Επισκέπτης
before I sleep....
ασχετο, αλλα μου ηρθε...
ασχετο, αλλα μου ηρθε...
Επισκέπτης
Who's woods these are, I think I know...
Επισκέπτης
αν οι μοντ δεν ξερουν απο ποιηση, μην βιαστουν να το βαλουν στα ''ξενογλωσσα... 
trelos sporos
Μέλος
- Εγγρ.
- 14 Νοε 2005
- Μηνύματα
- 635
- Like
- 2
- Πόντοι
- 6
αδερφέ τα ψιλότσουξες η μου φαίνεται?
Επισκέπτης
οχι ρε συ...απλα δεν θυμαμαι τους υπολοιπους στοιχους...εσυ?
Επισκέπτης
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening (1923) - Robert Frost
* Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
o St. 1
* My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
o St. 2
* He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
o St. 3
* The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
o St. 4
* Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
o St. 1
* My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
o St. 2
* He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
o St. 3
* The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
o St. 4
Επισκέπτης
εξαιρετικος. με εξεπληξες.
Επισκέπτης
τιμη μου....
Επισκέπτης
δικη μου.
Επισκέπτης
Να σου πω την αληθεια απ'τον συγκεκριμενο κυριο προτιμω ενα αλλο...
Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great αnd would suffice
Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great αnd would suffice
Albert Speer
Μέλος
- Εγγρ.
- 27 Μαρ 2007
- Μηνύματα
- 274
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Μαυρούκο, για δες! (wikithing)
Επισκέπτης
Επισκέπτης
Ισως...υπο αλλες συνθηκες....κ διαφορετικη ωρα...να διαλεγα....
For Once, Then, Something
Others taught me with having knelt at well-curbs
Always wrong to the light, so never seeing
Deeper down in the well than where the water
Gives me back in a shining surface picture
Me myself in the summer heaven godlike
Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs.
Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb,
I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture,
Through the picture, a something white, uncertain,
Something more of the depths--and then I lost it.
Water came to rebuke the too clear water.
One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple
Shook whatever it was lay there at bottom,
Blurred it, blotted it out. What was that whiteness?
Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something.
Ή και το ....
Α lone striker
The swinging mill bell changed its rate
To tolling like the count of fate,
And though at that the tardy ran,
One failed to make the closing gate.
There was a law of God or man
That on the one who came too late
The gate for half an hour be locked,
His time be lost, his pittance docked.
He stood rebuked and unemployed.
The straining mill began to shake.
The mill, though many-many-eyed,
Had eyes inscrutably opaque;
So that he couldn?t look inside
To see if some forlorn machine
Was standing idle for his sake.
(He couldn?t hope its heart would break.)
And yet he thought he saw the scene:
The air was full of dust of wool.
A thousand yarns were under pull,
But pull so slow, with such a twist,
All day from spool to lesser spool,
It seldom overtaxed their strength;
They safely grew in slender length.
And if one broke by any chance,
The spinner saw it at a glance.
The spinner still was there to spin.
That?s where the human still came in.
Her deft hand showed with finger rings
Among the harplike spread of strings.
She caught the pieces end to end
And, with a touch that never missed,
Not so much tied as make them blend.
Man?s ingenuity was good.
He saw it plainly where he stood,
Yet found it easy to resist.
He knew another place, a wood,
And in it, tall as trees, were cliffs;
And if he stood on one of these,
?Twould be among the tops of trees,
Their upper branches round him wreathing,
Their breathing mingled with his breathing.
If---if he stood! Enough of ifs!
He knew a path that wanted walking;
He knew a spring that wanted drinking;
A thought that wanted further thinking;
A love that wanted re-renewing.
Nor was this just a way of talking
To save him the expense of doing.
With him it boded action, deed.
The factory was very fine;
He wished it all the modern speed.
Yet, after all, ?twas not divine,
That is to say, ?twas not a church.
He never would assume that he?d
Be any institution?s need.
But he said then and still would say,
If there should ever come a day
When industry seemed like to die
Because he left it in the lurch,
Or even merely seemed to pine
For want of his approval, why,
Come get him---they knew where to search.
For Once, Then, Something
Others taught me with having knelt at well-curbs
Always wrong to the light, so never seeing
Deeper down in the well than where the water
Gives me back in a shining surface picture
Me myself in the summer heaven godlike
Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs.
Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb,
I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture,
Through the picture, a something white, uncertain,
Something more of the depths--and then I lost it.
Water came to rebuke the too clear water.
One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple
Shook whatever it was lay there at bottom,
Blurred it, blotted it out. What was that whiteness?
Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something.
Ή και το ....
Α lone striker
The swinging mill bell changed its rate
To tolling like the count of fate,
And though at that the tardy ran,
One failed to make the closing gate.
There was a law of God or man
That on the one who came too late
The gate for half an hour be locked,
His time be lost, his pittance docked.
He stood rebuked and unemployed.
The straining mill began to shake.
The mill, though many-many-eyed,
Had eyes inscrutably opaque;
So that he couldn?t look inside
To see if some forlorn machine
Was standing idle for his sake.
(He couldn?t hope its heart would break.)
And yet he thought he saw the scene:
The air was full of dust of wool.
A thousand yarns were under pull,
But pull so slow, with such a twist,
All day from spool to lesser spool,
It seldom overtaxed their strength;
They safely grew in slender length.
And if one broke by any chance,
The spinner saw it at a glance.
The spinner still was there to spin.
That?s where the human still came in.
Her deft hand showed with finger rings
Among the harplike spread of strings.
She caught the pieces end to end
And, with a touch that never missed,
Not so much tied as make them blend.
Man?s ingenuity was good.
He saw it plainly where he stood,
Yet found it easy to resist.
He knew another place, a wood,
And in it, tall as trees, were cliffs;
And if he stood on one of these,
?Twould be among the tops of trees,
Their upper branches round him wreathing,
Their breathing mingled with his breathing.
If---if he stood! Enough of ifs!
He knew a path that wanted walking;
He knew a spring that wanted drinking;
A thought that wanted further thinking;
A love that wanted re-renewing.
Nor was this just a way of talking
To save him the expense of doing.
With him it boded action, deed.
The factory was very fine;
He wished it all the modern speed.
Yet, after all, ?twas not divine,
That is to say, ?twas not a church.
He never would assume that he?d
Be any institution?s need.
But he said then and still would say,
If there should ever come a day
When industry seemed like to die
Because he left it in the lurch,
Or even merely seemed to pine
For want of his approval, why,
Come get him---they knew where to search.
Επισκέπτης
Επισκέπτης
μια χαρα τα πας, για 20. αν εχω διαθεση αυριο, θα γραψω ενα θρετ για τους σοφιστικε 20ρηδες.
Επισκέπτης
ευχαριστω....αν κ δν θα με κατετασα στους σοφιστικε....μαλλον στους αντιδραστικους...ανησυχο πνευμα!!!
Καλο ξημερωμα....
Επισκέπτης
ειδες τελικα πως τα καλα θρετς καταποντιζονται?
Και για τη δύναμη του ίντερνετ, επίσης.. ;)
Επισκέπτης
χαχα, ισως...ποια δυναμη μωρε..οτι ειχαμε, εχουμε,,,
μηπως εννοεις το google, ψαχτηρια γενικοτερα?
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