الأربعاء، 21 سبتمبر 2011


We pronounce thee happy, Cicada
For on the tops of the trees
Drinking a little dew
Like any king thou singest
For thine are they all
Whatever thou seest in the fields
And whatever the woods bear
Thou art the friend of the husbandmen
In no respect injuring any one
And thou art honored among men
Sweet prophet of summer
The Muses love thee
And Phoebus himself loves thee
And has given thee a shrill song
Age does not wrack thee
Thou skilfull, earthborn, song-loving, Unsuffering, bloodless one
Almost thou art like the gods
قلب فيك ميت ولهان يحبك ياروح القلب انت تختلف عن كل اناس انت في القلب لك مكان كبير