# Kultura > Letërsia shqiptare > Krijime në gjuhë të huaja >  Poete te famshem dhe poezite e tyre

## StormAngel

somewhere i have never travelled 

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond 
any experience, your eyes have their silence: 
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, 
or which i cannot touch because they are too near 

your slightest look easily will unclose me 
though i have closed myself as fingers, 
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens 
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose 

or if your wish be to close me, i and 
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly, 
as when the heart of this flower imagines 
the snow carefully everywhere descending; 

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals 
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture 
compels me with the colour of its countries, 
rendering death and forever with each breathing 

(i do not know what it is about you that closes 
and opens; only something in me understands 
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) 
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands 


e. e. cummings

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## StormAngel

Lone Gentleman                              

The gay young men and the love-sick girls, 
and the abandoned widows suffering in sleepless delirium, 
and the young pregnant wives of thirty hours, 
and the raucous cats that cruise my garden in the shadows, 
like a necklace of pulsating oysters of sex 
surround my lonely residence, 
like enemies lined up against my soul, 
like conspirators in bedroom clothes 
who exchange long deep kisses to order. 

The radiant summer leads to lovers 
in predictable melancholic regiments, 
made of fat and skinny, sad and happy pairings: 
under the elegant coconut palms, near the ocean and the moon, 
goes an endless movement of trousers and dresses, 
a whisper of silk stockings being caressed, 
and womens breasts that sparkle like eyes. 

The little employee, after it all, 
after the weeks boredom, and novels read by night in bed, 
has definitively seduced the girl next door, 
and carried her away to a run-down movie house 
where the heroes are studs or princes mad with passion, 
and strokes her legs covered with soft down 
with his moist and ardent hands that smell of cigarettes. 

The seducers afternoons and married peoples nights 
come together like the sheets and bury me, 
and the hours after lunch when the young male students 
and the young girl students, and the priests, masturbate, 
and the creatures fornicate outright, 
and the bees smell of blood, and the flies madly buzz, 
and boy and girl cousins play oddly together, 
and doctors stare in fury at the young patients husband, 
and the morning hours in which the professor, as if to pass the time, 
performs his marriage duties, and breakfasts, 
and moreover, the adulterers, who love each other truly 
on beds as high and deep as ocean liners: 
finally, eternally surrounding me 
is a gigantic forest breathing and tangled 
with gigantic flowers like mouths with teeth 
and black roots in the shape of hooves and shoes. 


Pablo Neruda

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## StormAngel

So, We'll Go No More A Roving
So, we'll go no more a roving 
So late into the night, 
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast, 
And the hearth must pause to breathe, 
And love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving, 
And the days return too soon, 
Yet we'll go no more a roving 
By the light of the moon.



George Gordon, Lord Byron

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## StormAngel

Darkness

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars 
Did wander darkling in the eternal space, 
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth 
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came, and went and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread 
Of this desolation; and all hearts 
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings, the huts, 
The habitations of all things which dwell, 
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed, 
And men were gathered round their blazing homes 
To look once more into each other's face; 
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye 
Of the volcanos, and their mountaintorch: 
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd; 
Forest were set on fire but hour by hour 
They fell and faded and the crackling trunks 
Extinguish'd with a crash and all was black. 
The brows of men by the despairing light 
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits 
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down 
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed 
Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up 
With mad disquietude on the dull sky, 
The pall of a past world; and then again 
With curses cast them down upon the dust, 
And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd,
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, 
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremolous; and vipers crawl'd 
And twined themselves among the multitude, 
Hissing, but stingless, they were slain for food:
And War, which for a moment was no more, 
Did glut himself again; a meal was bought 
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart 
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left; 
All earth was but one thought and that was death,
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang 
Of famine fed upon all entrails men 
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devoured, 
Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corpse, and kept 
The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay, 
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead 
Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan 
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand 
Which answered not with a caress, he died. 
The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two 
Of an enormous city did survive, And they were enemies; 
They met beside 
The dying embers of an altarplace
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things 
For an unholy usage; they raked up, 
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands 
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath 


Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Wich was a mockery; then they lifted up 
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and 
Each other's aspects. saw, and shriek'd, and died, beheld 
Even of their mutual hideousness they died, 
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow 
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump, 
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless, 
A lump of death, a chaos of hard clay. 
The rivers, lakes, and ocean stood still, 
And nothing stirred within their silent depths; 
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea, 
And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropp'd 
They slept on the abyss without a surge 
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon their mistress had expired before; 
The winds were withered in the stagnant air, 
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need 
Of aid from them. She was the universe.

George Gordon, Lord Byron

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## StormAngel

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary while I pondered weak and weary 
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore 
While I nodded nearly napping suddenly there came a tapping 
As of some one gently rapping rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor " I muttered "tapping at my chamber door
Only this and nothing more."

Ah distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December 
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow sorrow for the lost Lenore
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now to still the beating of my heart I stood repeating 
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;
This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer 
"Sir " said I "or Madam truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping and so gently you came rapping 
And so faintly you came tapping tapping at my chamber door 
That I scarce was sure I heard you" here I opened wide the door;
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering long I stood there wondering fearing 
Doubting dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken and the stillness gave no token 
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word "Lenore!"
This I whispered and an echo murmured back the word "Lenore!"
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning all my soul within me burning 
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely " said I "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see then what thereat is and this mystery explore
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;
'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter when with many a flirt and flutter 
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of lord or lady perched above my chamber door
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door
Perched and sat and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling 
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou " I said "art sure no craven 
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly 
Though its answer little meaning little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door 
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven sitting lonely on the placid bust spoke only
That one word as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered not a feather then he fluttered
Till I scarcely more than muttered "other friends have flown before
On the morrow he will leave me as my hopes have flown before.
Then the bird said "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken 
"Doubtless " said I "what it utters is its only stock and store 
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy thinking what this ominous bird of yore
What this grim ungainly ghastly gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er 
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er 
She shall press ah nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch " I cried "thy God hath lent thee by these angels he
hath sent thee
Respite respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I "thing of evil! prophet still if bird or devil!
Whether Tempter sent or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore 
Desolate yet all undaunted on this desert land enchanted
On this home by horror haunted tell me truly I implore
Is there is there balm in Gilead? tell me tell me I implore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I "thing of evil prophet still if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us by that God we both adore
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if within the distant Aidenn 
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting bird or fiend " I shrieked upstarting
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

And the Raven never flitting still is sitting still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted nevermore!.

Edgar Alan Poe

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## TiLoNcE

*To a Kiss*  


Humid seal of soft affections,
Tend'rest pledge of future bliss,
Dearest tie of young connections,
Love's first snow-drop, virgin kiss.
Speaking silence, dumb confession,
Passion's birth, and infants' play,
Dove-like fondness, chaste concession,
Glowing dawn of brighter day.
Sorrowing joy, adieu's last action,
Ling'ring lips, -- no more to join!
What words can ever speak affection
Thrilling and sincere as thine! 

Robert Burns

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## TiLoNcE

*Untitled*

I loved you; even now I may confess,

Some embers of my love their fire retain;

But do not let it cause you more distress,

I do not want to sadden you again.

Hopeless and tonguetied, yet I loved you dearly

With pangs the jealous and the timid know;

So tenderly I loved you, so sincerely,

I pray God grant another love you so.

*Alexander Pushkin|*

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## StormAngel

Reluctance 

Out through the fields and the woods 
And over the walls I have wended; 
I have climbed the hills of view 
And looked at the world and descended; 
I have come by the highway home, 
And lo, it is ended. 

The leaves are all dead on the ground, 
Save those that the oak is keeping 
To ravel them one by one 
And let them go scraping and creeping 
Out over the crusted snow, 
When others are sleeping. 

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still, 
No longer blown hither and thither; 
The last lone aster is gone; 
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither; 
The heart is still aching to seek, 
But the feet question 'Whither?' 

Ah, when to the heart of man 
Was it ever less than a treason 
To go with the drift of things, 
To yield with a grace to reason, 
And bow and accept the end 
Of a love or a season? 


Robert Frost

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## StormAngel

THE TYGER - by William Blake

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright 
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart,
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

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## bunny

Edhe pse *John Keats*  vdiq ne moshe shum te re (25vjecare)ai akoma mbetet 1 nga poetet e medhenj Anglez. Duke qene kritikuar shum nga mendimet e tija politike,efektoj shum publikimet e poezive/letrat e tij.Nga kjo ai po ashtu nuk mund tu martonte me gruan qe ai donte (Fanny Brown).

*Bright Star*  eshte 1 nga poezit qe mua me pelqen shum nga koleksioni i tij,e cila eshte detikuar Fanny Brown.


*Bright Star*

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.

1 nga shprehjet e tij te famshme eshte:
'I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart's affections and the truth of Imagination'

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## *~Rexhina~*

> THE TYGER - by William Blake
> 
> Tyger! Tyger! burning bright 
> In the forests of the night,
> What immortal hand or eye
> Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
> In what distant deeps or skies
> Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
> On what wings dare he aspire?
> ...


uhh c'me kujtove kete poezi nga William blake, the romantic poet/engraver/painter qe e kisha si projekt te flisja 10 minuta per jeten e tij, poezit e tij duke shpjeguar per cfare po fliste, what was the theme etje...dhe une zgjodhja the lamb and the tyger :)...akoma kam nje poster te madh qe se kam hedhur poshte per arsyen se kam ndejntur 6 ore duke e bere sa me organized and pretty :P

nejse me pelqen shume the tyger
thanks for posting it

do postoj disa poezi me vone

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## bunny

*Fancy* eshte 1 tjeter poezi nga John Keats. Duke mos patur mundesine qe te ishte me gruan qe ai donte,shum here ai shkruante ne letrat/poezit e tij se se 1 femer e imagjinuar eshte me e mire sesa 1 reale.Ne kete poezi ai flet per ate grau te imagjinuar nga vete ai,ai shprehet se kjo grua eshte shum e mire sesa 1 femer reale,pasi bukuria e kesaj rrin pergjithmone kurse bukuria e 1 femre reale i iken.

*Fancy*  

Ever let the Fancy roam, 
Pleasure never is at home:
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth,
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth;
Then let winged Fancy wander
Through the thought still spread beyond her:
Open wide the mind's cage-door,
She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar.
O sweet Fancy! let her loose;
Summer's joys are spoilt by use,
And the enjoying of the Spring
Fades as does its blossoming;
Autumn's red-lipp'd fruitage too,
Blushing through the mist and dew,
Cloys with tasting: What do then?
Sit thee by the ingle, when
The sear faggot blazes bright,
Spirit of a winter's night;
When the soundless earth is muffled,
And the caked snow is shuffled
From the ploughboy's heavy shoon;
When the Night doth meet the Noon
In a dark conspiracy
To banish Even from her sky.
Sit thee there, and send abroad,
With a mind self-overaw'd,
Fancy, high-commission'd:--send her!
She has vassals to attend her:
She will bring, in spite of frost,
Beauties that the earth hath lost;
She will bring thee, all together,
All delights of summer weather;
All the buds and bells of May,
From dewy sward or thorny spray;
All the heaped Autumn's wealth,
With a still, mysterious stealth:
She will mix these pleasures up
Like three fit wines in a cup,
And thou shalt quaff it:--thou shalt hear
Distant harvest-carols clear;
Rustle of the reaped corn;
Sweet birds antheming the morn:
And, in the same moment, hark!
'Tis the early April lark,
Or the rooks, with busy caw,
Foraging for sticks and straw.
Thou shalt, at one glance, behold
The daisy and the marigold;
White-plum'd lillies, and the first
Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst;
Shaded hyacinth, alway
Sapphire queen of the mid-May;
And every leaf, and every flower
Pearled with the self-same shower.
Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep
Meagre from its celled sleep;
And the snake all winter-thin
Cast on sunny bank its skin;
Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see
Hatching in the hawthorn-tree,
When the hen-bird's wing doth rest
Quiet on her mossy nest;
Then the hurry and alarm
When the bee-hive casts its swarm;
Acorns ripe down-pattering,
While the autumn breezes sing.

Oh, sweet Fancy! let her loose;
Every thing is spoilt by use:
Where's the cheek that doth not fade,
Too much gaz'd at? Where's the maid
Whose lip mature is ever new?
Where's the eye, however blue,
Doth not weary? Where's the face
One would meet in every place?
Where's the voice, however soft,
One would hear so very oft?
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth.
Let, then, winged Fancy find
Thee a mistress to thy mind:
Dulcet-ey'd as Ceres' daughter,
Ere the God of Torment taught her
How to frown and how to chide;
With a waist and with a side
White as Hebe's, when her zone
Slipt its golden clasp, and down
Fell her kirtle to her feet,
While she held the goblet sweet
And Jove grew languid.--Break the mesh
Of the Fancy's silken leash;
Quickly break her prison-string
And such joys as these she'll bring.--
Let the winged Fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home. 

John Keats

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## bunny

*Carol Ann Duffy* 1 nga poetet moderne Angleze, tani eshte profesore ne Manchester University.Ajo me te vertete ka disa poezi shum te bukura,me te preferut e mia jane: 

*Valentine*  

Not a red rose or a satin heart. 

I give you an onion. 
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper. 
It promises light 
like the careful undressing of love. 

Here. 
It will blind you with tears 
like a lover. 
It will make your reflection 
a wobbling photo of grief. 

I am trying to be truthful. 

Not a cute card or a kissogram. 

I give you an onion. 
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips, 
possessive and faithful 
as we are, 
for as long as we are. 

Take it.  
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring, 
if you like. 

Lethal. 
Its scent will cling to your fingers, 
cling to your knife.

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## bunny

*Mean Time*  

The clocks slid back an hour 
and stole light from my life 
as I walked through the wrong part of town, 
mourning our love. 

And, of course, unmendable rain 
fell to the bleak streets  
where I felt my heart gnaw 
at all our mistakes. 

If the darkening sky could lift 
more than one hour from this day 
there are words I would never have said 
nor have heard your say. 

But we will be dead, as we know, 
beyond all light. 
There are the shortened days  
and the endless nights.

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## Dito

anonim

per vdekjen s`dridhem as derdh fare lot 
m`e mire gje ne bote s`gjendet dot
trembem nga jeta qe I madhi zot 
me kot ma dha e un ja kthej me kot
pas vdejkes s`dua vec pushim
se sy e shpirt mu treten ne vajtim
me keq sesa kam rrojtur ne ferr ska
s`dua parajse! S`dua vec harrim!
Miq, shpresa, qiell e toke, e djaj me lane,
Zi Brenda posht e lart anembane
Vec votkes sme ka mbetur tjeter mik
Dhe dua dhe ne varr ta kem prane 
Me votke, kur te jap shpirt, kungomeni
Me votke lameni, bekomeni,
Me flete pjergulle peshtillmeni
Ne kopsht me kenge e rrush mbulomeni
Me peme trendafij e hardhi
Varrin stolismani, qendismani,
Rreth meje buzeqeshur shtrihuni
Sperkatmeni me votke, e pihuni.
                                         Khajam.

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## StormAngel

STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know. 
His house is in the village though; 
He will not see me stopping here 
To watch his woods fill up with snow. 
My little horse must think it queer 
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year. 
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake. 
The only other sound's the sweep 
Of easy wind and downy flake. 
The woods are lovely, dark and deep. 
But I have promises to keep, 
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

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## StormAngel

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN  by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Because life wasn't meant
to be boring!

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## StormAngel

Dream-Land by Edgar Allan Poe

By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only, 
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT, 
On a black throne reigns upright, 
I have reached these lands but newly 
From an ultimate dim Thule  
From a wild weird clime, that lieth, sublime, 
Out of SPACE  out of TIME. 

Bottomless vales and boundless floods, 
And chasms, and caves, and Titian woods, 
With forms that no man can discover 
For the dews that drip all over ; 
Mountains toppling evermore 
Into seas without a shore ; 
Seas that restlessly aspire, 
Surging, unto skies of fire; 
Lakes that endlessly outspread 
Their lone waters, lone and dead,  
Their still waters, still and chilly 
With the snows of the lolling lily. 

By a route obscure and lonely, 
Haunted by ill angels only, 
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT, 
On a black throne reigns upright, 
I have reached these lands but newly 
From an ultimate dim Thule. 

By the lakes that thus outspread 
Their lone waters, lone and dead,  
Their sad waters, sad and chilly 
With the snows of the lolling lily,  
By the mountains  near the river 
Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,  
By the gray woods,  by the swamp 
Where the toad and the newt encamp,  
By the dismal tarns and pools 
Where dwell the Ghouls,  
By each spot the most unholy  
In each nook most melancholy,  
There the traveller meets aghast 
Sheeted Memories of the Past  
Shrouded forms that start and sigh 
As they pass the wanderer by  
White-robed forms of friends long given, 
In agony, to the worms, and Heaven. 

By a route obscure and lonely, 
Haunted by ill angels only, 
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT, 
On a black throne reigns upright, 
I have reached these lands but newly 
From an ultimate dim Thule  

For the heart whose woes are legion 
'T is a peaceful, soothing region  
For the spirit that walks in shadow 
'T is  oh 't is an Eldorado! 
But the traveller, travelling through it, 
May not  dare not openly view it ; 
Never its mysteries are exposed 
To the weak human eye unclosed ; 
So wills its King, who hath forbid 
The uplifting of the fringed lid; 
And thus the sad Soul that here passes 
Beholds it but through darkened glasses. 
By a route obscure and lonely, 
Haunted by ill angels only, 
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT, 
On a black throne reigns upright, 
I have wandered home but newly 
From this ultimate dim Thule

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## StormAngel

Love and Friendship by Emily Bronte

Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most constantly?

The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild-briar fair?

Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That, when December blights thy brow,
He may still leave thy garland green.

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## StormAngel

No sooner met but they looked; 
No sooner looked but they loved; 
No sooner loved but they sighed; 
No sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason; 
No sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy.

- William Shakespeare

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