Goblin ​Market 5 csillagozás

Christina Rossetti: Goblin Market

'She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth'

A selection of Rossetti's most famous poems, from the hallucinatory 'Goblin Market' to 'In the bleak mid-winter'.

Eredeti megjelenés éve: 1862

A következő kiadói sorozatban jelent meg: Penguin Little Black Classics Penguin angol

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Penguin, London, 2015
64 oldal · puhatáblás · ISBN: 9780141397665

Enciklopédia 1


Kedvencelte 2

Várólistára tette 3


Kiemelt értékelések

DarknessAngel>!
Christina Rossetti: Goblin Market

Imádtam! ^-^
Az elején kicsit megijedtem a sok gyümölcs felsorolásától, azt hittem ez is egy természetről szóló vers lesz, de szerencsére nem. Mintha egy rövid, de annál érdekesebb történetet olvastam volna. Mindenféle verset szeretek, főleg azokat, amelyek ilyen szépen vannak megírva. Egy sztorit mesél el két lánytestvérről, tündérekről és a tündér étel veszélyeiről.
Nagyon tetszett a nyelvezet is, könnyen érthető, de azért így is volt pár szót, amit ki kellett keresnem. :D
Még sosem hallottam az írónőról, de van egy másik verse is, amit mindjárt elolvasok, mert jónak tűnik, az Up-Hill.


Népszerű idézetek

discipula_magistrae>!

My life is like a broken bowl,
A broken bowl that cannot hold
One drop of water for my soul

A Better Resurrection

lone_digger P>!

Sometimes I said: It is an empty name
I long for; to a name why should I give
The peace of all the days I have to live? –
Yet gave it all the same.

25. oldal, A Pause of Thought

lone_digger P>!

Hope is like a harebell trembling from its birth,
Love is like a rose the joy of all the earth;
Faith is like a lily lifted high and white,
Love is like a lovely rose the world's delight;
Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth,
But the rose with all its thorns excels them both.

53. oldal, Nursery Rhymes from Sing-Song

Ligeia>!

Song ('When I am dead, my dearest')

When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet:
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.

23. oldal

Ligeia>!

Sweet Death

The sweetest blossoms die.
And so it was that, going day by day
Unto the Church to praise and pray,
And crossing the green churchyard thoughtfully,
I saw how on the graves the flowers
Shed their fresh leaves in showers,
And how their perfume rose up to the sky
Before it passed away.

The youngest blossoms die.
They die, and fall and nourish the rich earth
From which they lately had their birth;
Sweet life, but sweeter death that passeth by
And is as though it had not been:—
All colors turn to green:
The bright hues vanish and the odours fly,
The grass hath lasting worth.

And youth and beauty die.
So be it, O my God, Thou God of truth:
Better than beauty and than youth
Are Saints and Angels, a glad company;
And Thou, O lord, our Rest and Ease,
Are better far than these.
Why should we shrink from our full harvest? why
Prefer to glean with Ruth?

26. oldal

Ligeia>!

The pleasure I remember, it is past;
The pain I feel, is passing passing by;
Thus all the world is passing, and thus I:
All things that cannot last
Have grown familiar, and are born to die.

39. oldal (An Old-World Thicket; részlet)

Ligeia>!

Hope is like a harebell trembling from its birth,
Love is like a rose the joy of all the earth;
Faith is like a lily lifted high and white,
Love is like a lovely rose the world's delight;
Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth,
But the rose with all its thorns excels them both.

53. oldal (Nursery Rhymes from Sing-Song)

discipula_magistrae>!

The One Certainty

Sonnet

Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith,
All things are vanity. The eye and ear
Cannot be filled with what they see and hear.
Like early dew, or like the sudden breath
Of wind, or like the grass that withereth,
Is man, tossed to and fro by hope and fear:
So little joy hath he, so little cheer,
Till all things end in the long dust of death.
To-day is still the same as yesterday,
To-morrow also even as one of them;
And there is nothing new under the sun:
Until the ancient race of Time be run,
The old thorns shall grow out of the old stem,
And morning shall be cold and twilight grey.

Kapcsolódó szócikkek: A prédikátor könyve
discipula_magistrae>!

At Home

When I was dead, my spirit turned
To seek the much-frequented house:
I passed the door, and saw my friends
Feasting beneath green orange boughs;
From hand to hand they pushed the wine,
They sucked the pulp of plum and peach;
They sang, they jested, and they laughed,
For each was loved of each.

I listened to their honest chat:
Said one: 'To-morrow we shall be
Plod plod along the featureless sands,
And coasting miles and miles of sea.'
Said one: 'Before the turn of tide
We will achieve the eyrie-seat.'
Said one: 'To-morrow shall be like
To-day, but much more sweet.'

'To-morrow,' said they, strong with hope,
And dwelt upon the pleasant way:
'To-morrow,' cried they, one and all,
While no one spoke of yesterday. 20
Their life stood full at blessed noon;
I, only I, had passed away:
'To-morrow and to-day,' they cried;
I was of yesterday.

I shivered comfortless, but cast
No chill across the tablecloth;
I, all-forgotten, shivered, sad
To stay, and yet to part how loth:
I passed from the familiar room,
I who from love had passed away,
Like the remembrance of a guest
That tarrieth but a day.

discipula_magistrae>!

Up-Hill

Does the road wind up-hill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
Those who have gone before.
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?
They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
Of labour you shall find the sum.
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yea, beds for all who come.


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J. R. R. Tolkien: The Adventures of Tom Bombadil
Edgar Allan Poe: Selected Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe
Edgar Allan Poe: The Complete Stories
J. R. R. Tolkien: The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrún
Mary Soon Lee: The Sign of the Dragon
Leonora Carrington: The Milk of Dreams
J. R. R. Tolkien: Poems from the Hobbit
Neil Gaiman: Trigger Warning
Jonathan Strahan (szerk.): The Book of Dragons
Neil Gaiman: Fragile Things