描写雾的英文诗

Fog

Whiteness glimmers in

Dawn bends through the pane

Fog, soft as cobwebs

Clinging

Close as a lingering ache, or

Rejected love

Mournful, ashen cheeked

Muted, beautiful,

Leeching naive day

To congealed moonlight --

Milky wormwood memory

Warm breath once shared

Mist on the mirror

Atomized shimmering droplets

Breath on a cold silver mirror

Mist

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Title: Lady In The Fog (A Halloween Poem)

Once I woke up

all alone in my bed

something felt wrong

like a voice in my head

I was told to come

To let no one follow

through the woods, to the tree

the only one that was hollow.

Yes I left, all alone by myself

I put on some jeans and a shirt

that I grabbed off the shelf.

I left right away

For the voice in my head

Was the voice of my loved one.

The one long since dead.

I found the tree, and didn't bother to think

Why the water in the creek nearby was such a dark pink.

Or the smell of something long since dead

And ignored the bells going off in my head.

A fog rolled in

How it covered my sight

And a soft sweet voice

All alone in the night.

The fog came in deeper

And the sirens in my head

Desperately warned me

That I should've stayed in bed.

I was so stupid

Now that I think.

It was blood that made the water pink.

She came a distance

The woman in the fog

She wanted my life

To keep her own

Her eyes were red

She sold her soul.

Something was wrong

But I couldn't believe

That the one that I loved

Had never loved me.

Then she appeared

before my very eyes.

And in the pale face

all deception and lies.

"Your soul" she said.

"Is all that I need. So be a good little girl, and let me feed."

She opened her mouth

Rows of pointy pearly whites

turned crimson with blood

of others from previous nights.

"Never!" I screamed "This won't happen to me. Now that I know more than what I care to see."

She came at me with all of her strength, but I dodged

From her bony and evil arm length.

I ran back through the woods ignoring the fog.

shot into my home and set loose my dog.

I went to sleep with covers over my head.

And tried to ignore the whispering from under the bed.

The next morning my dog was gone.

Though I knew what happened

I care not to tell.

So I write this now for those who are next.

Don't get caught into a trap like that in which I fell

Or Eternal damnation

Your private ticket to hell.

Happy

Halloween....

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FOG

The fog comes

on little cat feet.

It sits looking

over harbor and city

on silent haunches

and then moves on.

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In The Fog

In the fog we walk among trees,

fingers touching, voices muted,

inside a pearl, whispering.

In the fog I stop. You recede,

fading in cool gray curtains.

Turn to look at me, and smile remotely.

I cannot hear you, although I see

your pale lips moving. In the fog

the trees do not know each other.

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MIST

My steps along this street

Resound in another street

In whichI hear my steps

Passing along this street

In which

Only the mist is real.

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The Yellow Fog

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,

The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes

Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,

Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,

Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,

Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,

And seeing that it was a soft October night,

Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

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A Fpggy Day

A foggy day

in London town

Had me low

and had me down.

I viewed the morning with alarm,

the British museum

had lost its charm.

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Fear death?---to feel the fog in my throat,

The mist in my face,

When the snows begin, and the blasts denote

I am nearing the place,

The power of the night, the press of the storm,

The post of the foe;

Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form;

Yet the strong man must go:

For the journey is done and the summit attained,

And the barriers fall,

Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained,

The reward of it all.

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What seas what shores what grey rocks and what islands

What water lapping the bow

And scent of pine and the woodthrush singing through the fog

What images return

O my daughter.

Those who sharpen the tooth of the dog, meaning

Death

Those who glitter with the glory of the hummingbird, meaning

Death

Those who sit in the sty of contentment, meaning

Death

Those who suffer the ecstasy of the animals, meaning

Death

Are become insubstantial, reduced by a wind,

A breath of pine, and the woodsong fog

By this grace dissolved in place.

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Look at me,

I’m as helpless as a kitten up a tree,

and I feel like I’m clinging to a cloud;

I can’t understand,

I get misty just holding your hand.

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I must go down to the sea 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.

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The Yachts

contend in a sea which the land partly encloses

shielding them from the too-heavy blows

of an ungoverned ocean which when it chooses

tortures the biggest hulls, the best man knows

to pit against its beatings, and sinks them pitilessly.

Mothlike in mists, scintillant in the minute

brilliance of cloudless days, with broad bellying sails

they glide to the wind tossing green water

from their sharp prows while over them the crew crawls

ant-like, solicitously grooming them, releasing,

making fast as they turn, lean far over and having

caught the wind again, side by side, head for the mark.

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A solitary sail that rises

White in the blue mist on the foam—

What is it in far lands it prizes?

What does it leave behind at home?

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There had been a moon, but the dark fog from the sea

muffles the high buildings, nuzzles the masts,

deadens the distant sounds, exciting

the glacier sound of the port foghorn, crying

to long-dead plesiosaurs that can no longer hear.

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Sob, heavy world,

Sob as you spin,

Mantled in mist, remote from the happy.

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I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;

I fled Him, down the arches of the years;

I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways

Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears

I hid from Him, and under running laughter.

Up vistaed hopes I sped;

And shot, precipitated,

Adown Titanic glooms of chasmèd fears,

From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.

Then towards the end, the theme of mist appears again:

I dimly guess what Time in mists confounds;

Yet ever and anon a trumpet sounds

From the hid battlements of Eternity;

Those shaken mists a space unsettle, then

Round the half-glimpsèd turrets slowly wash again.

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The foggy, foggy dew

When I was a bachelor I lived all alone,

and I worked at the weaver’s trade.

And the only, only thing that I ever did wrong,

was to woo a fair young maid.

I wooed her in the winter time,

and in the summer too:

And the only, only thing that I ever did that was wrong,

was to save her from the foggy, foggy dew.

One night she came to my bed side

when I lay fast asleep:

She laid her head upon my bed

and she began to weep.

She sighed, she cried, she damn’ near died,

she said: What shall I do?

So I hauled her into bed and I covered up her head,

just to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.

Oh I am a bachelor and I live with my son,

and we work at the weaver’s trade.

And ev’ry single time that I look into his eyes,

he reminds me of the fair young maid.

He reminds me of the winter time,

and of the summer too,

And of the many, many times that I held her in my arms,

just to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.

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