

 The Song of Hiawatha Karya Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Should you ask me, whence these stories?  Whence these legends and traditions,  With the odors of the forest  With the dew and damp of meadows, With the curling smoke of wigwams, With the rushing of great rivers, With their frequent repetitions, And their wild reverberations As of thunder in the mountains?   I should answer, I should tell you, "From the forests and the prairies, From the great lakes of the Northland, From the land of the Ojibways, From the land of the Dacotahs, From the mountains, moors, and fen-lands Where the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, Feeds among the reeds and rushes. I repeat them as I heard them From the lips of Nawadaha, The musician, the sweet singer."   Should you ask where Nawadaha Found these songs so wild and wayward, Found these legends and traditions, I should answer, I should tell you, "In the bird's-nests of the forest, In the lodges of the beaver, In the hoof-prints of t...

 Fire and Ice by Robert Frost      Fire and Ice diterbitkan dalam koleksi pemenang hadiah Frost's Pulitzer, New Hampshire pada tahun 1923. Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice.  Source : https://americanliterature.com/author/robert-frost/poem/fire-and-ice

  Pastoral by William Carlos Williams The little sparrows hop ingenuously about the pavement quarreling with sharp voices over those things that interest them. But we who are wiser shut ourselves in on either hand and no one knows whether we think good or evil. Meanwhile, the old man who goes about gathering dog-lime walks in the gutter without looking up and his tread is more majestic than that of the Episcopal minister approaching the pulpit of a Sunday. These things astonish me beyond words. Source : https://americanliterature.com/author/william-carlos-williams/poem/pastoral

  To The Spring. Or Of The Fables Of The Ancients by Giacomo Leopardi Now that the sun the faded charms Of heaven again restores, And gentle zephyr the sick air revives, And the dark shadows of the clouds Are put to flight, And birds their naked breasts confide Unto the wind, and the soft light, With new desire of love, and with new hope, The conscious beasts, in the deep woods, Amid the melting frosts, inspires; May not to you, poor human souls, Weary, and overborne with grief, The happy age return, which misery, And truth's dark torch, before its time, consumed? Have not the golden rays Of Phœbus vanished from your gaze Forever? Say, O gentle Spring, Canst thou this icy heart inspire, and melt, That in the bloom of youth, the frost of age hath felt? O holy Nature, art thou still alive? Alive? And does the unaccustomed ear Of thy maternal voice the accents hear? Of white nymphs once, the streams were the abode. And in the clear founts mirrored were their forms. Mysterious dances...

  O Captain! My Captain!  by  Walt Whitman      Meratapi pembunuhan Abraham Lincoln, puisi Walt Whitman diterbitkan tak lama setelah kematian Lincoln pada tahun 1865. Puisi ini pertama kali diperkenalkan kepada siswa sekolah menengah, dan dikutip dalam adegan yang tak terlupakan dari film Dead Poets Society (1989). O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;  The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;  The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,  While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:      But O heart! heart! heart!       O the bleeding drops of red,          Where on the deck my Captain lies,            Fallen cold and dead.  O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;  Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills; For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you th...

  The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver by   Edna St. Vincent Millay The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver  memenangkan Pulitzer Prize for Poetry pada tahun 1923   bersama dengan   Eight Sonnets  d an  A Few Figs from Thistles . "SON," said my mother,   When I was knee-high, "You've need of clothes to cover you,   And not a rag have I. "There's nothing in the house   To make a boy breeches, Nor shears to cut a cloth with   Nor thread to take stitches. "There's nothing in the house   But a loaf-end of rye, And a harp with a woman's head   Nobody will buy,"   And she began to cry. That was in the early fall.   When came the late fall, "Son," she said, "the sight of you   Makes your mother's blood crawl,– "Little skinny shoulder-blades   Sticking through your clothes! And where you'll get a jacket from   God above knows. "It's lucky for me, lad,   Your daddy's in the ground, And can't see the way I let ...