Sve sami originali
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  1. #1

    Podrazumevano Sve sami originali

    nasi prevodi su uzasni generalno. I to je blaga rec. Byron gubi sav smisao kad mi uzmemo da prevodimo. Bogu plakati... Ako imate neke originalne verzije Williama Blake-a ili bilo kog pesnika uostalom, saljite....
    Poslednji put ažurirao/la rox_aching_hunger : 20.12.2005. u 02:44

  2. #2

    Podrazumevano Re: sve sami originali

    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,
    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
    In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
    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
    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
    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
    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
    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
    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,
    "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black 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
    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
    And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
    Shall be lifted- nevermore!

  3. #3

    Podrazumevano Re: sve sami originali

    Annabel Lee
    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.

    I was a child and she 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, chilling
    My beautiful Annabel Lee;
    So that her highborn 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 the cloud by night,
    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 feel 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 the sepulchre there by the sea,
    In her tomb by the sounding sea.

  4. #4

    Podrazumevano Re: sve sami originali

    The Coliseum
    Type of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary
    Of lofty contemplation left to Time
    By buried centuries of pomp and power!
    At length- at length- after so many days
    Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst,
    (Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,)
    I kneel, an altered and an humble man,
    Amid thy shadows, and so drink within
    My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory!

    Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld!
    Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night!
    I feel ye now- I feel ye in your strength-
    O spells more sure than e'er Judaean king
    Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane!
    O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee
    Ever drew down from out the quiet stars!

    Here, where a hero fell, a column falls!
    Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold,
    A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat!
    Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair
    Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle!
    Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled,
    Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home,
    Lit by the wan light of the horned moon,
    The swift and silent lizard of the stones!

    But stay! these walls- these ivy-clad arcades-
    These moldering plinths- these sad and blackened shafts-
    These vague entablatures- this crumbling frieze-
    These shattered cornices- this wreck- this ruin-
    These stones- alas! these grey stones- are they all-
    All of the famed, and the colossal left
    By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me?

    "Not all"- the Echoes answer me- "not all!
    Prophetic sounds and loud, arise forever
    From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise,
    As melody from Memnon to the Sun.
    We rule the hearts of mightiest men- we rule
    With a despotic sway all giant minds.
    We are not impotent- we pallid stones.
    Not all our power is gone- not all our fame-
    Not all the magic of our high renown-
    Not all the wonder that encircles us-
    Not all the mysteries that in us lie-
    Not all the memories that hang upon
    And cling around about us as a garment,
    Clothing us in a robe of more than glory."
    A Dream
    In visions of the dark night
    I have dreamed of joy departed-
    But a waking dream of life and light
    Hath left me broken-hearted.

    Ah! what is not a dream by day
    To him whose eyes are cast
    On things around him with a ray
    Turned back upon the past?

    That holy dream- that holy dream,
    While all the world were chiding,
    Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
    A lonely spirit guiding.

    What though that light, thro' storm and night,
    So trembled from afar-
    What could there be more purely bright
    In Truth's day-star?
    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 clime that lieth, sublime,
    Out of SPACE- out of TIME.

    Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
    And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,
    With forms that no man can discover
    For the tears 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 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 grey 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 Earth- and Heaven.

    For the heart whose woes are legion
    'Tis a peaceful, soothing region-
    For the spirit that walks in shadow
    'Tis- oh, 'tis 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.
    A Dream Within a Dream
    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?
    Gaily bedight,
    A gallant knight,
    In sunshine and in shadow,
    Had journeyed long,
    Singing a song,
    In search of Eldorado.

    But he grew old-
    This knight so bold-
    And o'er his heart a shadow
    Fell as he found
    No spot of ground
    That looked like Eldorado.

    And, as his strength
    Failed him at length,
    He met a pilgrim shadow-
    "Shadow," said he,
    "Where can it be-
    This land of Eldorado?"

    "Over the Mountains
    Of the Moon,
    Down the Valley of the Shadow,
    Ride, boldly ride,"
    The shade replied-
    "If you seek for Eldorado!"
    The Haunted Palace
    In the greenest of our valleys
    By good angels tenanted,
    Once a fair and stately palace-
    Radiant palace- reared its head.
    In the monarch Thought's dominion-
    It stood there!
    Never seraph spread a pinion
    Over fabric half so fair!

    Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
    On its roof did float and flow,
    (This- all this- was in the olden
    Time long ago,)
    And every gentle air that dallied,
    In that sweet day,
    Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
    A winged odor went away.

    Wanderers in that happy valley,
    Through two luminous windows, saw
    Spirits moving musically,
    To a lute's well-tuned law,
    Round about a throne where, sitting
    In state his glory well-befitting,
    The ruler of the realm was seen.

    And all with pearl and ruby glowing
    Was the fair palace door,
    Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
    And sparkling evermore,
    A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
    Was but to sing,
    In voices of surpassing beauty,
    The wit and wisdom of their king.

    But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
    Assailed the monarch's high estate.
    (Ah, let us mourn!- for never morrow
    Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
    And round about his home the glory
    That blushed and bloomed,
    Is but a dim-remembered story
    Of the old time entombed.

    And travellers, now, within that valley,
    Through the red-litten windows see
    Vast forms, that move fantastically
    To a discordant melody,
    While, like a ghastly rapid river,
    Through the pale door
    A hideous throng rush out forever
    And laugh- but smile no more.

  5. #5

    Podrazumevano Re: sve sami originali

    by: Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
    HAT should be said of him cannot be said;
    By too great splendor is his name attended;
    To blame is easier than those who him offended,
    Than reach the faintest glory round him shed.
    This man descended to the doomed and dead
    For our instruction; then to God ascended;
    Heaven opened wide to him its portals splendid,
    Who from his country's, closed against him, fled.
    Ungrateful land! To its own prejudice
    Nurse of his fortunes; and this showeth well
    That the most perfect most of grief shall see.
    Among a thousand proofs let one suffice,
    That as his exile hath no parallel,
    Ne'er walked the earth a greater man than he.
    by: Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
    HOICE soul, in whom, as in a glass, we see,
    Mirrored in thy pure form and delicate,
    What beauties heaven and nature can create,
    The paragon of all their works to be!
    Fair soul, in whom love, pity, piety,
    Have found a home, as from thy outward state
    We clearly read, and are so rare and great
    That they adorn none other like to thee!
    Love takes me captive; beauty binds my soul;
    Pity and mercy with their gentle eyes
    Wake in my heart a hope that cannot cheat.
    What law, what destiny, what fell control,
    What cruelty, or late or soon, denies
    That death should spare perfection so complete?
    by: Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564)
    ES! hope may with my strong desire keep pace,
    And I be undeluded, unbetrayed:
    For if of our affections none find grace
    In sight of Heaven, then wherefore hath God made
    The world which we inhabit? Better plea
    Love cannot have, than that in loving thee
    Glory to that eternal peace is paid,
    Who such divinity to thee imparts
    As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts.
    His hope is treacherous only whose love dies
    With beauty, which is varying every hour;
    But, in chaste hearts uninfluenced by the power
    Of outward change, there blooms a deathless flower,
    That breathes on earth the air of paradise.
    by: Oscar Wilde
    IKE burnt-out torches by a sick man's bed
    Gaunt cypress-trees stand round the sun-bleached stone;
    Here doth the little night-owl make her throne,
    And the slight lizard show his jewelled head.
    And, where the chaliced poppies flame to red,
    In the still chamber of yon pyramid
    Surely some Old-World Sphinx lurks darkly hid,
    Grim warder of this pleasaunce of the dead.

    Ah! sweet indeed to rest within the womb
    Of Earth, great mother of eternal sleep,
    But sweeter far for thee a restless tomb
    In the blue cavern of an echoing deep,
    Or where the tall ships founder in the gloom
    Against the rocks of some wave-shattered steep.

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  1. Originali
    Autor shacko u forumu Video igre
    Odgovora: 13
    Poslednja poruka: 25.08.2006., 01:47

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