تطبيقات عملية في اللغة الانجليزية .

[اوديسا]

Assalamu alaikum wa rahmatu Allah wa barakatuh

You're Welcome

ANYTIME

This expression made me feel accepted to you, so I try to get your suggestions, advice, help and encouraging.

What is the meaning of life? To be happy and useful.

Please, I need you to know that the more you say the less I comprehend. Be more relaxed and voice your point of view. Try not to write more than three sentences fore each. You know in Poetry there is no restriction in expressing your views. Anything you have it will be accepted

Here You Go

The Poem - A Psalm of Life

Tell me not in mournful numbers,


Life is but an empty dream!


For the soul is dead that slumbers,


And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!


And the grave is not its goal;


Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest,


Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,


Is our destined end or way;


But to act, that each tomorrow


Find us farther than today.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,


And our hearts, though stout and brave,


Still, like muffled drums, are beating


Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,


In the bivouac of Life,


Be not like dumb, driven cattle!


Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!


Let the dead Past bury its dead!


Act, - act in the living Present!


Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us


We can make our lives sublime,


And, departing, leave behind us


Footprints on the sand of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,


Sailing o'er life's solenm main,


A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,


Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us then be up and doing,


With a heart for any fate;


Still achieving, still pursuing,


Learn to labor and to wait.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

!!

Mending Wall by Robert Frost


Something there is that doesn't love a wall,


That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,


And spills the upper boulders in the sun;


And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.


The work of hunters is another thing:


I have come after them and made repair


Where they have left not one stone on a stone,


But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,


To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,


No one has seen them made or heard them made,


But at spring mending-time we find them there.


I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;


And on a day we meet to walk the line


And set the wall between us once again.


We keep the wall between us as we go.


To each the boulders that have fallen to each.


And some are loaves and some so nearly balls


We have to use a spell to make them balance:


'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!'


We wear our fingers rough with handling them.


Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,


One on a side. It comes to little more:


There where it is we do not need the wall:


He is all pine and I am apple orchard.


My apple trees will never get across


And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.


He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'


Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder


If I could put a notion in his head:


'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it


Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.


Before I built a wall I'd ask to know


What I was walling in or walling out,


And to whom I was like to give offense.


Something there is that doesn't love a wall,


That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him,


But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather


He said it for himself. I see him there


Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top


In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.


He moves in darkness as it seems to me,


Not of woods only and the shade of trees.


He will not go behind his father's saying,


And he likes having thought of it so well


He says again, 'Good fences make good neighbors.'

!!

Sailing To Byzantium

I


That is no country for old men. The young


In one another's arms, birds in the trees


---Those dying generations---at their song,


The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,


Fish, flesh, or fowl commend all summer long


Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.


Caught in that sensual music all neglect


Monuments of unaging intellect.

II


An aged man is but a paltry thing,


A tattered coat upon a stick, unless


Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing


For every tatter in its mortal dress,


Nor is there singing school but studying


Monuments of its own magnificence;


And therefore I have sailed the seas and come


To the holy city of Byzantium.

III


O sages standing in God's holy fire


As in the gold mosaic of a wall,


Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,


And be the singing-masters of my soul.


Consume my heart away; sick with desire


And fastened to a dying animal


It knows not what it is; and gather me


Into the artifice of eternity.

IV


Once out of nature I shall never take


My bodily form from any natural thing,


But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make


Of hammered gold and gold enamelling


To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;


Or set upon a golden bough to sing


To lords and ladies of Byzantium


Of what is past, or passing, or to come.


William Butler Yeats

$$

My Mind to Me a Kingdom Is

Sir Edward Dyer (d. 1607)

MY mind to me a kingdom is;


Such present joys therein I find,


That it excels all other bliss


That earth affords or grows by kind:


Though much I want that most would have,

5

Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

No princely pomp, no wealthy store,


No force to win the victory,


No wily wit to salve a sore,


No shape to feed a loving eye;

10

To none of these I yield as thrall;


For why? my mind doth serve for all.

I see how plenty surfeits oft,


And hasty climbers soon do fall;


I see that those which are aloft

15

Mishap doth threaten most of all:


They get with toil, they keep with fear:


Such cares my mind could never bear.

Content I live, this is my stay;


I seek no more than may suffice;

20

I press to bear no haughty sway;


Look, what I lack my mind supplies.


Lo, thus I triumph like a king,


Content with that my mind doth bring.

Some have too much, yet still do crave;

25

I little have, and seek no more.


They are but poor, though much they have,


And I am rich with little store;


They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;


They lack, I leave; they pine, I live.

30

I laugh not at another’s loss,


I grudge not at another’s gain;


No worldly waves my mind can toss;


My state at one doth still remain:


I fear no foe, I fawn no friend;

35

I loathe not life, nor dread my end.

Some weigh their pleasure by their lust,


Their wisdom by their rage of will;


Their treasure is their only trust,


A cloakèd craft their store of skill;

40

But all the pleasure that I find


Is to maintain a quiet mind.

My wealth is health and perfect ease,


My conscience clear my chief defence;


I neither seek by bribes to please,

45

Nor by deceit to breed offence:


Thus do I live; thus will I die;


Would all did so as well as I!

I am addicted to Learning