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  1. #21
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    A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM
    by Edgar Allan Poe (nje nga te preferuarat e mia)


    Take this kiss upon the brow!
    And, in parting from you now,
    Thus much let me avow-
    You 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 sand-
    How 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?

  2. #22
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    ANNABEL LEE
    by Edgar Allan Poe
    (kjo eshte vertet shume e bukur:))


    It was many and many a year ago,
    In a kingdom by the sea,
    That a maiden there lived whom you may know
    By the name of ANNABEL LEE;--
    And this maiden she lived with no other thought
    Than to love and be loved by me.
    She was a child and I was a child,
    In this kingdom by the sea,
    But we loved with a love that was more than love--
    I and my Annabel Lee--
    With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
    Coveted her and me.

    And this was the reason that, long ago,
    In this kingdom by the sea,
    A wind blew out of a cloud by night
    Chilling my Annabel Lee;
    So that her high-born kinsman came
    And bore her away from me,
    To shut her up in a sepulchre
    In this kingdom by the sea.

    The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
    Went envying her and me:--
    Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
    In this kingdom by the sea)
    That the wind came out of a cloud, chilling
    And killing my Annabel Lee.

    But our love it was stronger by far than the love
    Of those who were older than we--
    Of many far wiser than we-
    And neither the angels in Heaven above,
    Nor the demons down under the sea,
    Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:--

    For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
    Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
    In her sepulchre there by the sea--
    In her tomb by the side of the sea.

  3. #23
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    Rupert Brooke,(poet Anglez) poezit e tij jane shkruar gjate luftes se Pare Boterore.Poezit e tija jane shum patriotike,shkruar nga perjudha 1914-1915,pasi ne 1915 ai vdiq.Patriotizmi i tij mund te shpjegohet nga fakti,ngaqe vdiq shum i ri,ai nuk mundi te kalonte shum pjese te kesaj lufte,qe te ndryshonte tonin e poezive te tij...si shum shkrimtar te tjere ne ate kohe.

    2 nga poezit me te degjuara, te perjudhes 1914 (fillimi i luftes) jane 'The Dead' dhe 'Peace'.

    I. Peace

    Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour,
    And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping,
    With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power,
    To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping,
    Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary,
    Leave the sick hearts that honour could not move,
    And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary,
    And all the little emptiness of love!

    Oh! we, who have known shame, we have found release there,
    Where there's no ill, no grief, but sleep has mending,
    Naught broken save this body, lost but breath;
    Nothing to shake the laughing heart's long peace there
    But only agony, and that has ending;
    And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.



    The Dead

    These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
    Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
    The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
    And sunset, and the colours of the earth.
    These had seen movement, and heard music; known
    Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
    Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
    Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.

    There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
    And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
    Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
    And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
    Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
    A width, a shining peace, under the night.


    The soldier eshte 1 poezi tjeter qe mua me pelqen po ashtu,si ato me lart edhe kjo eshte shkruar ne 1914.

    The Soldier

    If I should die, think only this of me:
    That there's some corner of a foreign field
    That is for ever England. There shall be
    In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
    A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
    Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
    A body of England's, breathing English air,
    Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

    And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
    A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
    Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
    Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
    And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
    In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
    How can she fall, if there is no one there to catch her

  4. #24
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    Ne ate lufte nuk ishin vetem Ushtaret qe shkruanin,gjate kohes qe ato po prisnin per gjuatje,por ishin edhe ato Femra,qe ishin aty per ndihme si infermiere/doktoresha etj.
    Vera Brittain,ka shkruar shum ne ate kohe,edhe pse nuk mund te shikonte me te vertete se cfare ndodhte ne front line,ajo akoma shkruante. 1 nga poezit e saj qe mua me pelqen jasht mase eshte Perhaps,e cila eshte dedikuar te fejuarit te saj,qe vdiq nga plage mare ne France,23 dhjetor 1915.


    Perhaps some day the sun will shine again,
    And I shall see that still the skies are blue,
    And feel once more I do not live in vain,
    Although bereft of You.

    Perhaps the golden meadows at my feet
    Will make the sunny hours of spring seem gay,
    And I shall find the white May-blossoms sweet,
    Though You have passed away.

    Perhaps the summer woods will shimmer bright,
    And crimson roses once again be fair,
    And autumn harvest fields a rich delight,
    Although You are not there.

    But though kind Time may many joys renew,
    There is one greatest joy I shall not know
    Again, because my heart for loss of You
    Was broken, long ago.
    How can she fall, if there is no one there to catch her

  5. #25
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    1 nga poezit qe mua me pelqen jasht mase,shkruar ne ate perjudhe eshte A War Film,nga Teresa Hooley.

    A War Film

    I saw,
    With a catch of the breath and the heart's uplifting,
    Sorrow and pride,
    The ‘week's great draw' -
    The Mons Retreat;
    The ‘Old Contemptibles' who fought, and died,
    The horror and the anguish and the glory.

    As in a dream,
    Still hearing machine-guns rattle and shells scream,
    I came out into the street.

    When the day was done,
    My little son
    Wondered at cath-time why I kissed him so,
    Naked upon my knee.
    How could he know
    The sudden terror that assaulted me? . . .
    The body I had borne
    Nine moons beneath my heart,
    A part of me . . .
    If, someday,
    It should be taken away
    To War. Tortured. Torn.
    Slain.
    Rotting in No Man's Land, out in the rain -
    My little son . . .
    Yet all those men had mothers, every one.

    How should he know
    Why I kissed and kissed him, crooning his name?
    He thought that I was daft.
    He thought it was a game,
    And laughed, and laughed.
    How can she fall, if there is no one there to catch her

  6. #26
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    TO ONE DEPARTED by Edgar Allan Poe

    Seraph! thy memory is to me
    Like some enchanted far-off isle
    In some tumultuous sea -
    Some ocean vexed as it may be
    With storms; but where, meanwhile,
    Serenest skies continually
    Just o'er that one bright island smile.

    For 'mid the earnest cares and woes
    That crowd around my earthly path,
    (Sad path, alas, where grows
    Not even one lonely rose!)
    My soul at least a solace hath
    In dreams of thee; and therein knows
    An Eden of bland repose.
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  7. #27
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    Tonight I can write the saddest lines by Pablo Neruda

    Write, for example, `The night is starry
    and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.'

    The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

    Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
    I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

    Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
    I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

    She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
    How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

    Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
    To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

    To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
    And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

    What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
    The night is starry and she is not with me.

    This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
    My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

    My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
    My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

    The same night, whitening the same trees.
    We, of that time, are no longer the same.

    I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
    My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

    Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
    Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

    I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
    Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

    Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
    my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

    Though this be the last pain she makes me suffer
    and these the last verses that I write for her.
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  8. #28
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    I am nobody and who are you by Emily Dickinson

    I'm nobody, who are you?
    Are you nobody too?
    There's a pair of us, don't tell!
    They'd banish us, you know!

    How dreary to be somebody!
    How public like a frog,
    To tell your name the livelong day
    To an admiring bog!
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  9. #29
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    Walt Whitman-A Noiseless Patient Spider

    A noiseless patient spider,
    I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
    Mark'd how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
    It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
    Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
    And you O my soul where you stand,
    Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
    Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
    Till the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold,
    Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  10. #30
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    Eugene Field-With Trumpet and Drum

    With big tin trumpet and little red drum
    Marching like soldiers, the children come!
    My! but that music of theirs is fine!
    This way and that way, and after a while
    They march straight into this heart of mine!
    A sturdy old heart, but it has to succumb
    To the blare of that trumpet and beat of that drum!

    Come on, little people, from cot and from hall-
    This heart it hath welcome and room for you all!
    It will sing you it's songs and warm you with love,
    As your dear little arms with my arms intertwine;
    It will rock you away to the dreamland above-
    Oh, a jolly old heart is this heart of mine,
    And jollier still is it bound to become
    When you blow that big trumpet and beat that red drum!

    So come; though I see not his dear little face
    And hear not his voice in this jubilant place,
    I know he were happy to bid me enshrine
    His memory deep in my heart with your play-
    Ah me! But a love that is sweeter than mine
    Holdeth my boy in its keeping to-day!
    And my heart it is lonely-so little folk come,
    March in and make merry with trumpet and drum!
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  11. #31
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    Langston Hughes-The Dream Keeper

    Bring me all of your dreams,
    you dreamers,
    Bring me all your heart melodies,
    that I may wrap them in a blue cloud cloth,
    Away from the too rough fingers of the world
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  12. #32
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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow-Loss and Gain

    When I compare
    What I have lost with what I have gained
    What I have missed with what attained
    Little room do I find for pride

    I am aware
    How many days have been idly spent
    How like an arrow the good intent
    has fallen short or been turned aside

    But who shall dare
    To measure loss and gain in this wise
    Defeat may be victory in disguise
    The lowest ebb in the turn of the tide
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  13. #33
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    Ogden Nash-A Watched Example Never Boils

    The weather is so very mild
    That some would call it warm.
    Good gracious, aren't we lucky, child?
    Here comes a thunderstorm.
    The sky is now indelible ink,
    The branches reft asunder;
    But you and I we do not shrink;
    We love the lovely thunder.

    The garden is a raging sea,
    The hurricane is snarling;
    Oh, happy you and happy me!
    Isn't the lightning darling?

    Fear not the thunder, little one.
    It's weather, simply weather;
    It's friendly giants full of fun
    Clapping their hands together.

    I hope of lightning our supply
    Will never be exhausted;
    You know its lanterns in the sky
    For angels who are losted.

    We love the kindly wind and hail,
    The jolly thunderbolt,
    We watch in glee the fairy trail
    Of ampere, watt, and volt.

    Oh, than to enjoy a storm like this
    There's nothing I would rather,
    Don't dive between the blankets, Miss!
    Or else leave room for Father.
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  14. #34
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    Robert Louis Stevenson-My Shadow

    I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
    And what can be the use of him is more then I can see.
    He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
    And I see him jump before me when I jump into my bed.
    The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow,
    Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;
    for sometimes he shoots up taller like an Indian rubber ball,
    And he sometimes gets so little that there is none of him at all.

    He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,
    And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
    he stays so close behind me he's a coward you can see;
    I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!

    One morning, very early before the sun was up,
    I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
    But my lazy little shadow like an arrant sleepy-head,
    had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  15. #35
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    Francis William Bourdillon-The Night Has a Thousand Eyes

    The night has a thousand eyes,
    And the day but one;
    Yet the light of the bright world dies
    With the dying sun.

    The mind has a thousand eyes,
    And the heart but one:
    Yet the light of a whole life dies
    When love is done.
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  16. #36
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    Khalil Gibran-Love



    Then said Almitra, "Speak to us of Love."

    And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them.

    And with a great voice he said:

    When love beckons to you follow him,

    Though his ways are hard and steep.

    And when his wings enfold you yield to him,

    Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.

    And when he speaks to you believe in him,

    Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.

    For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.

    Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,

    So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

    Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.

    He threshes you to make you naked.

    He sifts you to free you from your husks.

    He grinds you to whiteness.

    He kneads you until you are pliant;

    And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

    All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

    But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,

    Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,

    Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.

    Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.

    Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;

    For love is sufficient unto love.

    When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, I am in the heart of God."

    And think not you can direct the course of love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

    Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.

    But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:

    To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.

    To know the pain of too much tenderness.

    To be wounded by your own understanding of love;

    And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

    To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;

    To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;

    To return home at eventide with gratitude;

    And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  17. #37
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    NOW, MY CO-MATES AND BROTHERS IN EXILE

    Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
    Hath not old customs make this life more sweet
    Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
    More free from peril than the envious court!
    Here feel we not the penalty of Adam,
    The seasons difference; as the icy fang
    And churlish chiding of the winters wind,
    Which when it bites and blows upon my body,
    Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say
    This is no flattery; these are counsellors
    That feelingly persuade me what I am.
    Sweet are the uses of adversity;
    Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
    Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
    And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
    Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
    Sermons in stones, and good in everything.
    I would not change it.


    William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  18. #38
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    I

    I wonder if I know him
    In whose speech is my voice,
    In whose movement is my being,
    Whose skill is in my lines,
    Whose melody is in my songs
    In joy and sorrow.
    I thought he was chained within me,
    Contained by tears and laughter,
    Work and play.
    I thought he was my very self
    Coming to an end with my death.
    Why then in a flood of joy do I feel him
    In the sight and touch of my beloved?
    This 'I' beyond self I found
    On the shores of the shining sea.
    Therefore I know
    This'I' is not imprisoned within my bounds.
    Losing myself, I find him
    Beyond the borders of time and space.
    Through the Ages
    I come to know his Shining Self
    In the Iffe of the seeker,
    In the voice of the poet.
    From the dark clouds pour the rains.
    I sit and think:
    Bearing so many forms, so many names,
    I come down, crossing the threshold
    Of countless births and deaths.
    The Supreme undivided, complete in himself,
    Embracing past and present,
    Dwells in Man.
    Within Him I shall find myself -
    The 'I' that reaches everywhere.


    - Rabindranath Tagore
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  19. #39
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    COMMON COLD


    Go hang yourself, you old M.D,!
    You shall not sneer at me.
    Pick up your hat and stethoscope,
    Go wash your mouth with laundry soap;
    I contemplate a joy exquisite
    In not paying you for your visit.
    I did not call you to be told
    My malady is a common cold.

    By pounding brow and swollen lip;
    By fever's hot and scaly grip;
    By those two red redundant eyes
    That weep like woeful April skies;
    By racking snuffle, snort, and sniff;
    By handkerchief after handkerchief;
    This cold you wave away as naught
    Is the damnedest cold man ever caught!

    Give ear, you scientific fossil!
    Here is the genuine Cold Colossal;
    The Cold of which researchers dream,
    The Perfect Cold, the Cold Supreme.
    This honored system humbly holds
    The Super-cold to end all colds;
    The Cold Crusading for Democracy;
    The Führer of the Streptococcracy.

    Bacilli swarm within my portals
    Such as were ne'er conceived by mortals,
    But bred by scientists wise and hoary
    In some Olympic laboratory;
    Bacteria as large as mice,
    With feet of fire and heads of ice
    Who never interrupt for slumber
    Their stamping elephantine rumba.

    A common cold, gadzooks, forsooth!
    Ah, yes. And Lincoln was jostled by Booth;
    Don Juan was a budding gallant,
    And Shakespeare's plays show signs of talent;
    The Arctic winter is fairly coolish,
    And your diagnosis is fairly foolish.
    Oh what a derision history holds
    For the man who belittled the Cold of Colds!


    - Ogden Nash
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

  20. #40
    !Welcome! Maska e StormAngel
    Anėtarėsuar
    05-02-2003
    Vendndodhja
    Zurich, Switzerland
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    TO THE LAKE

    In Spring of youth it was my lot
    To haunt of the wide world a spot
    The which I could not love the less -
    So lovely was the loneliness
    Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
    And the tall pines that towered around.

    But when the night had thrown her pall
    Upon that spot, as upon all,
    And the mystic wind went by
    Murmuring in melody -
    Then - ah, then, I would awake
    To the terror of the lone lake.

    Yet that terror was not fright,
    But a tremulous delight -
    A feeling not the jewelled mine
    Could teach or bribe me to define -
    Nor Love - although the love were thine.

    Death was in that poisonous wave,
    And in its gulf a fitting grave
    For him who thence could solace bring
    To his lone imagining -
    Whose solitary soul could make
    An Eden of that dim lake.


    Edgar Allan Poe
    (1809-1849)
    We didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.

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