Table of contents Предисловие Tasks for seminars Sentences and extracts for analysis

Golden Bells

Hear the mellow weddings bells, Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the future! How it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells –
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

Eve Merriam

Autumn Leaves

Down

down
down
Red
yellow
brown

Autumn leaves tumble down,

Autumn leaves crumble down,
Autumn leaves bumble down,
Flaking and shaking,
Tumbledown leaves.

Rosemary Garland

Summer-time

Summer is the play-by-the-stream time,
Roll-in-the-meadow-and-dream time,
Lie-on-your-back-and-chew-grass time,
Watch-butterflies-as-they-pass time,
Try-and-pick-daisies-with-toes time,
Playing-where-nobody-knows time.

Thomas Hood

November

No sun – no moon!

No morn – no noon –
No dawn – no dusk – no proper time a day –
No sky- no earthly view –
No distance looking blue –
No road – no street – no “t’other side the way” –
No end to any Row –
No indications where the Crescents go –
No top to any steeple –
No recognition of familiar people!
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member –
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees –
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds –
No – vember – !
W.H. Auden

This Lunar Beauty

But this was never

A ghost’s endeavor
Nor finished this
Was ghost at ease
And till it pass
Love shall not here
Nor sorrow take his endless look.

Emily Dickinson

"Hope" is the thing with feathers –

That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –
I've heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of Me.
Irene Ritherford Mcleod
I’m a lean dog, a keen dog, a wild dog, and lone;
I’m a rough dog, a tough dog, hunting on my own;
I’m a bad dog, a mad dog, teasing silly sheep;
I love to sit and bay the moon, to keep fat souls from sleep.

I’ll never be a lap dog, licking dirty feet,

A sleek dog, a meek dog, cringing for my meat,
Not for me the fireside, the well-filled plate,
But shut door, and sharp stone, and cuff and kick, and hate.

Not for me the other dogs, running by my side,

Some have run a short while, but none of them would bide.
O mine is still the lone trail, the hard trail, the best,
Wide wind, and wild stars, and hunger for the quest!
Ella Wheeler Wilcox