Posted by: proudstalinohitlerikos
« on: January 16, 2013, 08:15:43 pm »
Move tirelessly
Do not hang your head
Scatter the mist of the clouds
The Lord's Providence is great.
Gently smile at the earth
Stretched out beneath you;
Sing a lullaby to the glacier
Strung down from the heavens.
Know for certain that once
Struck down to the ground, an oppressed man
Strives again to reach the pure mountain,
When exalted by hope.
So, lovely moon, as before
Glimmer through the clouds;
Pleasantly in the azure vault
Make your beams play.
But I shall undo my vest
And thrust out my chest to the moon,
With outstretched arms, I shall revere
The spreader of light upon the earth! joseph stalin
The pinkish bud has opened,
Rushing to the pale-blue violet
And, stirred by a light breeze,
The lily of the valley has bent over the grass.
The lark has sung in the dark blue,
Flying higher than the clouds,
And the sweet-sounding nightingale
Has sung a song to children from the bushes. joseph stalin
In the Thicket of the Forest at Artois
Adolf Hitler (1916)
(Translated from the German)
It was in the thicket of the Artois Wood.
Deep in the trees, on blood-soaked ground,
Lay stretched a wounded German warrior,
And his cries rang out in the night.
In vain ... no echo answered his plea ...
Will he bleed to death like a beast,
That shot in the gut dies alone?
Then suddenly ...
Heavy steps approach from the right
He hears how they stamp on the forest floor ...
And new hope springs from his soul.
And now from the left ...
And now from both sides ...
Two men approach his miserable bed
A German it is, and a Frenchman.
And each watches the other with distrustful glance,
And threatening they aim their weapons.
The German warrior asks:
"What do you do here?"
"I was touched by the needy one's call for help."
"It's your enemy!"
"It is a man who suffers."
And both, wordless, lowered their weapons.
Then entwined their hands
And, with muscles tensed, carefully lifted
The wounded warrior, as if on a stretcher,
And carried him through the woods.
'Til they came to the German outposts.
"Now it is over. He will get good care."
And the Frenchman turns back toward the woods.
But the German grasps for his hand,
Looks, moved, into sorrow-dimmed eyes
And says to him with earnest foreboding:
"I know not what fate holds for us,
Which inscrutably rules in the stars.
Perhaps I shall fall, a victim of your bullet.
Maybe mine will fell you on the sand —
For indifferent is the chance of battles.
Yet, however it may be and whatever may come:
We lived these sacred hours,
Where man found himself in man ...
And now, farewell! And God be with you!"
leponleponlepon ΔΟΞΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΙΜΗ ΣΤΑ ΜΕΓΑΛΑ ΠΝΕΥΜΑΤΑ.ΒΑΣΑΝΙΣΜΟΣ ΚΑΙ ΘΑΝΑΤΩΣΗ ΣΤΟΥΣ ΦΤΩΧΟΜΠΙΝΕΔΕΣ ΜΙΚΡΟΑΓΡΟΤΕΣ ΚΑΙ ΜΙΚΡΟΑΣΤΟΥΣ ΕΘΝΙΚΟΦΡΩΝΕΣ.ΕΘΝΙΚΟΦΡΩΝ ΙΣΟΝ ΖΩΟΝ.ΒΑΛΕ ΡΕ 5-6 ΠΑΚΙΑ Ή ΑΛΒΑΝΟΥΣ ΜΙΣΘΩΤΟΥΣ ΣΚΛΑΒΟΥΣ ΝΑ ΔΟΥΛΕΥΟΥΝ ΕΝΑΝΤΙ ΠΕΝΙΧΡΟΥ ΜΙΣΘΟΥ ΣΤΑ ΧΩΡΑΦΙΑ ΚΙ ΕΣΥ ΓΡΑΦΕ ΠΟΙΗΣΗ ΟΠΩΣ ΤΑ ΜΕΓΑΛΑ ΠΝΕΥΜΑΤΑ ΤΩΝ ΑΙΩΝΩΝ.ΟΙ ΕΞΑΝΘΡΩΠΙΣΤΕΣ ΤΗΣ ΟΙΚΟΥΜΕΝΗΣ.