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I find English and American poetry rather dificult for comprehending by a non-native reader. Actually, I haven't read much though.
Could you share a few lines (or a few quatrains) of some butiful poetry in English... of your favourite poetry, maybe?
You don't marry someone you can live with,you marry the person who you cannot live without
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—Only this and nothing more."
The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe
It may not be "beautiful", but I've always enjoyed the meter.
I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen, of meadow-flowers and butterflies in summers that have been; Of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that there were, with morning mist and silver sun and wind upon my hair. I sit beside the fire and think of how the world will be when winter comes without a spring that I shall ever see. For still there are so many things that I have never seen: in every wood in every spring there is a different green. I sit beside the fire and think of people long ago, and people who will see a world that I shall never know. But all the while I sit and think of times there were before, I listen for returning feet and voices at the door.
I Sit And Think by J.R.R.Tolkien
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
By 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.
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.
Not Waving But Drowning bY Stevie Smith
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he’s dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
By Oscar Wilde
Tread lightly, she is nearUnder the snow,Speak gently, she can hearThe daisies grow.
All her bright golden hairTarnished with rust,She that was young and fairFallen to dust.
Lily-like, white as snow,She hardly knewShe was a woman, soSweetly she grew.
Coffin-board, heavy stone,Lie on her breast,I vex my heart alone,She is at rest.
Peace, Peace, she cannot hearLyre or sonnet,All my life's buried here,Heap earth upon it.
To Joel Rengifo:
Is this a poetry? I cannot catch the rhyme...
The first poetry's rhime seems unusual for my "Russian ear":), whereas the second one is more comprehendable for me.
Frost is famous even among Russians (those of us, who learn English). The poetry you've cited is well known here and sounds really beautifully.
In general, I noticed, English poetry (comaring to Russian one) seems to be more... philosophical or something. I feel the difference, but cannot explain it... In Russian poetry you may quite often come across metaphors (like, e.g., "lilac blossom of my soul" or "birch disheveled it's silky hair"), which is relatively saldom is English poems - as far as I noticed.
To Rachel Boyce:
Difficult... But I found the Russian translation of this poem... It is touching.
The poem you've cited is most easily comprehendable for me. I like it.
*'comprehendible' or 'comprehensible' ?
Sorry for my poor English)