agonia romana v3 |
Agonia - Ateliere Artistice | Reguli | Mission | Contact | Înscrie-te | ||||
Articol Comunităţi Concurs Eseu Multimedia Personale Poezie Presa Proză Citate Scenariu Special Tehnica Literara | ||||||
|
||||||
agonia Texte Recomandate
■ sunt în corpul meu
Romanian Spell-Checker Contact |
- - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2012-12-05 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] | Înscris în bibliotecă de John Willy Kopperud
The Chimney Sweeper (Songs of Innocence), 1789
When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry " 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!" So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep. There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head, That curl'd llke a lamb's back. was shav'd: so I said "Hush. Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair." And so he was quiet & that very night, As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight! That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned or Jack. Were all of them lock'd up in coffins of black. And by came an Angel who had a bright key, And he open'd the coffins & set them all free; Then down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run, And wash in a river. and shine in the Sun. Then naked & white, all their bags left behind, They rise upon clouds and sport in the wind; And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy, He'd have God for his father & never want joy. And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark. And got with our bags & our brushes to work. Tho' the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm; So if all do their duty they need not fear harm. The Chimney Sweeper (Songs of Experience), 1794 A little black thing among the snow: Crying weep, weep, in notes of woe! Where are thy father & mother! say! They are both gone up to the church to pray. Because I was happy upon the heath, And smil'd among the winters snow: They clothed me in the clothes of death, And taught me to sing the notes of woe. And because I am happy, & dance & sing, They think they have done me no injury: And are gone to praise God & his Priest & King Who make up a heaven of our misery.
|
||||||||
Casa Literaturii, poeziei şi culturii. Scrie şi savurează articole, eseuri, proză, poezie clasică şi concursuri. | |||||||||
Reproducerea oricăror materiale din site fără permisiunea noastră este strict interzisă.
Copyright 1999-2003. Agonia.Net
E-mail | Politică de publicare şi confidenţialitate