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Englische Gedichte

Ob zur Inspiration, zum Nachdenken oder Schenken, hier erhalten Sie schöne english Poems - Gedichte und Sprüche in englischer Sprache, sowie Links-, Bücher und Geschenk-Tipps.

In visions of the dark night

In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed,
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream -that holy dream,
While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro' storm and night,
So trembled from afar,
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth's day-star.

(Edgar Allan Po, 1809-1849, US-amerikanischer Schriftsteller; A dream)

O roe, thou art sick

O rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm.

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy,
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

(William Blake, 1757-1827, englischer Dichter; the sick rose)

Daring ideas are like

Daring ideas are like chessmen moved
forward. They may be beaten, but they
may start a winnig game.

(Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, 1749-1832)

That wind I used to hear it swelling

That wind I used to hear it swelling
With joy divinely deep
You might have seen my hot tears welling
But rapture made me weep

I used to love on winter nights
To lie and dream alone
Of all the hopes and real delights
my early years had know

And oh above the rest of those
That coming time should (bear)
Like heaven's own glorious stars they rose
Still beaming bright and fair.

(Emily Bronte, 1818-1848, britische Schriftstellerin)

Surprised by Joy - Impatient as the wind

Surprised by joy – impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport – Oh! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind –
But how could I forget thee? Through what power
Even for the last division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss! – That thought’s return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

(William Wordsworth, 1770-1850, britischer Dichter)

The sky is moved

The sky is moved
The winds sough sad
Autumn comes flown
The days go faster.

Leaves rustle under children kicks
The hat the neighbors flies thereof
We go at full paces
Ourselves the time hastet thereof.

(© Monika Minder)



Kurzer englischer Spruch von Rilke

Love consists in this, that two solitudes
protect and touch and greet each other.

(Rainer Maria Rilke, 1875-1926, deutsch-österreichischer Lyriker)

Poor, sweet Piccola

Poor, sweet Piccola! Did you hear
What happened to Piccola, children dear?
’T is seldom Fortune such favor grants
As fell to this little maid of France.

’T was Christmas-time, and her parents poor
Could hardly drive the wolf from the door,
Striving with poverty’s patient pain
Only to live till summer again.

No gifts for Piccola! Sad were they
When dawned the morning of Christmas-day;
Their little darling no joy might stir,
St. Nicholas nothing would bring to her!

But Piccola never doubted at all
That something beautiful must befall
Every child upon Christmas-day,
And so she slept till the dawn was gray.

And full of faith, when at last she woke,
She stole to her shoe as the morning broke;
Such sounds of gladness filled all the air,
’T was plain St. Nicholas had been there!

In rushed Piccola sweet, half wild:
Never was seen such a joyful child.
“See what the good saint brought!” she cried,
And mother and father must peep inside.

Now such a story who ever heard?
There was a little shivering bird!
A sparrow, that in at the window flew,
Had crept into Piccola’s tiny shoe!

“How good poor Piccola must have been!”
She cried, as happy as any queen,
While the starving sparrow she fed and warmed,
And danced with rapture, she was so charmed.

Children, this story I tell to you,
Of Piccola sweet and her bird, is true.
In the far-off land of France, they say,
Still do they live to this very day.

(Celia Thaxter, 1835-1894, amerikanische Schriftstellerin)

Bridal Ballad

The ring is on my hand,
And the wreath is on my brow;
Satins and jewels grand
Are all at my command,
And I am happy now.
 
And my lord he loves me well;
But, when first he breathed his vow
I felt my bosom swell—
For the words rang as a knell,
And the voice seemed his who fell
In the battle down the dell,
And who is happy now.
 
But he spoke to re-assure me,
And he kissed my pallid brow
While a reverie came o'er me,
And to the church-yard bore me,
And I sighed to him before me,
Thinking him dead D'Elormie,
"Oh, I am happy now!"
 
And thus the words were spoken,
And this the plighted vow,
And, though my faith be broken,
And, though my heart be broken
Behold the golden token
That proves me happy now!
 
Would God I could awaken!
For I dream I know not now,
And my soul is sorely shaken
Lest an evil step be taken,—
Lest the dead who is forsaken
May not be happy now.

(Edgar Allan Poe, 1809-1849, US-amerikanischer Schriftsteller)



Flower of Love

Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common clay
I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the larger day.

From the wildness of my wasted passion I had struck a better, clearer song,
Lit some lighter light of freer freedom, battled with some Hydra-headed wrong.

Had my lips been smitten into music by the kisses that but made them bleed,
You had walked with Bice and the angels on that verdant and enamelled meed.

I had trod the road which Dante treading saw the suns of seven circles shine,
Ay! perchance had seen the heavens opening, as they opened to the Florentine.

And the mighty nations would have crowned me, who am crownless now and without name,
And some orient dawn had found me kneeling on the threshold of the House of Fame.

I had sat within that marble circle where the oldest bard is as the young,
And the pipe is ever dropping honey, and the lyre's strings are ever strung.

Keats had lifted up his hymeneal curls from out the poppy-seeded wine,
With ambrosial mouth had kissed my forehead, clasped the hand of noble love in mine.

And at springtide, when the apple-blossoms brush the burnished bosom of the dove,
Two young lovers lying in an orchard would have read the story of our love;

Would have read the legend of my passion, known the bitter secret of my heart,
Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two are fated now to part.

For the crimson flower of our life is eaten by the cankerworm of truth,
And no hand can gather up the fallen withered petals of the rose of youth.

Yet I am not sorry that I loved you -ah! what else had I a boy to do?
For the hungry teeth of time devour, and the silent-footed years pursue.

Rudderless, we drift athwart a tempest, and when once the storm of youth is past,
Without lyre, without lute or chorus, Death the silent pilot comes at last.

And within the grave there is no pleasure, for the blindworm battens on the root,
And Desire shudders into ashes, and the tree of Passion bears no fruit.

Ah! what else had I to do but love you? God's own mother was less dear to me,
And less dear the Cytheraean rising like an argent lily from the sea.

I have made my choice, have lived my poems, and, though youth is gone in wasted days,
I have found the lover's crown of myrtle better than the poet's crown of bays.

(Oscar Wilde, 1854-1900, irischer Schriftsteller)

Short English citations - English sayings

Kurze englische Zitate Sprüche mit deutscher Übersetzung

The time is

The time is again too few to show you that I love you

Die Zeit ist wieder zu wenig, um dir zu zeigen, dass ich dich liebe.

(© Monika Minder)

The wish was

The wish was father to the thought.

Der Wunsch war der Vater des Gedankens.

(Redensart)



Meet the time

Meet the time as it seeks us.

Begegnen wir der Zeit, wie sie uns sucht.

(William Shakespeare)

To begin

It is better to begin in the evening than not at all.

Es ist besser abends zu beginnen als überhaupt nicht.

(English proverb)

Weepe I cannot

Weepe I cannot, but my heart bleedes.

Weinen kann ich nicht, aber mein Herz blutet.

(Shakespeare)

Th hand of

The hand of little imployment hath the daintier sense.

Je weniger eine Hand verrichtet, desto zarter ist ihr Gefühl.

(Shakespeare, 1564-1616, englischer Lyriker)

I find ecstasy

I find ecstasy in living - the mere sense of living is joy enought.

Ich finde Ekstase im Leben - das bloße Lebensgefühl ist Freude genug.

(Emily Dickinson, 1830-1886, amerikanische Dichterin)

All great deeds

All great deeds and all great thoughts habe a ridiculous beginning.

Alle grossen Taten und alle grossen Gedanken haben einen
lächerlichen Anfang.

(Albert Camus, 1913-1960, französischer Schriftsteller, Philosoph)



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