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| REALISED SOULS - �MES R�ALIS�ES |
| William Blake (London 1757-1827) |
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| Jerusalem And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England's mountains green? And was the Holy Lamb of God On England's pleasant pasture seen? And did the countenance Divine Shine forth upon our clouded hills? And was Jerusalem builded here Among those dark satanic mills? Bring me my bow of burning gold! Bring me my arrows of desire! Bring me my spear! O! clouds unfold! Bring me my chariot of fire! I will not cease from mental fight Nor shal my sword sleep in my hand Till we have built Jerusalem In England's green and pleasant land. (Would that all the Lord's people were prophets). |
| Biographie et aper�u de son oeuvre (en anglais) |
| Holy Thursday O What a multitude they seem'd, those flowers of London town! Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own. The hum of multitudes was there but multitudes of lambs, Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands. |
| Je cherche un lien vers son oeuvre compl�te en fran�ais... si vous en avez un �crivez-moi |
| Rabindranath Tagore (India 1861-1941) |
| Oh! Mother Oh Mother,let my mind awake slowly on the Sacred Shore of the sea, where great souls of the world have come together to offer their pranams. Here with outstretched hands we bow down to the Divine in human form. In bounteous poetry and in great joy we adore thee. Behold here oh! seeker the mountain of meditation with rivers resounding and dancing to the solemn music of heaven. Adore here your Sacred Mother Earth where great souls have come together on the seashore to offer their pranams. Come oh! Aryans, come non Aryans, come Hindus and Muslims. Come oh! Englishmen, come Christians, come oh Brahmins purify your heart, hold the hands of the down-trodden and out-castes. Remove all ills and disrespcts. Come quickly for the coronation (anointing) or the Mother. |
| Durant plus d'un jour de paresse j'ai pleur� sur le temps perdu. Pourtant, il n'est jamais perdu, mon Seigneur! Tu as pris dans mes mains chaque petit moment de ma vie. Cach� au coeur des choses, tu nourris jusqu'� la germination la semence, jusqu'� l'�panouissement le bouton, et la fleur m�rissante jusqu'� l'abondance du fruit. J'�tais l�, someillant sur mon lit de paresse et je m'imaginais que tout ouvrage avait cess�. Je m'�veillai dans le matin et trouvai mon jardin plein de merveilles et de fleurs. |
| Cherche bons liens sur l'oeuvre de Tagore en Fran�ais. Ecrivez-moi |
| Khalil Gibran (Lebanon 1883-1931) |
| A great singer is he who sings our silences (Sand and foam) |
| TROIS GRANDS PO�TES ET PEINTRES THREE GREAT POETS AND ARTISTS |
| W. Blake, R. Tagore et K. Gibran |
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