Dikter om ämnet: traveler

Dikter om ämnet ”traveler” på Poets.by.

EftertänksamEdward Thomas

The Sign-Post

THE dim sea glints chill. The white sun is shy. And the skeleton weeds and the never-dry, Rough, long grasses keep white with frost At the hilltop by the finger-post; The smoke of the traveller's-joy is puffed Over hawthorn berry and hazel tuft. I read the sign. Which way shall I go? A voice says: You would not have doubted so At twenty. Another voice gentle with scorn Says: At twenty you wished you had never been born. One hazel lost a leaf of gold From a tuft at the tip, when the first voice told The other he wished to know what 'twould be To be sixty by this same post. "You shall see," He laughed--and I had to join his laughter-- "You shall see; but either before or after,
EftertänksamEdward Thomas

The Gypsy

A FORTNIGHT before Christmas Gypsies were every- where: Vans were drawn up on wastes, women trailed to the fair. "My gentleman," said one, "You've got a lucky face." "And you've a luckier," I thought, "if such a grace And impudence in rags are lucky." "Give a penny For the poor baby's sake." "Indeed I have not any Unless you can give change for a sovereign, my dear." "Then just half a pipeful of tobacco can you spare?" I gave it. With that much victory she laughed content. I should have given more, but off and away she
ÄngsligAnne Bradstreet

Upon My Dear and Loving Husband his Going into England Jan. 16

O thou Most High who rulest all And hear'st the prayers of thine, O hearken, Lord, unto my suit And my petition sign. Into Thy everlasting arms Of mercy I commend Thy servant, Lord. Keep and preserve My husband, my dear friend. At Thy command, O Lord, he went, Nor nought could keep him back. Then let Thy promise joy his heart, O help and be not slack. Uphold my heart in Thee, O God. Thou art my strength and stay, Thou see'st how weak and frail I am, Hide not Thy face away.
DrömmandeAnn Taylor

The Star

Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are ! Up above the world so high, Like a diamond in the sky. When the blazing sun is gone, When he nothing shines upon, Then you show your little light, Twinkle, twinkle, all the night. Then the trav'ller in the dark, Thanks you for your tiny spark, He could not see which way to go, If you did not twinkle so. In the dark blue sky you keep, And often thro' my curtains peep, For you never shut your eye, Till the sun is in the sky.
ÄngsligDave Bonta

Homily

I am the traveler, what I drink, I know not— a fox all night in fear of being perceived.
RomantiskAnna Wickham

The Avenue

To the tired traveller in summer's heat, The thought of airy trees is sweet. Come, in my straight stretched arms discover A leafy road, thou weary Lover.
RomantiskWilliam Shakespeare

Sonnet 51: Thus can my love excuse the slow offence

Thus can my love excuse the slow offence Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed: From where thou art why should I haste me thence? Till I return, of posting is no need. O! what excuse will my poor beast then find, When swift extremity can seem but slow? Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind, In winged speed no motion shall I know, Then can no horse with my desire keep pace; Therefore desire, of perfect'st love being made, Shall neigh--no dull flesh--in his fiery race; But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade,-- 'Since from thee going, he went wilful-slow, Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go.'
RomantiskWilliam Shakespeare

Sonnet 109: O! never say that I was false of heart

O! never say that I was false of heart, Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify, As easy might I from my self depart As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie: That is my home of love: if I have rang'd, Like him that travels, I return again; Just to the time, not with the time exchang'd, So that myself bring water for my stain. Never believe though in my nature reign'd, All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, That it could so preposterously be stain'd, To leave for nothing all thy sum of good; For nothing this wide universe I call, Save thou, my rose, in it thou art my all.
RomantiskWilliam Topaz McGonagall

The Castle of Mains

Ancient Castle of the Mains, With your romantic scenery and surrounding plains, Which seem most beautiful to the eye, And the little rivulet running by, Which the weary traveller can drink of when he feels dry. And the heaven's breath smells sweetly there, And scented perfumes fill the air, Emanating from the green trees and beautiful wild flowers growing there. There the people can enjoy themselves And wile away the time, By admiring the romantic scenery In the beautiful sunshine; And pull the little daisy, As they carelessly recline Upon the grassy green banks, Which is most charming to see, Near by the Castle of the Mains,
GladWilliam Topaz McGonagall

Beautiful Balmoral

Ye lovers of the picturesque, away and see Beautiful Balmoral, near by the River Dee; There ye will see the deer browsing on the heathery hills, While adown their sides run clear sparkling rills. Which the traveller can drink of when he feels dry, And admire the dark River Dee near by, Rolling smoothly and silently on its way, Which is most lovely to see on a summer day. There the trout do sport and play During the live-long summer day; Also plenty of salmon are there to be seen, Glittering like silver in the sun's sheen. And the mountains are rugged and wild to be seen, But the woodlands are beautiful when Nature's face is green; There numerous rabbits do gambol all day
RomantiskWilliam Shakespeare

Sonnet 27: Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear respose for limbs with travel tir'd; But then begins a journey in my head To work my mind, when body's work's expired: For then my thoughts--from far where I abide-- Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, Looking on darkness which the blind do see: Save that my soul's imaginary sight Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, Which, like a jewel (hung in ghastly night, Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.