Подборка стихов на английском языке для 10-11 классов

My Soul Is Dark (George Byron)

My soul is dark - Oh! quickly string

The harp I yet can brook to hear;

And let thy gentle fingers fling

Its melting murmur o'er mine ear.

If in this heart a hope be dear,

That sound shall charm it forth again:

If in these eyes there lurk a tear,

'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.

But bid the strain be wild and deep,

Nor let thy notes of joy be first:

I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,

Or else this heavy heart will burst;

For it had been by sorrow nursed,

And ached in sleepless silence long;

And now 'tis doomed to know the worst,

And break at once - or yield to song.

THE FIRES (Kipling)

Men make them fires on the hearth

Each under his roof-tree,

And the Four Winds that rule the earth

They blow the smoke to me.

Across the high hills and the sea

And all the changeful skies,

The Four Winds blow the smoke to me

Till the tears are in my eyes.

Until the tears are in my eyes

And my heart is well-nigh broke

For thinking on old memories

That gather in the smoke.

With every shift of every wind

The homesick memories come,

From every quarter of mankind

Where I have made me a home.

Four times a fire against the cold

And a roof against the rain -

Sorrow fourfold and joy fourfold

The Four Winds bring again!

How can I answer which is best

Of all the fires that burn?

I have been too often host or guest

At every fire in turn.

How can I turn from any fire,

On any man's hearthstone?

I know the wonder and desire

That went to build my own!

How can I doubt man's joy or woe

Where 'er his house-fires shine,

Since all that man must undergo

Will visit me at mine?

Oh, you Four Winds that blow so strong

And know that this is true,

Stoop for a little and carry my song

To all the men I knew!

Where there are fires against the cold,

Or roofs against the rain -

With love fourfold and joy fourfold,

Take them my songs again!

Sea Fever (John Meinsfield)

I MUST go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,

And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,

And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

Memory (Abraham Linkoln)

MY childhood's home I see again,

And sadden with the view;

And still, as memory crowds my brain,

There's pleasure in it, too.

O memory! thou midway world

'Twixt earth and paradise,

Where things decayed and loved ones lost

In dreamy shadows rise,

And, freed from all that's earthly, vile,

Seem hallowed, pure and bright,

Like scenes in some enchanted isle

All bathed in liquid light.

As dusky mountains please the eye

When twilight chases day;

As bugle notes that, passing by,

In distance die away;

As, leaving some grand waterfall,

We, lingering, list its roar-

So memory will hallow all

We've known but know no more.

Near twenty years have passed away

Since here I bid farewll

To woods and fields, and scenes of play,

And playmates loved so well.

Where many were, but few remain

Of old familiar things,

But seeing them to mind again

The lost and absent brings.

The friends I left that parting day,

How changed, as time has sped!

Young childhood grown, strong manhood gray;

And half of all are dead.

I hear the loved survivors tell

How nought from death could save,

Till every sound appear a knell

And every spot a grave.

I range the fields with pensive tread,

And pace the hollow rooms,

And feel (companion of the dead)

I'm living in the tombs.

She Walks In Beauty like the night (Lord Byron)

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

Она идет во всей красе

Светла, как ночь ее страны.

Вся глубь небес и звезды все

В ее очах заключены,

Как солнце в утренней росе,

Но только мраком смягчены.

Прибавить луч иль тень отнять

И будет уж совсем не та

Волос агатовая прядь,

Не те глаза, не те уста

И лоб, где помыслов печать

Так безупречна, так чиста.

А этот взгляд, и цвет ланит,

И легкий смех, как всплеск морской,

Все в ней о мире говорит.

Она в душе хранит покой

И если счастье подарит, То самой щедрою рукой!(Перевод Маршак С. Я.)