شعر
بالانجليزي للاطفال
شعر بالانجليزي للاطفال
Mother, no
matter how small, the daring dreamer
Who pursues
his chimera,
All his
poetry, O heavenly favor!
Belongs to
his mother.
The artist,
the hero in love with the dangers
And fertile
struggles,
And those
who, trusting light ships,
Go get some
worlds,
The apostle
who sometimes can like a seraph
Spell in the
clouds,
The
scientist who unveils Isis, and can finally
The
half-naked glimpse
All these
sacred men, mysterious elect
That the
universe is listening,
Have had in
the past heroic ancestors
Which draws
them the road.
But we who
to give the imperishable love
To the
stifled souls,
Must be
ingenuous as on their first day
The ancient
Orpheas,
We who,
tirelessly, in our hearts even opening
As a living
source,
Must quench
the weak and ignorant
Full of a
naive faith,
We who must
keep on our bright foreheads,
Like
dictatorial fees,
The immortal
and flowery smile of spring
And the
sweetness of women,
Is not it,
is it not, say it, you who see me
To laugh at
bitter sorrows,
That the
tender breath that passes in our voices
Is that our
mothers?
Little ones,
their hands calmed our most severe pains,
Patients and
sure:
They gave us
hands like theirs
To touch the
wounds.
Our mother
delighted our calm sleep,
And like
her, without a truce,
When the
crowd falls asleep in a vermeil hope,
We enchant
his dream.
Our mother
cradled a triumphant chorus
Our soul so
beautiful,
And us is to
rock the man always child
That we sing
like her.
Any poet,
dazzled by the solemn purpose
For which he
conspires,
Is burned
with a heavenly and maternal love
For
everything that breathes.
And this
martyr, who carries a wound on his side
And who has
no hate,
Must this
great ecstasy to the one whose blood
Runny in his
veins.
O you whose
kisses, sublime and pure bond!
Without
genius
Gave me the
ineffable desire for good,
Mother, be
blessed.
And since
the one who finally received it from heaven
And who is
never tired,
Still knows
how to make a precious jewel
A poor child
without grace.
Go, you can
adorn yourself with the object of your care
According to
your desire,
Because what
little I'm worth is yours at least,
O half of my
life!
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