literary english essays - ,متون ادبی انگلیسی,

[مهبا]

Mahdi the untraceable Fatima s child

Im son of the untraceable Fatima s grave

Im Mahdi

Heir ofImamat

The last chosen

I have lived in the hardship of absence

I have lived sad in all of the years

Ilive errantly the worled and traveled

From alley to alley

From breeze to breeze

From garden to garden

[مهرگان]

نوشته اصلی توسط مهبا

Mahdi the untraceable Fatima s child

Im son of the untraceable Fatima s grave

Im Mahdi

Heir ofImamat

The last chosen
...

Dear Mahba (am I right? Mahba? waht does this nice name mean?) Would u tell me
?
you made me very very(!) happy, Dear friend.
actually your poem was very good, too.

I have a suggestion:
let us mention our sources? Thank you every one

[GolBarg]

مهرگان عزیز.....بعد از کنکور منم اینجا میام...
موفق باشی عزیزم

[KHatun]

Break, break, break


Break, break, break

On thy cold gray stones, O Sea

And I would that my tongue could utter

The thoughts that arise in me

O, well for the fisherman's boy

That he shouts with his sister at play

O, well for the sailor lad

That he sings in his boat on the bay

And the stately ships go on

To their haven under the hill

But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand

And the sound of a voice that is still

Break, break, break

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea

But the tender grace of a day that is dead

Will never come back to me.



by: Alfred lord Tennyson

بشکن
بشکن
بشکن
ای دریا!
بر سنگهایِ خاکستریِ سردت
ای کاش
من نیز می توانستم
افکارِ طغیان کرده ام را
بر زبان جاری کنم.

آه!
پسرِ ماهیگیر
چه سرخوشانه
سرگرمِ بازی است
آه!
پسرِ ملوان
چه سبک بار
در قایق آواز می خواند


کشتی هایِ مجلل
مثلِ همیشه
در بندرگاهِ زیر تپه
آرام می گیرند
اما
من بی قرار
لمسِ دستی هستم
که دیگر بر شانه ام نمی نشیند
و آهنگِ صدایی
که دیگر در گوشم طنین نمی اندازد

بشکن
بشکن
بشکن
ای دریا!
پایِ تخته سنگ هایت
اما کشتیِ باشکوهِ روزی
که اکنون مرده است
هرگز به بندرِ من باز نخواهد گشت.

شعر از: آلفرد لرد تنیسون

ترجمه از: خودم

[مهرگان]

نوشته اصلی توسط audery

Break, break, break

Break, break, break

On thy cold gray stones, O Sea


And I would that my tongue could utter


The thoughts that arise in me


O, well for the fisherman's boy

That he shouts with his sister at play


O, well for the sailor lad


That he sings in his boat on the bay


And the stately ships go on

To their haven under the hill


But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand


And the sound of a voice that is still


Break, break, break

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea


But the tender grace of a day that is dead


Will never come back to me.

by: Alfred lord Tennyson

ترجمه از: خودم

hello my dear friend, tnx a lot for the nice choise i loved that part i marked, because i feel the poet.
nice, nice, very nice . . .