English Song N° 1
 
-Edgar Allan Poe's-
-A dream Within a dream-

Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong,

who deem That my days

have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand

Grains of the golden sand —

How few! yet how they creep

Through my fingers to the deep,

While I weep — while I weep!

O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

English Song N° 2

-W. Shakespeare's-

- If music and sweet poetry agree-

If music and sweet poetry agree,
As they must needs

Then must the love be great ’twixt thee and me,

Because thou lov’st the one and I the other.

Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch

Upon the lute doth ravish human sense;

Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such,
As passing all conceit, needs no defence.

Thou lov’st to hear the sweet melodious sound

That Phœbus’ lute, the queen of music, makes;

And I in deep delight am chiefly drowned

Whenas himself to singing he betakes:
One god is god of both, as poets feign,
One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.

 

English Song N° 3

 

-D. Thomas -

-Clown in the Moon-

My tears are like the quiet drift
Of petals from some magic rose;

And all my grief flows from the rift

Of unremembered skies and snows.

I think, that if I touched the earth,

It would crumble;
It is so sad and beautiful,
So tremulously like a dream.

English Song N° 4

 

-E. Pound -

-Threnos-

No more for us the little sighing.
No more the winds at twilight trouble us.

Lo the fair dead! No more do I burn.

No more for us the fluttering of wings

That whirred in the air above us.

Lo the fair dead!

No more desire flayeth me,

No more for us the trembling

At the meeting of hands.

Lo the fair dead!
No more for us the wine of the lips,

No more for us the knowledge.

Lo the fair dead!

No more the torrent,
No more for us the meeting-place

(Lo the fair dead!)
Tintagoel.

 

 

English Song N° 5

-W. Blake-

-Madsong-

The wild winds weep,
And the night is a-cold;

Come hither, Sleep,
And my griefs infold:

But lo! the morning peeps

Over the eastern steeps,

And the rustling birds of dawn

The earth do scorn.

Lo! to the vault
Of paved heaven,

With sorrow fraught
My notes are driven:

They strike the ear of night,

Make weep the eyes of day;

They make mad the roaring winds,

And with tempests play.

Like a fiend in a cloud With howling woe,

After night I do croud,
And with night will go;

I turn my back to the east,
From whence comforts have increas'd;

For light doth seize my brain
With frantic pain

English Song N° 6

-C. Bukowski-

-Splash-

The illusion is

that you are simply reading this poem.
the reality is that this is
more than a

poem.
this is a beggar’s knife. this is a tulip.
this is a soldier marching through Madrid.
this is you on your
death bed.
this is Li Po laughing underground.
this is not a god-damned poem.
this is a horse asleep.
a butterfly in
your brain.
this is the devil’s
circus.
you are not reading this on a page.
the page is reading

you.
feel it?
it’s like a cobra.
it’s a hungry eagle circling the room.
this is not a poem. poems are dull,
they make you sleep.
these words force you
to a new
madness.
you have been blessed,

you have been pushed into a

blinding area of
light.
the elephant dreams
with you
now.
the curve of space
bends and
laughs.
you can die now.
you can die now as
people were meant to
die:
great,
victorious,
hearing the music,
being the music,
roaring,
roaring,
roaring.

 

 

© 2020 by -Emanuele Torrente- All Right Reserved.

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