Poetry - : - Student's serenade, the by Anne Bronte

Poetry (0.478s) Poetry, prose, essays, comments, poems - International Culture and Literature

Agonia.Net | Policy | Advertising

Contact | Participate

agonia.net
texts
comments
members

workshop

classics
chat
photo
Literary TopSites
links
links

Recommended reading

· Dan Coman and Serban Axinte, Sunday, Novemeber 23rd, 2008 at Deko’s Literary Circle
· A night with Sherlock Holmes
· Literary Circle at Deko – the second edition – 3 new writers
· Off-line meeting with Literature, Sunday, November 9, in Bucharest
· Wrecks
· The beliefs of the scientific community
· Books
· the unspoken
· Sonnet 20
· K

Most recent

Text type :

Article
Communities
Contest
Essay
Personals
Poetry
Press
Prose
Screenplay
Special
Literary Techniques
Translation

Despre Boierism: manifest si razie

Romanian Spelling Checker

Oglinda Literara

Recrutare si Resurse Umane

poezii si scriitori

proza romaneasca, eseuri, literatura si cultura

Literary TopSites

noutãþi IT, jocuri, internet

Romanian Trends

Boierismul: manifest literar

Round Table
[Agonia forum]

Post of the week

Dialogue

Creative

Vox Populi

Email Agonia.Net

Send a letter for the editor

Dialogue

Student's serenade, the
poetry [ ]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
by Anne Bronte [Anne_Bronte]

2005-12-30 | [This text should be read in romana] | Submited by Ionescu Bogdan

I have slept upon my couch,
But my spirit did not rest,
For the labours of the day
Yet my weary soul opprest;
And, before my dreaming eyes
Still the learned volumes lay,
And I could not close their leaves,
And I could not turn away.

But I oped my eyes at last,
And I heard a muffled sound;
'Twas the night-breeze, come to say
That the snow was on the ground.

Then I knew that there was rest
On the mountain's bosom free;
So I left my fevered couch,
And I flew to waken thee!

I have flown to waken thee --
For, if thou wilt not arise,
Then my soul can drink no peace
From these holy moonlight skies.

And, this waste of virgin snow
To my sight will not be fair,
Unless thou wilt smiling come,
Love, to wander with me there.

Then, awake! Maria, wake!
For, if thou couldst only know
How the quiet moonlight sleeps
On this wilderness of snow,

And the groves of ancient trees,
In their snowy garb arrayed,
Till they stretch into the gloom
Of the distant valley's shade;

I know thou wouldst rejoice
To inhale this bracing air;
Thou wouldst break thy sweetest sleep
To behold a scene so fair.

O'er these wintry wilds, alone,
Thou wouldst joy to wander free;
And it will not please thee less,
Though that bliss be shared with me.

Home of Literature, Poetry and Culture. Write and enjoy articles, essays, prose, classic poetry and contests.

Poetry (0.478s) Poetry, prose, essays, comments, poems - International Culture and Literature

Poetry (0.480s) Poetry, prose, essays, comments, poems - International Culture and Literature