From childhood's گھنٹہ I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same ذریعہ I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My دل to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, یا the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the بادل that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same ذریعہ I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My دل to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, یا the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the بادل that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
'Tis کہا that when
The hands of men
Tamed this primeval wood,
And hoary trees with groans of woe,
Like warriors سے طرف کی an unknown foe,
Were in their strength subdued,
The virgin Earth Gave instant birth
To springs that ne'er did flow
That in the sun Did rivulets run,
And all around rare flowers did blow
The wild rose pale Perfumed the gale
And the queenly lily adown the dale
(Whom the sun and the dew
And the winds did woo),
With the gourd and the انگور luxuriant grew.
So when in tears
The love of years
Is wasted like the snow,
And the fine fibrils of its life
سے طرف کی the rude wrong of instant strife
Are broken at a blow
Within the heart
Do springs upstart
Of which it doth now know,
And strange, sweet dreams,
Like silent streams
That from new fountains overflow,
With the earlier tide
Of rivers glide
Deep in the دل whose hope has died--
Quenching the fires its ashes hide,--
Its ashes, whence will spring and grow
Sweet flowers, ere long,
The rare and radiant flowers of song!
The hands of men
Tamed this primeval wood,
And hoary trees with groans of woe,
Like warriors سے طرف کی an unknown foe,
Were in their strength subdued,
The virgin Earth Gave instant birth
To springs that ne'er did flow
That in the sun Did rivulets run,
And all around rare flowers did blow
The wild rose pale Perfumed the gale
And the queenly lily adown the dale
(Whom the sun and the dew
And the winds did woo),
With the gourd and the انگور luxuriant grew.
So when in tears
The love of years
Is wasted like the snow,
And the fine fibrils of its life
سے طرف کی the rude wrong of instant strife
Are broken at a blow
Within the heart
Do springs upstart
Of which it doth now know,
And strange, sweet dreams,
Like silent streams
That from new fountains overflow,
With the earlier tide
Of rivers glide
Deep in the دل whose hope has died--
Quenching the fires its ashes hide,--
Its ashes, whence will spring and grow
Sweet flowers, ere long,
The rare and radiant flowers of song!
Have آپ ever read a short story, a tall یا a novel written سے طرف کی these authors? Have آپ ever watched a movie based on their writings یا evoking one of their characters?
Guy de Maupassant and Edgar Allan Poe have always
fascinated the literary and film world سے طرف کی their
extraordinary style of narrator and storyteller, their admirable ability of literary creation.
"Fear through the stories" is a new book which assembles some of the excellent short stories یا talls of two great authors (Edgar A. Poe and Maupassant) in which are found similarities in the stories and literary style.
Read and get it سے طرف کی this link:
link
Guy de Maupassant and Edgar Allan Poe have always
fascinated the literary and film world سے طرف کی their
extraordinary style of narrator and storyteller, their admirable ability of literary creation.
"Fear through the stories" is a new book which assembles some of the excellent short stories یا talls of two great authors (Edgar A. Poe and Maupassant) in which are found similarities in the stories and literary style.
Read and get it سے طرف کی this link:
link