SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY
by: George Gordon (Lord) Byron (1788-1824)
HE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
غزليات ربانيه لحافظ الشيرازي
long to open up my heart
For my heart do my part.
My story was yesterday’s news
From rivals cannot keep apart.
On this holy night stay with me
Till the morning, do not depart.
On a night so dark as this,
My course, how can I chart?
O breath of life, help me tonight
That in the morn I make a start.
In my love for you, I will
My self and ego thwart.
Like Hafiz, being love smart;
I long to master that art
Absolutely beautiful and eloquent. Haviz is a real master! Thanks you sister
FROM DEEVAN HAVEZ
The heavenly breeze comes to this estate,
I sit with the wine and a lovely mate.
Why can’t the beggar play the king’s role?
The sky is the dome, the earth is my state.
The green grass feels like Paradise;
Why would I trade this for the garden gate?
With bricks of wine build towers of love,
Being bricks of clay is our final fate.
Seek no kindness of those full of hate,
People of the mosque with the church debate.
Don’t badmouth me, don’t blacken my name;
Only God can, my story narrate.
Neither Hafiz’s corps, nor his life negate,
With all his misdeeds, heavens for him wait.
the famouse arabic night..no one knows from which tribe he came from.. al mallah iraqi writer said : i can say after years from reserching that : almutanabbi is one of the sons of imam mahdi.. lots will disagree..but thats why he refused to reviel about his noble family..thats why he was so proud about his hashimis
almutanabbi killed in waset..his grave still there
Sweetly parading you go my soul of soul, go not without me;
life of your friends, enter not the garden without me.
Sky, revolve not without me; moon, shine not without me;
earth travel not without me, and time, go not without me.
With you this world is joyous, and with you that world is joyous;
in this world dwell not without me, and to that world depart not without me.
Vision, know not without me, and tongue, recite not without
me; glance behold not without me, and soul, go not without me.
The night through the moon's light sees its face white; I am
light, you are my moon, go not to heaven without me.
The thorn is secure from the fire in the shelter of the roses
face: you are the rose, I your thorn; go not into the rose garden without me.
I run in the curve of your mallet when your eye is with me;
even so gaze upon me, drive not without me, go not without me.
When, joy, you are companion of the king, drink not without
me; when, watchman, you go to the kings roof, go not without me.
Alas for him who goes on this road without your sign; since
you, O signless one, are my sign, go not without me.
Alas for him who goes on the road without my knowledge;
you are the knowledge of the road for me; O road-knower, go not without me.
Others call you love, I call you the king of love; O you who are
higher than the imagination of this and that, go not without me.
Intersting informstion about al-Mutanabbi! Thanks also for the Rumi poem
غوتا فيلسوف ديني وشاعر وكاتب موحد
رابعه العدويه الصوفيه - ابنة البصره
I have loved Thee with two loves, a selfish love and a love that
is worthy of Thee.
As for the love which is selfish, I occupy myself therein with remembrance of Thee to the exclusion of all others,
As for that which is worthy of Thee, therien Thou raisest the veil that I may see Thee.
Yet is there no praise to me in this or that,
But the praise is to Thee, whether in that or this
DRUNK WITH GRIEF
I'am drunk with grief of love for Winehouse Friend of mine:
On my wounded heart You glance arrows of grief's design.
If that cross at that tip of the end of Your hair You show,
O may is the Muslim corrupted by this infidelity so fine.
To You I join; from anything but You, I'll sever the heart:
Your lover does neither to stranger nor to relative incline.
Kindly grant a gracious glance to me whose heart is lost;
Without lover does neither to stranger nor to relative incline.
Kindly grant a gracious glance to me whose heart is lost;
Without help of Your grace my work is at end of its line.
If you ruby lip pours out salt on my poor wounded heart,
O Rule of Beauty's realm, where finally does hurt incline?
Before and behind me Your intoxicated eye lay in ambush;
To the wind, the harvest of all my patience it did consign.
From mouth's box of honey lay a lotion on Hafiz's heart,
For it's bleeding from that knifelike glance, a stinging sign.
بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
اللهم صل على محمد وال محمد وعجل فرجهم والعن اعدائهم ...،،،
You have brought fabulous collection of poetry
keep it brother Moayyad and sister Banafsaj
I am fond of a poem written by William Blake (1757 - 1827) that discusses the misery of the children who were working as chimney sweepers in London in his time
The Chimney Sweeper
When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue,
Could scarcely cry weep weep weep weep,
So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.
Theres little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head
That curled like a lambs back was shav'd, so I said.
Hush Tom never mind it, for when your head's bare,
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair
And so he was quiet. & that very night.
As Tom was a sleeping he had such a sight
That thousands of sweepers Dick, Joe, Ned, & Jack
Were all of them lock'd up in coffins of black,
And by came an Angel who had a bright key
And he open'd the coffins & set them all free.
Then down a green plain leaping laughing they run
And wash in a river and shine in the Sun.
Then naked & white, all their bags left behind.
They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind.
And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,
He'd have God for his father & never want joy.
And so Tom awoke and we rose in the dark
And got with our bags & our brushes to work.
Tho' the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm
So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.
آخر تعديل بواسطة في ثار الزهراء ، 28-12-2004 الساعة 09:42 AM.
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