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  1. #1
    !Welcome! Maska e StormAngel
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    Poete te famshem dhe poezite e tyre

    somewhere i have never travelled

    somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
    any experience, your eyes have their silence:
    in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
    or which i cannot touch because they are too near

    your slightest look easily will unclose me
    though i have closed myself as fingers,
    you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
    (touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

    or if your wish be to close me, i and
    my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
    as when the heart of this flower imagines
    the snow carefully everywhere descending;

    nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
    the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
    compels me with the colour of its countries,
    rendering death and forever with each breathing

    (i do not know what it is about you that closes
    and opens; only something in me understands
    the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
    nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands


    e. e. cummings
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  2. #2
    !Welcome! Maska e StormAngel
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    Lone Gentleman

    The gay young men and the love-sick girls,
    and the abandoned widows suffering in sleepless delirium,
    and the young pregnant wives of thirty hours,
    and the raucous cats that cruise my garden in the shadows,
    like a necklace of pulsating oysters of sex
    surround my lonely residence,
    like enemies lined up against my soul,
    like conspirators in bedroom clothes
    who exchange long deep kisses to order.

    The radiant summer leads to lovers
    in predictable melancholic regiments,
    made of fat and skinny, sad and happy pairings:
    under the elegant coconut palms, near the ocean and the moon,
    goes an endless movement of trousers and dresses,
    a whisper of silk stockings being caressed,
    and womens breasts that sparkle like eyes.

    The little employee, after it all,
    after the weeks boredom, and novels read by night in bed,
    has definitively seduced the girl next door,
    and carried her away to a run-down movie house
    where the heroes are studs or princes mad with passion,
    and strokes her legs covered with soft down
    with his moist and ardent hands that smell of cigarettes.

    The seducers afternoons and married peoples nights
    come together like the sheets and bury me,
    and the hours after lunch when the young male students
    and the young girl students, and the priests, masturbate,
    and the creatures fornicate outright,
    and the bees smell of blood, and the flies madly buzz,
    and boy and girl cousins play oddly together,
    and doctors stare in fury at the young patients husband,
    and the morning hours in which the professor, as if to pass the time,
    performs his marriage duties, and breakfasts,
    and moreover, the adulterers, who love each other truly
    on beds as high and deep as ocean liners:
    finally, eternally surrounding me
    is a gigantic forest breathing and tangled
    with gigantic flowers like mouths with teeth
    and black roots in the shape of hooves and shoes.


    Pablo Neruda
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  3. #3
    !Welcome! Maska e StormAngel
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    So, We'll Go No More A Roving
    So, we'll go no more a roving
    So late into the night,
    Though the heart be still as loving,
    And the moon be still as bright.

    For the sword outwears its sheath,
    And the soul wears out the breast,
    And the hearth must pause to breathe,
    And love itself have rest.

    Though the night was made for loving,
    And the days return too soon,
    Yet we'll go no more a roving
    By the light of the moon.



    George Gordon, Lord Byron
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  4. #4
    !Welcome! Maska e StormAngel
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    Darkness

    I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
    The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
    Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
    Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
    Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
    Morn came, and went and came, and brought no day,
    And men forgot their passions in the dread
    Of this desolation; and all hearts
    Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
    And they did live by watchfires and the thrones,
    The palaces of crowned kings, the huts,
    The habitations of all things which dwell,
    Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,
    And men were gathered round their blazing homes
    To look once more into each other's face;
    Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
    Of the volcanos, and their mountaintorch:
    A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
    Forest were set on fire but hour by hour
    They fell and faded and the crackling trunks
    Extinguish'd with a crash and all was black.
    The brows of men by the despairing light
    Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
    The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
    And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
    Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled;
    And others hurried to and fro, and fed
    Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up
    With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
    The pall of a past world; and then again
    With curses cast them down upon the dust,
    And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd,
    And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
    And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
    Came tame and tremolous; and vipers crawl'd
    And twined themselves among the multitude,
    Hissing, but stingless, they were slain for food:
    And War, which for a moment was no more,
    Did glut himself again; a meal was bought
    With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
    Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
    All earth was but one thought and that was death,
    Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
    Of famine fed upon all entrails men
    Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
    The meagre by the meagre were devoured,
    Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
    And he was faithful to a corpse, and kept
    The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,
    Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
    Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
    But with a piteous and perpetual moan
    And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
    Which answered not with a caress, he died.
    The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two
    Of an enormous city did survive, And they were enemies;
    They met beside
    The dying embers of an altarplace
    Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
    For an unholy usage; they raked up,
    And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
    The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath


    Blew for a little life, and made a flame
    Wich was a mockery; then they lifted up
    Their eyes as it grew lighter, and
    Each other's aspects. saw, and shriek'd, and died, beheld
    Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
    Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
    Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
    The populous and the powerful was a lump,
    Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless,
    A lump of death, a chaos of hard clay.
    The rivers, lakes, and ocean stood still,
    And nothing stirred within their silent depths;
    Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
    And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropp'd
    They slept on the abyss without a surge
    The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
    The moon their mistress had expired before;
    The winds were withered in the stagnant air,
    And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
    Of aid from them. She was the universe.

    George Gordon, Lord Byron
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  5. #5
    !Welcome! Maska e StormAngel
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    The Raven

    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 name 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 entrance at my chamber door;
    This it is and nothing more."

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer
    "Sir " said I "or Madam truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping and so gently you came rapping
    And so faintly you came tapping tapping at my chamber door
    That I scarce was sure I heard you" here I opened wide the door;
    Darkness there and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering long I stood there wondering fearing
    Doubting dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken and the stillness gave no token
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word "Lenore!"
    This I whispered and an echo murmured back the word "Lenore!"
    Merely this and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning all my soul within me burning
    Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    "Surely " said I "surely that is something at my window lattice:
    Let me see then what thereat is and this mystery explore
    Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;
    'Tis the wind and nothing more."

    Open here I flung the shutter when with many a flirt and flutter
    In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But with mien of lord or lady perched above my chamber door
    Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door
    Perched and sat and nothing more.

    Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling
    By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
    "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou " I said "art sure no craven
    Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore
    Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
    Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly
    Though its answer little meaning little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door
    Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door
    With such name as "Nevermore."

    But the raven sitting lonely on the placid bust spoke only
    That one word as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing further then he uttered not a feather then he fluttered
    Till I scarcely more than muttered "other friends have flown before
    On the morrow he will leave me as my hopes have flown before.
    Then the bird said "Nevermore."

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken
    "Doubtless " said I "what it utters is its only stock and store
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore
    Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
    Of 'Never nevermore'."

    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling
    Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
    Then upon the velvet sinking I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy thinking what this ominous bird of yore
    What this grim ungainly ghastly gaunt and ominous bird of yore
    Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

    This I sat engaged in guessing but no syllable expressing
    To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
    This and more I sat divining with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er
    But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
    She shall press ah nevermore!

    Then methought the air grew denser perfumed from an unseen censer
    Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    "Wretch " I cried "thy God hath lent thee by these angels he
    hath sent thee
    Respite respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
    Quaff oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
    Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

    "Prophet!" said I "thing of evil! prophet still if bird or devil!
    Whether Tempter sent or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore
    Desolate yet all undaunted on this desert land enchanted
    On this home by horror haunted tell me truly I implore
    Is there is there balm in Gilead? tell me tell me I implore!"
    Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

    "Prophet!" said I "thing of evil prophet still if bird or devil!
    By that Heaven that bends above us by that God we both adore
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if within the distant Aidenn
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore
    Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
    Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

    "Be that word our sign in parting bird or fiend " I shrieked upstarting
    "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
    Leave no plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my door!
    Take thy beak from out my heart and take thy form from off my door!"
    Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

    And the Raven never flitting still is sitting still is sitting
    On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming
    And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
    And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
    Shall be lifted nevermore!.

    Edgar Alan Poe
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  6. #6
    Bebiiiiiii dove je? Maska e TiLoNcE
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    To a Kiss


    Humid seal of soft affections,
    Tend'rest pledge of future bliss,
    Dearest tie of young connections,
    Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss.
    Speaking silence, dumb confession,
    Passion's birth, and infants' play,
    Dove-like fondness, chaste concession,
    Glowing dawn of brighter day.
    Sorrowing joy, adieu's last action,
    Ling'ring lips, -- no more to join!
    What words can ever speak affection
    Thrilling and sincere as thine!

    Robert Burns
    o-le-le firma

  7. #7
    Bebiiiiiii dove je? Maska e TiLoNcE
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    Untitled

    I loved you; even now I may confess,

    Some embers of my love their fire retain;

    But do not let it cause you more distress,

    I do not want to sadden you again.

    Hopeless and tonguetied, yet I loved you dearly

    With pangs the jealous and the timid know;

    So tenderly I loved you, so sincerely,

    I pray God grant another love you so.

    Alexander Pushkin|
    o-le-le firma

  8. #8
    !Welcome! Maska e StormAngel
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    Reluctance

    Out through the fields and the woods
    And over the walls I have wended;
    I have climbed the hills of view
    And looked at the world and descended;
    I have come by the highway home,
    And lo, it is ended.

    The leaves are all dead on the ground,
    Save those that the oak is keeping
    To ravel them one by one
    And let them go scraping and creeping
    Out over the crusted snow,
    When others are sleeping.

    And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
    No longer blown hither and thither;
    The last lone aster is gone;
    The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
    The heart is still aching to seek,
    But the feet question 'Whither?'

    Ah, when to the heart of man
    Was it ever less than a treason
    To go with the drift of things,
    To yield with a grace to reason,
    And bow and accept the end
    Of a love or a season?


    Robert Frost
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  9. #9
    !Welcome! Maska e StormAngel
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    THE TYGER - by William Blake

    Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
    In the forests of the night,
    What immortal hand or eye
    Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
    In what distant deeps or skies
    Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
    On what wings dare he aspire?
    What the hand dare seize the fire?

    And what shoulder, and what art,
    Could twist the sinews of thy heart,
    And when thy heart began to beat,
    What dread hand? and what dread feet?

    What the hammer? what the chain?
    In what furnace was thy brain?
    What the anvil? what dread grasp
    Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

    When the stars threw down their spears,
    And water'd heaven with their tears,
    Did he smile his work to see?
    Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

    Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
    In the forests of the night,
    What immortal hand or eye,
    Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  10. #10
    ga ga Maska e bunny
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    Edhe pse John Keats vdiq ne moshe shum te re (25vjecare)ai akoma mbetet 1 nga poetet e medhenj Anglez. Duke qene kritikuar shum nga mendimet e tija politike,efektoj shum publikimet e poezive/letrat e tij.Nga kjo ai po ashtu nuk mund tu martonte me gruan qe ai donte (Fanny Brown).

    Bright Star eshte 1 nga poezit qe mua me pelqen shum nga koleksioni i tij,e cila eshte detikuar Fanny Brown.


    Bright Star

    Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
    Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
    And watching, with eternal lids apart,
    Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
    The moving waters at their priestlike task
    Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
    Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
    Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
    No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
    Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
    To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
    Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
    Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
    And so live ever--or else swoon to death.

    1 nga shprehjet e tij te famshme eshte:
    'I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart's affections and the truth of Imagination'
    Ndryshuar pėr herė tė fundit nga bunny : 13-09-2004 mė 16:25
    How can she fall, if there is no one there to catch her

  11. #11
    i/e regjistruar Maska e *~Rexhina~*
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    Citim Postuar mė parė nga StormAngel
    THE TYGER - by William Blake

    Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
    In the forests of the night,
    What immortal hand or eye
    Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
    In what distant deeps or skies
    Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
    On what wings dare he aspire?
    What the hand dare seize the fire?

    And what shoulder, and what art,
    Could twist the sinews of thy heart,
    And when thy heart began to beat,
    What dread hand? and what dread feet?

    What the hammer? what the chain?
    In what furnace was thy brain?
    What the anvil? what dread grasp
    Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

    When the stars threw down their spears,
    And water'd heaven with their tears,
    Did he smile his work to see?
    Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

    Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
    In the forests of the night,
    What immortal hand or eye,
    Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
    uhh c'me kujtove kete poezi nga William blake, the romantic poet/engraver/painter qe e kisha si projekt te flisja 10 minuta per jeten e tij, poezit e tij duke shpjeguar per cfare po fliste, what was the theme etje...dhe une zgjodhja the lamb and the tyger :)...akoma kam nje poster te madh qe se kam hedhur poshte per arsyen se kam ndejntur 6 ore duke e bere sa me organized and pretty :P

    nejse me pelqen shume the tyger
    thanks for posting it

    do postoj disa poezi me vone
    I don't care how poor a man is; if he has family, he's rich.

  12. #12
    ga ga Maska e bunny
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    Fancy eshte 1 tjeter poezi nga John Keats. Duke mos patur mundesine qe te ishte me gruan qe ai donte,shum here ai shkruante ne letrat/poezit e tij se se 1 femer e imagjinuar eshte me e mire sesa 1 reale.Ne kete poezi ai flet per ate grau te imagjinuar nga vete ai,ai shprehet se kjo grua eshte shum e mire sesa 1 femer reale,pasi bukuria e kesaj rrin pergjithmone kurse bukuria e 1 femre reale i iken.

    Fancy

    Ever let the Fancy roam,
    Pleasure never is at home:
    At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth,
    Like to bubbles when rain pelteth;
    Then let winged Fancy wander
    Through the thought still spread beyond her:
    Open wide the mind's cage-door,
    She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar.
    O sweet Fancy! let her loose;
    Summer's joys are spoilt by use,
    And the enjoying of the Spring
    Fades as does its blossoming;
    Autumn's red-lipp'd fruitage too,
    Blushing through the mist and dew,
    Cloys with tasting: What do then?
    Sit thee by the ingle, when
    The sear faggot blazes bright,
    Spirit of a winter's night;
    When the soundless earth is muffled,
    And the caked snow is shuffled
    From the ploughboy's heavy shoon;
    When the Night doth meet the Noon
    In a dark conspiracy
    To banish Even from her sky.
    Sit thee there, and send abroad,
    With a mind self-overaw'd,
    Fancy, high-commission'd:--send her!
    She has vassals to attend her:
    She will bring, in spite of frost,
    Beauties that the earth hath lost;
    She will bring thee, all together,
    All delights of summer weather;
    All the buds and bells of May,
    From dewy sward or thorny spray;
    All the heaped Autumn's wealth,
    With a still, mysterious stealth:
    She will mix these pleasures up
    Like three fit wines in a cup,
    And thou shalt quaff it:--thou shalt hear
    Distant harvest-carols clear;
    Rustle of the reaped corn;
    Sweet birds antheming the morn:
    And, in the same moment, hark!
    'Tis the early April lark,
    Or the rooks, with busy caw,
    Foraging for sticks and straw.
    Thou shalt, at one glance, behold
    The daisy and the marigold;
    White-plum'd lillies, and the first
    Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst;
    Shaded hyacinth, alway
    Sapphire queen of the mid-May;
    And every leaf, and every flower
    Pearled with the self-same shower.
    Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep
    Meagre from its celled sleep;
    And the snake all winter-thin
    Cast on sunny bank its skin;
    Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see
    Hatching in the hawthorn-tree,
    When the hen-bird's wing doth rest
    Quiet on her mossy nest;
    Then the hurry and alarm
    When the bee-hive casts its swarm;
    Acorns ripe down-pattering,
    While the autumn breezes sing.

    Oh, sweet Fancy! let her loose;
    Every thing is spoilt by use:
    Where's the cheek that doth not fade,
    Too much gaz'd at? Where's the maid
    Whose lip mature is ever new?
    Where's the eye, however blue,
    Doth not weary? Where's the face
    One would meet in every place?
    Where's the voice, however soft,
    One would hear so very oft?
    At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth
    Like to bubbles when rain pelteth.
    Let, then, winged Fancy find
    Thee a mistress to thy mind:
    Dulcet-ey'd as Ceres' daughter,
    Ere the God of Torment taught her
    How to frown and how to chide;
    With a waist and with a side
    White as Hebe's, when her zone
    Slipt its golden clasp, and down
    Fell her kirtle to her feet,
    While she held the goblet sweet
    And Jove grew languid.--Break the mesh
    Of the Fancy's silken leash;
    Quickly break her prison-string
    And such joys as these she'll bring.--
    Let the winged Fancy roam,
    Pleasure never is at home.

    John Keats
    How can she fall, if there is no one there to catch her

  13. #13
    ga ga Maska e bunny
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    Carol Ann Duffy 1 nga poetet moderne Angleze, tani eshte profesore ne Manchester University.Ajo me te vertete ka disa poezi shum te bukura,me te preferut e mia jane:

    Valentine

    Not a red rose or a satin heart.

    I give you an onion.
    It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
    It promises light
    like the careful undressing of love.

    Here.
    It will blind you with tears
    like a lover.
    It will make your reflection
    a wobbling photo of grief.

    I am trying to be truthful.

    Not a cute card or a kissogram.

    I give you an onion.
    Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
    possessive and faithful
    as we are,
    for as long as we are.

    Take it.
    Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,
    if you like.

    Lethal.
    Its scent will cling to your fingers,
    cling to your knife.
    How can she fall, if there is no one there to catch her

  14. #14
    ga ga Maska e bunny
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    Mean Time

    The clocks slid back an hour
    and stole light from my life
    as I walked through the wrong part of town,
    mourning our love.

    And, of course, unmendable rain
    fell to the bleak streets
    where I felt my heart gnaw
    at all our mistakes.

    If the darkening sky could lift
    more than one hour from this day
    there are words I would never have said
    nor have heard your say.

    But we will be dead, as we know,
    beyond all light.
    There are the shortened days
    and the endless nights.
    How can she fall, if there is no one there to catch her

  15. #15
    Perjashtuar Maska e Dito
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    Poezi

    anonim

    per vdekjen s`dridhem as derdh fare lot
    m`e mire gje ne bote s`gjendet dot
    trembem nga jeta qe I madhi zot
    me kot ma dha e un ja kthej me kot
    pas vdejkes s`dua vec pushim
    se sy e shpirt mu treten ne vajtim
    me keq sesa kam rrojtur ne ferr ska
    s`dua parajse! S`dua vec harrim!
    Miq, shpresa, qiell e toke, e djaj me lane,
    Zi Brenda posht e lart anembane
    Vec votkes sme ka mbetur tjeter mik
    Dhe dua dhe ne varr ta kem prane
    Me votke, kur te jap shpirt, kungomeni
    Me votke lameni, bekomeni,
    Me flete pjergulle peshtillmeni
    Ne kopsht me kenge e rrush mbulomeni
    Me peme trendafij e hardhi
    Varrin stolismani, qendismani,
    Rreth meje buzeqeshur shtrihuni
    Sperkatmeni me votke, e pihuni.
    Khajam.

  16. #16
    !Welcome! Maska e StormAngel
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    STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING by Robert Frost

    Whose woods these are I think I know.
    His house is in the village though;
    He will not see me stopping here
    To watch his woods fill up with snow.
    My little horse must think it queer
    To stop without a farmhouse near
    Between the woods and frozen lake
    The darkest evening of the year.
    He gives his harness bells a shake
    To ask if there is some mistake.
    The only other sound's the sweep
    Of easy wind and downy flake.
    The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
    But I have promises to keep,
    And miles to go before I sleep,
    And miles to go before I sleep.
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  17. #17
    !Welcome! Maska e StormAngel
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    THE ROAD NOT TAKEN by Robert Frost

    Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
    And sorry I could not travel both
    And be one traveler, long I stood
    And looked down one as far as I could
    To where it bent in the undergrowth;
    Then took the other, as just as fair,
    And having perhaps the better claim,
    Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
    Though as for that the passing there
    Had worn them really about the same,
    And both that morning equally lay
    In leaves no step had trodden black.
    Oh, I kept the first for another day!
    Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
    I doubted if I should ever come back.
    I shall be telling this with a sigh
    Somewhere ages and ages hence:
    Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
    I took the one less traveled by,
    And that has made all the difference.

    Because life wasn't meant
    to be boring!
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  18. #18
    !Welcome! Maska e StormAngel
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    Dream-Land by Edgar Allan Poe

    By a route obscure and lonely,
    Haunted by ill angels only,
    Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
    On a black throne reigns upright,
    I have reached these lands but newly
    From an ultimate dim Thule —
    From a wild weird clime, that lieth, sublime,
    Out of SPACE — out of TIME.

    Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
    And chasms, and caves, and Titian woods,
    With forms that no man can discover
    For the dews that drip all over ;
    Mountains toppling evermore
    Into seas without a shore ;
    Seas that restlessly aspire,
    Surging, unto skies of fire;
    Lakes that endlessly outspread
    Their lone waters, lone and dead, —
    Their still waters, still and chilly
    With the snows of the lolling lily.

    By a route obscure and lonely,
    Haunted by ill angels only,
    Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
    On a black throne reigns upright,
    I have reached these lands but newly
    From an ultimate dim Thule.

    By the lakes that thus outspread
    Their lone waters, lone and dead, —
    Their sad waters, sad and chilly
    With the snows of the lolling lily, —
    By the mountains — near the river
    Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever, —
    By the gray woods, — by the swamp
    Where the toad and the newt encamp, —
    By the dismal tarns and pools
    Where dwell the Ghouls, —
    By each spot the most unholy —
    In each nook most melancholy, —
    There the traveller meets aghast
    Sheeted Memories of the Past —
    Shrouded forms that start and sigh
    As they pass the wanderer by —
    White-robed forms of friends long given,
    In agony, to the worms, and Heaven.

    By a route obscure and lonely,
    Haunted by ill angels only,
    Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
    On a black throne reigns upright,
    I have reached these lands but newly
    From an ultimate dim Thule —

    For the heart whose woes are legion
    'T is a peaceful, soothing region —
    For the spirit that walks in shadow
    'T is — oh 't is an Eldorado!
    But the traveller, travelling through it,
    May not — dare not openly view it ;
    Never its mysteries are exposed
    To the weak human eye unclosed ;
    So wills its King, who hath forbid
    The uplifting of the fringed lid;
    And thus the sad Soul that here passes
    Beholds it but through darkened glasses.
    By a route obscure and lonely,
    Haunted by ill angels only,
    Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
    On a black throne reigns upright,
    I have wandered home but newly
    From this ultimate dim Thule
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  19. #19
    !Welcome! Maska e StormAngel
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    Love and Friendship by Emily Bronte

    Love is like the wild rose-briar,
    Friendship like the holly-tree—
    The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
    But which will bloom most constantly?

    The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring,
    Its summer blossoms scent the air;
    Yet wait till winter comes again
    And who will call the wild-briar fair?

    Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
    And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
    That, when December blights thy brow,
    He may still leave thy garland green.
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  20. #20
    !Welcome! Maska e StormAngel
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    No sooner met but they looked;
    No sooner looked but they loved;
    No sooner loved but they sighed;
    No sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason;
    No sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy.

    - William Shakespeare
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

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