Andrew Marvell John Donne

William Shakespeare
Andrew Marvell
John Donne

William Shakespeare

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

130. SONE
"Günese hiç benzemez sevdicegimin gözleri;
Mercan önde gider kirmizilikta, dudaklarindan:
Eger kar beyaz tabir edilirse, onun koynu gri;
Eger saça tel denirse, kapkara teller büyür basindan.
Çok gördüm pembe, beyaz, kirmizi güller,
Ama izi bile yoktur onun yanaklarinda o güllerin;
Ve bazi kokular eminim çok daha güzeller
Aci kokusundan, ondan yükselen nefesin.
Severim onu konusurken dinlemeyi, ama bilirim
Müzigin kulaga çok daha hos gelen bir tinisi var:
Emin olun öyle yürüyen bir ilahe hiç görmedim;
Benim sevdicegim yürürken yeri gögü sallar.
Ve fakat, tanri sahit olsun ki benim askim nadirdir
O, saçma sapan benzetmelerle tarif edilemeyendir."

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
onsumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long



Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

18. SONE
Seni bir yaz gününe benzetmek mi ne gezer?
Çok daha güzelsin sen çok daha cana yakın:
Taze tomurcukları sert rüzgârlar örseler
Kısacıktır süresi yeryüzünde bir yazın:
Işıldar göğün gözü yakacak kadar sıcak
Ve sık sık kararı da yaldız düşer yüzünden;
Her güzel güzellikten er geç yoksun kalacak
Kader ya da varlığın bozulması yüzünden;
Ama hiç solmayacak sendeki ölümsüz yaz
Güzelliğin yitmez ki asla olmaz ki hurda;
Gölgesindesin diye ecel caka satamaz
Sen çağları aşarken bu ölmez satırlarda:
İnsanlar nefes alsın gözler görsün elverir
Yaşadıkça şiirim sana da hayat verir.









William Shakespeare

Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Which like two spirits do suggest me still:*
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill.
To win me soon to hell*, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend
Suspect I may, but not directly tell;
But being both from me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell:
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.*

SONE 144
Biri huzur, biri dert, iki sevgim var benim,
İki görüntü gibi hep gönlümü çelerler:
Sarışın bir erkektir benim iyi meleğim,
Kötü ruh bir kadındır, kapkaranlık bir esmer.
Dişi cin cehennemde beni yok etmek ister,
Meleğimi gönlümden ayartmağa çalışır,
Onun saf varlığını pis kibriyle büyüler,
Kutsal ruhuşeytana çevirmeye kalkışır.
Benim iyi meleğim iblisçe kudurunca
Dosdoğru bilemem de kuşkulara düşerim:
İkisi benden ayrı sıkı dostluk kurunca
Melek, dişi şeytanın cehenneminde derim;
Dertliyim bilemeden kuşkuyla yaşamaktan,
Sonunda meleğimi yakacak dişi şeytan.


The Flea
John Donne

Marke but this flea, and marke in this,
How little that which thou deny'st me is;
Me it suck'd first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled bee;
Confesse it, this cannot be said
A sinne, or shame, or losse of maidenhead,

Yet this enjoyes before it wooe,
And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two,
And this, alas, is more than wee would doe.

Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,
When we almost, nay more than maryed are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is;
Though parents grudge, and you, w'are met,
And cloysterd in these living walls of Jet.

Though use make thee apt to kill me,
Let not to this, selfe murder added bee,
And sacrilege, three sinnes in killing three.

Cruell and sodaine, has thou since
Purpled thy naile, in blood of innocence?
In what could this flea guilty bee,
Except in that drop which it suckt from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and saist that thou
Find'st not thyself, nor mee the weaker now;

'Tis true, then learne how false, feares bee;
Just so much honor, when thou yeeld'st to mee,
Will wast, as this flea's death tooke life from thee.


To His Coy Mistress
Andrew Marvell. 1621–1678 

HAD we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refus
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
 But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave 's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
  Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run