Kristaline

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Avatar de Kristaline
Rang :
Saphir
Points :
38936
Messages :
38545
Profil :
Pseudo :
Kristaline
Âge :
21 ans
Grade :
Membre
Membre depuis :
1529 jours
Dernière connexion :
22/03/2020 à 03:52:25
Messages chat :
12
Biographie

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charact'ry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love!—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think,
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.






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 sieze the fire?

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




C’est un beau soir couleur de rose et d’ambre clair.
Le temple d’Adonis, en haut du promontoire,
Découpe sur fond d’or sa colonnade noire ;
Et la première étoile a brillé sur la mer...

Pendant qu’un roseau pur module un lent accord,
Là-bas, Pan accoudé sur les monts se soulève
Pour voir danser, pieds nus, les nymphes sur la grève ;
Et des vaisseaux d’Asie embaument le vieux port...

Des femmes, épuisant tout bas l’heure incertaine,
Causent, l’urne appuyée au bord de la fontaine,
Et les boeufs accouplés délaissent le sillon.

La nuit vient, parfumée aux roses de Syrie...
Et Diane au croissant clair, ce soir en rêverie,
Au fond des grands bois noirs, qu’argente un long rayon,
Baise ineffablement les yeux d’Endymion.


https://i.imgur.com/r9sLRVrs.jpeg