The Dark Hills

Dark hills at evening in the west,
Where sunset hovers like a sound
Of golden horns that sang to rest
Old bones of warriors underground,
Far now from all the bannered ways
Where flash the legions of the sun,
You fade --as if the last of days
Were fading, and all wars were done.

Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869 - 1935)

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

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.

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.

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.

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.

Robert Frost (1875 - 1963)

Success Is Counted Sweetest

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag to-day
Can tell the definition,
So clear, of victory,

As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Break, agonized and clear.

Emily Dickinson

Mi primer libro de poemas

Un libro de poemas tiene una magia parecida a los cuentos maravillosos donde aparecen varitas de oro que transforman lo que tocan. Los poemas tienen también secretas palabras para transformar las cosas...

Así va el prologo de un maravilloso libro titulado: "Mi primer libro de poemas", exacto, un libro de poemas para niños, tan dulce y tan gentil como los sueños de estos.

Tres grandes poetas andaluces dicen sus poemas en las páginas de este libro, esperando el encuentro, la sensibilidad, en la imaginación del lector.

Juan Ramón Jiménez
Federico García Lorca
Rafael Alberti

Aquí les dejo el primer poema, espero les guste.

Mi cuna

¡Qué pequeñita es la cuna,
qué chiquita la canción;
mas cabe la vide en esta
y en aquella le corazón!
¡Nadie ríe aquí de ver
a este niño grandullón
mecerse, quieto, en su vieja
cuna, a la antigua canción!
--¡Qué pequeñita es mi vida,
qué tierno mi corazón!
¡Éste me cabe en la cuna,
y la vida en la canción!--
¡Cómo se casan los ritmos
de cuna y de corazón!
¡Los dos vuelan por la gloria
en una sola pasión!
¡Qué pequeñita es la cuna,
qué chiquita la canción;
mas cabe la vide en esta
y en aquella le corazón!

Juan Ramón Jiménez

Loveliest of Trees, the Cherry Now

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

A. E. Housman (1859 - 1936)

Animals

I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contained;
I stand and look at them long and long.
They do not sweat and whine about their condition;
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins;
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God;
Not one is dissatisfied --not one is demented with the mania of owning things;
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago;
Not one is respectable or industrious over the whole earth.

From Song of Myself

Walt Whitman

Infant Innocence

The Grizzly Bear is huge and wild;
He has devoured the infant child.
The infant child is not aware
It has been eaten by the bear.

A. E. Housman

The Golf Links

The golf links lie so near the mill
That almost every day
The laboring children can look out
And see the men at play.

Sarah Norcliffe Cleghorn (1876 - 1959)

The Soul Selects Her Own Society

The soul selects her own society
Then shuts the door;
On her divine majority
Obtrude no more.

Unmoved, she notes the chariot's pausing
At her low gate;
Unmoved, an emperor is kneeling
Upon her mat.

I've known her from an ample nation
Choose one;
Then close the valves of her attention
Like stone.

Emily Dickinson