Poetry Poetry like life is diverse and complex. Our time when horizons are widening in many directions it is one of a beautiful variety of stimuli, challenge frustrations and rewards. In many periods of the past poets sought to escape from the confusions of life about them by withdrawing into a realm of their own, sometimes purely imaginative. They were a bit sentimental, that is they responded with too much emotions to actual life weeping or crying a bit too easily. They even had a language of their own. Certain subjects and forms were considered unsuitable to a poem. Nothing that the poet sees about him is regarded as too common place or two prosaic for a poem. He may see hidden meaning in underlying beauty anywhere. Many poems are characterized by the beauty of the language, the regularity of the rhythm the love to nature and universal meaning that have always been associated with good poetry. Poetry has many voices. Some of them you will find as you listen to them, voice your own ideals and impulses. They were on the whole simple cheerful, positive and pleased with themselves. Perhaps they were a bit sentimental with too much emotion to actual life weeping or cheering a bit too easily.
On April 23, 1564 a son, William, was born to John and Mary Shakespeare in Stratford-upon-Avon, his mother was the daughter of a farmer. His father was a glove- maker. William went to a grammar school in Stratford and had a good education. There he learned to love reading. While still a teenager, William married Anne Hathaway, a farmers daughter some years older than himself. We dont know how he earned the living during these early years, perhaps he helped his father in the family business. During these years his three children were born: Susannah, the eldest, then twins-a son, Hamnet and another girl, Judith. In 1587 Shakespeare went work to London, leaving Anne and the children at home. We dont know exactly why he did it. Some people say that the reason was his love of the poetry and theater. But there is another story which says that he had to run away from law because he killed some deer belonging to a rich man. In London Shakespeare began to act and to write plays and soon became an important member of a well- known acting company. Most of his plays were performed in the new Globe theatre build on the bank of the river Thames. In 1613 he stopped writing and went to live in Stratford where he died in 1616.
From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty's rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory: But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament, And only herald to the gaudy spring, Within thine own bud buriest thy content, And, tender chorl, mak'st waste in niggarding: Pity the world, or else this glutton be, To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now, Will be a totter'd weed of small worth held: Then being ask'd, where all thy beauty lies, Where all the treasure of thy lusty days, To say within thine own deep-sunken eyes Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise. How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use, If thou couldst answer, "This fair child of mine Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse," Proving his beauty by succession thine. This were to be new made when thou art old, And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether`tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep; No more; and,by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to,`tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish`d. to die, to sleep: To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life;
Robert Burns was born in 1759 in Alloway, son of William Burns, tenant-farmer of Alloway, and Agnes Broun. He had 3 brothers and 3 sisters. Robert was educated by his father. Then he went to Irvine to learn the trade of flax-dressing. Later he had a great interest in poetry. During his life he wrote a lot of poems about his Motherland and people who lived there. Burns loved his Motherland with all his heart. Burns married and he had a lot of children, but his daughters died, when they were very small. In 1785 he contemplated emigration to Jamaica, but planed to published his poems first. After that he the Grand Lodge of Scotland toasted him as Caledonias Bard and he was made Honorary Burers of Dumfries. Burns traveled a lot and one day he fall down and his knee was badly hurt. At the end of his life Burns was ill with a rheumatic fever. In 1796 Robert Burns died in Dumfries. He was only 37 years old.
Robert Burns was born in 1759 in Alloway, son of William Burns, tenant-farmer of Alloway, and Agnes Broun.
O, my love is like a red, red rose That`s newly sprung in June, O, my love is like the melody, That`s sweetly play`d in tune. So fair art thou. My bonnie lass, So deep in love am I And I will love thee still, my dear, Till a` the seas gang dry. Till a` the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi` the sun And I will thee my dear, While the sands o`life shall run. And fare thee well, my only love, And fare thee well a while! And I will come again, my love, Tho` it were ten thousand mile!
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart's is not here, My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer, A-chasing the wild deer and following the roe- My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go! Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, The birthplace of valour, the country of worth! The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, Farewell to the mountains high cover`d with snow, Farewell to the straths and green valleys below, Farewell to the forests ad wild-hanging woods, Farewell to the torrents and long-pouring floods! My heart's in the Highlands, my hearts is not here, My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer, A-chasing the wild deer and following the roe- My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go!