The Children's Hour
Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupation,
That is know as the children's hour.
I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.
From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.
A whisper and then a silence:
Yet I know by their merry eyes,
They are plotting and planning together,
To take me by surprise.
A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall!
They climb up into my turret
O'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me,
They seem to be everywhere.
They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!
Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all?
I have you fast in my fortress
And will not let you depart,
But put you down in the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.
And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Vous avez aimé cette poésie ? faites la connaître !
D'autres poésies de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The Bridge
I stood on the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were...
The Belfrey of Bruges
In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfrey old and brown;...
The Arsenal at Springfield
This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,
Like a huge...
The Arrow and the Song
I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not...
Thangbrand the Priest
Short of stature, large of limb,
Burly face and russet...
Tegner's Drapa
Heard a voice, that cried,
"Balder the Beautiful
Is...
Sunrise on the Hills
I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch
Was...
Sundown
The summer sun is sinking low;
Only the tree-tops redden...
St. John's, Cambridge
I stand beneath the tree, whose branches shade
Thy western...
Spirit of Poetry, The
There is a quiet spirit in these woods,
That dwells...
Précédentes poésies
Words of Comfort to Be Scratched on a Mirror
Helen of Troy had a wandering glance;
Sappho's restriction...
Wisdom
This I say, and this I know:
Love has seen the last of...
Walter Savage Landor
Upon the work of Walter Landor
I am unfit to write with...
Wail
Love has gone a-rocketing.
That is not the worst;
I...
Victoria
Dear dead Victoria
Rotted cosily;
In excelsis...
