Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

   نوشته شده توسط: سمانه م.ش    نوع مطلب :ENGLISH POEM ،



Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam


Once upon a time, in a potter’s shop

I saw two thousand clay pot and cup

Suddenly a lone pot cried out, "stop!

Where the vendor, buyer, where my prop?"


To a pottery I went by chance

Two thousand pots I saw in a glance


Cried out a pot awakened from trance


"whither potter, vendor and buyer prance?"



We simply exist, silent, unaware


Busy with minute mundane worldly care


Occasionally find someone who’ll dare


To ask why we came, and from here go where?


by admin: 



   نوشته شده توسط: Reza    نوع مطلب :ENGLISH POEM ،

This poem uses the many meanings
of the word "line" to talk about love.


Martha Collins

Draw a line. Write a line. There.
Stay in line, hold the line, a glance
between the lines is fine but don't
turn corners, cross, cut in, go over
or out, between two points of no
return's a line of flight, between
two points of view's a line of vision.
But a line of thought is rarely
straight, an open line's no party
line, however fine your point.
A line of fire communicates, but drop
your weapons and drop your line,
consider the shortest distance from x
to y, let x be me, let y be you.


Daily Creed

   نوشته شده توسط: سمانه م.ش    نوع مطلب :ENGLISH POEM ،

Daily Creed

Let me be a little kinder
Let me be a little blinder
To the faults of those about me
Let me praise a little more

Let me be, when I am weary
Just a little bit more cheery
Let me be a little meeker
With the brother who is weaker
Let me strive a little harder
To be all that I should be

Let me be more understanding
And a little less demanding
Let me be the sort of friend
That you have always been to me

- John Grey

Bright flowers and a yellow butterfly


Shakespeare's Sonnet

   نوشته شده توسط: Reza    نوع مطلب :ENGLISH POEM ،

Sonnet I

FROM fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light'st flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

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