Английское стихотворение про октябрь

October

October is the tenth month of the year in the Julian and Gregorian Calendars and the sixth month to have the length of 31 days. It is the eighth month in the old Roman calendar. Here are some poems about October

• By Carl Sandburg.
• By  Ellis Parker Butler.
• by Hilaire Belloc.

Poems about October

  By Carl Sandburg

I spot the hills

With yellow balls in autumn.

I light the prairie cornfields

Orange and tawny gold clusters

And I am called pumpkins.

On the last of October

When dusk is fallen

Children join hands

And circle round me

Singing ghost songs

And love to the harvest moon;

I am a jack-o-lantern

With terrible teeth

And the children know

I am fooling.

 

By  Ellis Parker Butler

 The forest holds high carnival to-day,

And every hill-side glows with gold and fire;

Ivy and sumac dress in colors gay,

And oak and maple mask in bright attire.

The hoarded wealth of sober autumn days

In lavish mood for motley garb is spent,

And nature for the while at folly plays,

Knowing the morrow brings a snowy Lent.

 

 By Hilaire Belloc

The green elm with the one great bough of gold  

Lets leaves into the grass slip, one by one, --

The short hill grass, the mushrooms small milk-white,

Harebell and scabious and tormentil,

That blackberry and gorse, in dew and sun,

Bow down to; and the wind travels too light

To shake the fallen birch leaves from the fern;

The gossamers wander at their own will.
 

At heavier steps than birds the squirrels scold.
 

The rich scene has grown fresh again and new

As Spring and to the touch is not more cool

Than it is warm to the gaze; and now I might

As happy be as earth is beautiful,

Were I some other or with earth could turn

In alternation of violet and rose,

Harebell and snowdrop, at their season due,

And gorse that has no time not to be gay.
 

But if this be not happiness, -- who knows?

Some day I shall think this a happy day,

And this mood by the name of melancholy

Shall no more blackened and obscured be.

(Dylan Thomas)

Especially when the October wind

With frosty fingers punishes my hair,

Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire

And cast a shadow crab upon the land,

By the seas side, hearing the noise of birds,

Hearing the raven cough in winter sticks,

My busy heart who shudders as she talks

Sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words.

Shut, too, in a tower of words, I mark

On the horizon walking like the trees

The wordy shapes of women, and the rows

Of the star-gestured children in the park.

Some let me make you of the vowelled beeches,

Some of the oaken voices, from the roots

Of many a thorny shire tell you notes,

Some let me make you of the water"s speeches.

Behind a pot of ferns the wagging clock

Tells me the hour"s word, the neural meaning

Flies on the shafted disk, declaims the morning

And tells the windy weather in the cock.

Some let me make you of the meadows signs;

The signal grass that tells me all I know

Breaks with the wormy winter through the eye.

Some let me tell you of the ravens sins.

Especially when the October wind

(Some let me make you of autumnal spells,

The spider-tongued, and the loud hill of Wales)

With fists of turnips punishes the land,

Some let me make you of the heartless words.

The heart is drained that, spelling in the scurry

Of chemic blood, warned of the coming fury.

By the seas side hear the dark-vowelled birds.

Перевод: (Дилан Томас)

Когда в холодных пальцах октября

Встрепещут ветер, волосы и травки,

И тень мою на солнечную лаву

Накинет низкая заря,

Когда промчится к морю птичий гам,

А ворон осипло предречет морозы.

Волной из сердца выплеснут - как розы,

Как кровь - мои стихи к ее ногам.

Фигуры-буковкы, девушки-кустики,

Аллея-космос, где сияют детки, -

Средь башен ясных слов, я полон этим...

И мучаюсь в тюрьме немоты.

О, стать бы мне и жить звенящим буком,

Либо напевом вековых дубрав,

Сплетать слова корнями диких травок,

Или греметь ручьем-тысячезвуком,

"Ку-ку" над кадкой с папоротником

Ронять в рассвет, вялости не зная,

Или холодным флюгером играя,

Подсказывать, что ветер за окном...

В гнилостной зиме протает полынья,

Душа сомкнет все смыслы и приметы,

Рождая строчки из травки и света,

Из сумрака и брани воронья,

Когда в холодных пальцах октября

(И везде ты! - в волшбе, в осеннем цвете,

В холмах валллийских, в паутинной сети!)

Встрепещет репкой зрелая заря!

Я зол, я глуповат, я бессильно упрям,

Но кровь моя, душе и сердцу вторя,

Влечет меня к для тебя, туда, где море,

Стихи, заря и темный птичий гам.