شعر
عن الوطن بالانجليزي
شعر عن الوطن بالانجليزي
Song of Honor
THE POET
I remember tonight this Indian drama
The Trolley of Child a Thief Occurs
Who thinks before making a hole in the wall
What shape should be given to the notch
So that beauty does not lose its rights
Even at the moment of a crime
And we would have I believe
At the moment of perishing we poets us men
A concern of the same order in the war where we are
But here as elsewhere I know the beauty
Most of the time it's just simplicity
And how many I saw dead in the trench
Standing and leaning head
Simply leaning against the parapet
I saw four of them once the same shell hit
They stayed long so dead and very skulls
With the leaning aspect of four pisan towers
For ten days at the end of a corridor too narrow
In landslides and mud and cold
Among the flesh that suffers and in rot
Anxious we keep the road to Tahure
I have more than the three hearts of octopus to suffer
Your hearts are all in me I feel every injury
O my suffering soldiers oh wounded to die
This night is so beautiful where the ball coo
A whole river of shells on our heads flows
Sometimes a rocket illuminates the night
It's a flower that opens and then faints
The earth laments and like a tide
Ride the singing stream in my chalk shelter
Stay insomnia uncertain house
Alert Death and Itch
THE TRANCHE
O young people I offer myself to you as a wife
My love is powerful I love until death
Tapie at the bottom of the ground I'm watching you jealous
And my body is only a long kiss that bites
THE BALLS
From our steel hives let out
Bees the booty that bloody emmielle
The sweet rays of a day that always renews
Comes from this exquisite garden humanity
With intelligence flowers with a perfume of beauty
THE POET
Christ came only in vain among men
If rivers of blood limit kingdoms
And even of love we know the cruelty
That's why at least think about Beauty
Only thing here below that is never bad
She wears a hundred names in the French language
Grace Vertu Courage Honor and this is where
That the same beauty
FRANCE
Poet honor-la
Marigold of Beauty not worry of Glory
But Perfection is not Victory
THE POET
O poets of the times to come o singers
I sing the beauty of all our pains
I have grasped traits but you will know better
Giving sublime meaning to glorious gestures
And fix the size of these godfather
One who relaxes his body throwing grenades
The other ardent to shoot feeds the shootings
The other dangling arms carries buckets of wine
And the priest-soldier says the divine secret
I interpret for all the sweetness of the three notes
What a cannon launcher throws when you sob
Who will ever know that I have cried
My generation on your sacred death
Take my verses O my France Avenir Multitude
Sing what I sing a song for the prelude
Sacred chants that the beauty of our time
Will inspire you purer, more radiant
Let those I strive to modulate tonight
In Honor of Honor the Beauty of Duty
