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  1996³â 06¿ùºÎÅÍ 1997³â 03¿ù±îÁö °Ô½ÃÆÇ¿¡¼­ Àд ½Ã(ãÌ) ÀÔ´Ï´Ù. (¿Ü±¹ ½ÃÀÎ)
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          ûÃá        »õ¹Â¾ó ¿Ã¸¸

ûÃáÀ̶õ ÀλýÀÇ ÇÑ ±â°£ÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï´Ù.
¸¶À½°¡ÁüÀÌ´Ù.
Àå¹Ôºû º¼, ºÓÀº ÀÔ¼ú, ºÎµå·¯¿î ¹«¸­ÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó
¾¿¾¿ÇÑ ÀÇÁö, dzºÎÇÑ »ó»ó·Â, ºÒŸ¿À¸£´Â Á¤¿­ÀÌ´Ù.
ûÃáÀº ÀλýÀ̶õ ±íÀº »ùÀÇ ½Å¼±ÇÔÀÌ´Ù.

ûÃáÀ̶õ µÎ·Á¿òÀ» ¹°¸®Ä¡´Â ¿ë±â
¾ÈÀÏÇÑ »îÀ» »Ñ¸®Ä¡´Â ¸ðÇè½É
¶§·Î´Â 20¼¼ û³âº¸´Ù´Â 60¼¼ ³ëÀÎÀÌ ´õ ÀþÀ» ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù.

³ªÀÌ ¸Ô´Â °Í¸¸À¸·Î »ç¶÷Àº ´ÄÁö ¾Ê´Â´Ù.
²Þ°ú Èñ¸ÁÀ» ÀÒ¾î¹ö¸± ¶§ ºñ·Î¼Ò ´Ä´Â´Ù.

¼¼¿ùÀº ÇǺο¡ ÁÖ¸§»ìÀ» ´Ã·Á°¡Áö¸¸
¿­Á¤À» ÀÒÀ¸¸é ¿µÈ¥¿¡ ÁÖ¸§ÀÌ Áø´Ù.

°í³ú, °øÆ÷, ½Ç¸Á¿¡ ÀÇÇؼ­ ±â·ÂÀº ¶¥À» ±â°í
Á¤½ÅÀº ¸ÕÁöó·³ µÇ¾î°£´Ù.

60¼¼µç 16¼¼µç Àΰ£ÀÇ °¡½¿¼Ó¿¡´Â
°æÀ̷οò¿¡ ²ø¸®´Â ¸¶À½
¾î¸°ÀÌó·³ ¹ÌÁö¿¡ ´ëÇÑ Å½±¸½É
Àλý¿¡ ´ëÇÑ Èï¹Ì¿Í ȯÈñ°¡ ÀÖ´Ù.

¿ì¸® ¸ðµÎÀÇ °¡½¿¼Ó¿¡ ¸¶À½ÀÇ ´«¿¡
º¸ÀÌÁö ¾Ê´Â ¿ìü±¹ÀÌ ÀÖ´Ù.
´Ù¸¥ »ç¶÷µé°ú ÇÏ´À´ÔÀ¸·ÎºÎÅÍ
¾Æ¸§´Ù¿ò, Èñ¸Á, ±â»Ý, ¿ë±â¿Í
ÈûÀÇ ¿µ°¨À» ¹Þ´Â ÇÑ ´ç½ÅÀº Àþ´Ù.

¿µ°¨ÀÇ ±³·ù°¡ ²÷±â°í
¿µÈ¥ÀÌ ºñ³­ÀÇ ´«¿¡ µ¤¿©
½½ÇÄ°ú ź½ÄÀÇ ¾óÀ½ ¼Ó¿¡ °¤Èú ¶§

20´ë¶óµµ Àΰ£Àº ´ÄÀ» ¼ö¹Û¿¡ ¾ø°í
°í°³¸¦ µé°í Èñ¸ÁÀÇ ¹°°áÀ» ºÙÀâ´Â ÇÑ,
80¼¼¶óµµ Àΰ£Àº ûÃáÀ¸·Î ³²´Â´Ù.

½ÅÇö¸² ¿«À½ ('¿Ü·Î¿öÇÏÁö¸¶ ½½ÇÄÀÌ ÅÍÁ® ºûÀÌ µÉ°Å¾ß'¿¡¼­ ÀüÀç)


      YOUTH     by Samuel Ullman

Youth is not a time of life;
it is a state of mind;
it is not a matter of rosy cheeks, red lips and supple knees;
it is a matter of the will, a quality of the imagination,
  a vigor of the emotions;
it is the freshness of the deep springs of life.

Youth means a temperamental predominance of courage
  over timidity of the appetite,
for adventure over the love of ease.
This often exists in a man of sixty more than a boy of twenty.

Nobody grows old merely by a number of years.
We grow old by deserting our ideals.

Years may wrinkle the skin,
but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul.

Worry, fear, self-distrust bows the heart
 and turns the spirit back to dust.

Whether sixty or sixteen, there is in every human being's heart
the lure of wonder, the unfailing child-like appetite of what's next,
and the joy of the game of living.

In the center of your heart and my heart
there is a wireless station;
so long as it receives messages
of beauty, hope, cheer, courage and power
from men and from the infinite, so long are you young.

When the aerials are down, and your spirit
is covered with snows of cynicism
and the ice of pessimism, then you are grown old,

even at twenty, but as long as your aerials are up,
to catch the waves of optimism,
there is hope you may die young at eighty.



   ÀÚ¿¬ÀÌ µé·ÁÁÖ´Â ¸»    ô ·ÎÆÛ (À念Èñ ¼­°­´ë ¿µ¹®°ú ±³¼ö ¿ª)

³ª¹«°¡ ÇÏ´Â ¸»À» µé¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.
¿ì¶Ò ¼­¼­ ¼¼»ó¿¡ ¸öÀ» ³»¸Ã°Ü¶ó.
°ü¿ëÇÏ°í ±ÁÈú ÁÙ ¾Ë¾Æ¶ó.
ÇÏ´ÃÀÌ ÇÏ´Â ¸»À» µé¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.
¸¶À½À» ¿­¾î¶ó. °æ°è¿Í ´ãÀåÀ» Çã¹°¾î¶ó.
±×¸®°í, ³¯¾Æ¿Ã¶ó¶ó.

žçÀÌ ÇÏ´Â ¸»À» µé¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.
´Ù¸¥ À̵éÀ» µ¹º¸¾Æ¶ó.
³ÊÀÇ µû¶æÇÔÀ» ´Ù¸¥ »ç¶÷ÀÌ ´À³¢µµ·Ï Ç϶ó.
³Á¹°ÀÌ ÇÏ´Â ¸»À» µé¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.
´À±ßÇÏ°Ô È帧À» µû¸£¶ó.

½¬Áö ¸»°í ¿òÁ÷¿©¶ó. ¸Ó¹µ°Å¸®°Å³ª µÎ·Á¿ö ¸»¶ó.
ÀÛÀº Ç®µéÀÌ ÇÏ´Â ¸»À» µé¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.
°â¼ÕÇ϶ó. ´Ü¼øÇ϶ó.
ÀÛÀº °ÍµéÀÇ ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿òÀ» Á¸ÁßÇ϶ó.


    I Listen   Chuck Roper

I Listen to the trees, and they say:
¡°Stand tall and yield.
Be tolerant and flexible.¡±....
I Listen to the sky, and it says:
¡°Open up. Let go of the boundaries
and barriers. Fly.¡±

I Listen to the sun, and it says:
¡°Nurture others.
Let your warmth radiate for others to feel.¡±....
I Listen to the creek, and it says:
¡°Relax; go with the flow....

Keep moving ¡ª don¡¯t be hesitant or afraid....
I Listen to the small plants, and they say:
¡°Be humble. Be simple.
Respect the beauty of small things.¡±...



  °¡Áö ¾ÊÀº ±æ   ·Î¹öÆ® ÇÁ·Î½ºÆ®  (ÇÇõµæ ¿Å±è)

³ë¶õ ½£ ¼Ó¿¡ ±æÀÌ µÎ °¥·¡·Î ³µ¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.
³ª´Â µÎ ±æÀ» ´Ù °¡Áö ¸øÇÏ´Â °ÍÀ» ¾ÈŸ±õ°Ô »ý°¢Çϸ鼭,
¿À·§µ¿¾È ¼­¼­ ÇÑ ±æÀÌ ±Á¾î ²ª¿© ³»·Á°£ µ¥±îÁö,
¹Ù¶ó´Ùº¼ ¼ö ÀÖ´Â µ¥±îÁö ¸Ö¸® ¹Ù¶ó´Ùº¸¾Ò½À´Ï´Ù.

±×¸®°í, ¶È°°ÀÌ ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿î ´Ù¸¥ ±æÀ» ÅÃÇß½À´Ï´Ù.
±× ±æ¿¡´Â Ç®ÀÌ ´õ ÀÖ°í »ç¶÷ÀÌ °ÉÀº ÀÚÃë°¡ Àû¾î,
¾Æ¸¶ ´õ °É¾î¾ß µÉ ±æÀ̶ó°í ³ª´Â »ý°¢Çß¾ú´ø °ÔÁö¿ä.
±× ±æÀ» °ÉÀ¸¹Ç·Î, ±× ±æµµ °ÅÀÇ °°¾ÆÁú °ÍÀÌÁö¸¸.

±× ³¯ ¾Æħ µÎ ±æ¿¡´Â
³«¿±À» ¹âÀº ÀÚÃë´Â ¾ø¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.
¾Æ, ³ª´Â ´ÙÀ½ ³¯À» À§ÇÏ¿© ÇÑ ±æÀº ³²°Ü µÎ¾ú½À´Ï´Ù.
±æÀº ±æ¿¡ ¿¬ÇÏ¿© ³¡¾øÀ¸¹Ç·Î
³»°¡ ´Ù½Ã µ¹¾Æ¿Ã °ÍÀ» ÀǽÉÇϸ鼭¡¦¡¦.

Èʳ¯¿¡ Èʳ¯¿¡ ³ª´Â ¾îµð¼±°¡
ÇѼûÀ» ½¬¸é À̾߱âÇÒ °ÍÀÔ´Ï´Ù.
½£ ¼Ó¿¡ µÎ °¥·¡ ±æÀÌ ÀÖ¾ú´Ù°í,
³ª´Â »ç¶÷ÀÌ Àû°Ô °£ ±æÀ» ÅÃÇÏ¿´´Ù°í,
±×¸®°í ±×°Í ¶§¹®¿¡ ¸ðµç °ÍÀÌ ´Þ¶óÁ³´Ù°í.


     The Road Not Taken 
                     by  Rober  Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To Where it bent in the undergrouth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning eqully lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence;
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I ¡¦¡¦
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.



 ¿À´Ã   Å丶½º Ä®¶óÀÏ (Thomas Carlyle, 1795-1881)

¾îÁ¦´Â ÀÌ¹Ì °ú°Å ¼Ó¿¡ ¹¯Çô ÀÖ°í
¹Ì·¡´Â ¾ÆÁ÷ ¿ÀÁö ¾ÊÀº ³¯À̶ó³×

¿ì¸®°¡ »ì°í ÀÖ´Â ³¯Àº ¹Ù·Î ¿À´Ã
¿ì¸®°¡ »ç¿ëÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖ´Â ³¯Àº ¿À´Ã
¿ì¸®°¡ ¼ÒÀ¯ÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖ´Â ³¯Àº ¿À´Ã»Ó

¿À´ÃÀ» »ç¶ûÇ϶ó
¿À´Ã¿¡ Á¤¼ºÀ» ½ñ¾Æ¶ó
¿À´Ã ¸¸³ª´Â »ç¶÷À» µû¶æÇÏ°Ô ´ëÇ϶ó

¿À´ÃÀº ¿µ¿ø ¼ÓÀÇ ¿À´Ã
¿À´Ãó·³ Áß¿äÇÑ ³¯µµ ¾ø´Ù
¿À´Ãó·³ ¼ÒÁßÇÑ ½Ã°£µµ ¾ø´Ù

¿À´ÃÀ» »ç¶ûÇ϶ó
¾îÁ¦ÀÇ ¹Ì·ÃÀ» ¹ö·Á¶ó
¿ÀÁöµµ ¾ÊÀº ³»ÀÏÀ» °ÆÁ¤ÇÏÁö ¸»¶ó
¿ì¸®ÀÇ »îÀº ¿À´ÃÀÇ ¿¬¼ÓÀÌ´Ù

¿À´ÃÀÌ 30¹ø ¸ð¿© ÇÑ ´ÞÀÌ µÇ°í
¿À´ÃÀÌ 365¹ø ¸ð¿© ÀÏ ³âÀÌ µÇ°í
¿À´ÃÀÌ 3¸¸ ¹ø ¸ð¿© ÀÏ»ýÀÌ µÈ´Ù



ÀλýÂù°¡   H.W.·ÕÆç·Î¿ì   °Ô½ÃÀÏ - 1997.01.06.

½½Ç »ç¿¬À¸·Î ³»°Ô ¸»ÇÏÁö ¸¶¶ó,
ÀλýÀº Çѳ¹ ÇãȲµÈ ²Þ¿¡ Áö³ªÁö ¾Ê´Â´Ù°í! -
ÀáÀÚ´Â ¿µÈ¥Àº Á×À½ÀÌ°í,
¸¸¹°ÀÇ º»Ã¼´Â ¿Ü¾ç´ë·Î¸¸Àº ¾Æ´Ï¶õ´Ù.

ÀλýÀº Çö½Ç! ÀλýÀº ÁøÁöÇÑ °Í!
¹«´ýÀÌ ±× ¸ñÇ¥´Â ¾Æ´Ï´Ù;
³Ê´Â º»·¡ ÈëÀ̶ó, ÈëÀ¸·Î µ¹¾Æ°¡¸®¶ó,
ÀÌ°ÍÀº ¿µÈ¥À» µÎ°í ÇѸ»Àº ¾Æ´Ï¾ú´Ù.

¿ì¸®°¡ °¡¾ß ÇÒ °÷, ȤÀº °¡´Â ±æÀº,
Çâ¶ôÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï°í ½½Çĵµ ¾Æ´Ï¸ç;
³»ÀÏÀÇ ÇÏ·çÇÏ·ç°¡ ¿À´Ãº¸´Ù ³´µµ·Ï
ÇൿÇÏ´Â ±×°ÍÀÌ ÀλýÀ̴϶ó.

¿¹¼úÀº ±æ°í ¼¼¿ùÀº ³¯¾Æ°¡¸ç,
¿ì¸®ÀÇ ½ÉÀåÀº Æ°Æ°ÇÏ°í ¿ë°¨Çϸ鼭µµ,
¸¶Ä¡ °¨½ÎÁø ºÏ°ú °°ÀÌ, ¹«´ýÀ» ÇâÇØ
Àå¼Û°îÀ» °è¼Ó ¿ï¸°´Ù.

À̼¼»ó ³ÐÀº ½Î¿òÅÍ¿¡¼­,
ÀλýÀÇ Ãµ¸· ¾È¿¡¼­,
¸» ¸øÇÏ°í Âѱâ´Â Áü½ÂÀÌ µÇÁö ¸»°í!
½Î¿òÅÍ¿¡ ³ª¼± ¿µ¿õÀÌ µÇ¾î¶ó!

¾Æ¹«¸® Áñ°Å¿ïÁö¶óµµ <¹Ì·¡>¸¦ ¹ÏÁö ¸»¶ó!
Á×Àº <°ú°Å>·Î ÇÏ¿©±Ý ±× Á×À½À» ¹¯°ÔÇ϶ó!
È°µ¿Ç϶ó,- »ì°í ÀÖ´Â <ÇöÀç>¿¡ È°µ¿Ç϶ó!
°¡½¿¼Ó¿¡´Â ½ÉÀåÀÌ ÀÖ°í,¸Ó¸®À§¿¡´Â ½ÅÀÌ ÀÖ´Ù!

À§ÀεéÀÇ ¸ðµç »ý¾Ö´Â ¸»ÇØ ÁÖ³ë´Ï
¿ì¸®µµ Àå¾öÇÑ »îÀ» ÀÌ·ê¼ö ÀÖ°í,
ÀÌ ¼¼»ó ¶°³¯ ¶§´Â ½Ã°£ÀÇ ¸ð·¡À§¿¡
¿ì¸® ¹ßÀÚ±¹À» ³²±æ ¼ö ÀÖÀ½À»;

¾Æ¸¶µµ ÈÄÀÏ¿¡ ´Ù¸¥ »ç¶÷ÀÌ,
Àå¾öÇÑ »îÀÇ ¹Ù´Ù¸¦ Ç×ÇØÇÏ´Ù°¡,
¿Ü·Ó°Ô ³­ÆÄÇÑ ±× ¾î¶² ÇüÁ¦°¡ º¸°í,
´Ù½Ã±Ý ¿ë±â¸¦ ¾ò°Ô µÉ ¹ßÀÚ±¹À».

±×·¯´Ï ¿ì¸® ÀÌÁ¦ ÀϾ¼­ ÀÏÇÏÀÚ,
¾î¶»ÇÑ ¿î¸íµµ À̰ܳ¾ Á¤½ÅÀ» °¡Áö°í;
²÷ÀÓ¾øÀÌ ¼ºÃëÇÏ°í Ãß±¸Çϸ鼭,
ÀÏÇÏ°í ±â´Ù¸®±â¸¦ ÇÔ²² ¹è¿ìÀÚ.


A Psalm Of Life   Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream! -
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each,tomorrow
Find us further than to-day.

Art is long, and time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead past bury its dead!
Act, - act in the living present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.



My Heart Leaps Up When I Behold  (ÇÏ´ÃÀÇ ¹«Áö°³¸¦ ¹Ù¶óº¸¸é)
          By  William Wordsworth  (Àª¸®¾Ï ¿ö¾îÁî¿öµå)

My heart leaps up
when I behold a Rainbow in the sky:
ÇÏ´ÃÀÇ ¹«Áö°³¸¦ ¹Ù¶óº¸¸é ³» ¸¶À½ ¶Ù³ë³ª´Ï :

So was it when my life began,
So is it now I am a man,
³ª ¾î·Á¼­ ±×·¯ÇÏ¿´°í, ¾î¸¥ µÈ Áö±Ýµµ ±×·¯ÇÏ°Å´Ã,

So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
³ª ´Ä¾î¼­µµ ±×·¯ÇÒÁö¾î´Ù, ¾Æ´Ï¸é ³ªÀÇ ¸ñ¼û °ÅµÖ °¡¼Ò¼­!

The child is father of the man.   ¾î¸°ÀÌ´Â ¾î¸¥ÀÇ ¾Æ¹öÁö.
And I could wish my days to be    ¿øÇϳë´Ï ³» »ý¾ÖÀÇ ÇÏ·çÇÏ·ç°¡
Bound each to each by natural piety.  °æ°ÇÇÑ ¸¶À½À¸·Î À̾îÁö±â¸¦.



 ÀÌÁ¦´Â ´õ ÀÌ»ó Çì¸ÞÁö ¸»ÀÚ
        (G. ¹ÙÀÌ·±) °Ô½ÃÀÏ - 1996.11.05.

ÀÌÁ¦´Â ´õ ÀÌ»ó Çì¸ÞÁö ¸»ÀÚ
ÀÌÅä·Ï ´ÊÀº ÇѹãÁß¿¡

Áö±Ýµµ »ç¶ûÀº °¡½¿ ¼Ó¿¡ ±êµé°í
Áö±Ýµµ ´ÞºûÀº ÈÍÇÏÁö¸¸

Ä®À» ¾²¸é Ä®ÁýÀÌ Çì¾îÁö°í
Á¤½ÅÀ» ¾²¸é °¡½¿ÀÌ Çæ°í

½ÉÀåµµ ¼û½¬·Á¸é ½¬¾î¾ß ÇÏ°í
»ç¶ûµµ ¶§·Î´Â ½¬¾î¾ß ÇÏ´Ï

¹ãÀº »ç¶ûÀ» À§ÇØ ÀÖ°í
³·Àº ³Ê¹« »¡¸® µ¹¾Æ ¿ÀÁö¸¸

ÀÌÁ¦´Â ´õ ÀÌ»ó Çì¸ÞÁö ¸»ÀÚ.
¾Æ·ÃÈ÷ È帣´Â ´Þºû »çÀ̸¦


We'll Go No More A-Roving 
             George Gordon, Lord Byron

So, We'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,

Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,

And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.


Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,

Yet we'll go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon.



     Ȧ·Î¼­±â   ¼­Á¤À±   °Ô½ÃÀÏ - 1996.10.05.

µÑÀÌ ¸¸³ª ¼­´Â °Ô ¾Æ´Ï¶ó
Ȧ·Î ¼± µÑÀÌ°¡ ¸¸³ª´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù

±â´Ù¸²Àº ¸¸³²À» ¸ñÀûÀ¸·Î ÇÏÁö ¾Ê¾Æµµ ÁÁ´Ù.
°¡½¿ÀÌ ¾ÆÇÁ¸é ¾ÆÇ ä·Î,
¹Ù¶÷ÀÌ ºÒ¸é °í°³¸¦ ³ôÀÌ Ãĵé¸é¼­,
³¯¸®´Â ¾ÆµæÇÑ ¹Ì¼Ò.

¾îµð¿£°¡ ÀÖÀ» ³ªÀÇ ÇÑ ÂÊÀ» À§ÇØ
ÇظÞÀÌ´ø ½¢ÇÑ ¹æȲÀÇ ³¯µé.
ž¸é¼­ ÀÌ¹Ì ´©±º°¡°¡ Á¤ÇØÁ³¾ú´Ù¸é,
ÀÌÁ¦´Â ±×¸¦ ¸¸³ª°í ½Í´Ù.

Ȧ·Î ¼±´Ù´Â °Ç °¡½¿À» Ä¡¸ç ¿ì´Â °Íº¸´Ù
´õ ¾î·ÆÁö¸¸ ÀÚ½ÅÀ» ¿Ä¾Æ¸Ç µ¿¾ÆÁÙ,
±× ¾ÆµæÇÑ ³¡¿¡¼­ ´ë·ÕÀ̸ç
±×·¡µµ ¸Ö¸®, ¸Ö¸® ÇÏ´ÃÀ» ¿ì·¯¸£´Â
ÀÌ ÀÛÀº °¡½¿.
´©±º°¡¸¦ ¿­½ÉÈ÷ °¥±¸Çصµ
¾Æ¹«µµ ³ªÀÇ °¡½¿À» ä¿öÁÙ ¼ö ¾ø°í
°á±¹Àº Ȧ·Î »ì¾Æ°£´Ù´Â °É
ÇÑ°Ü¿ïÀÇ ´«¹ßó·³ ¸¸³µÀ» ¶§
³ª´Â ¶Ç´Ù½Ã ¾²·¯Á® ÀÖ¾ú´Ù.

Áö¿ì°í ½Í´Ù
ÀÌ Ç¥Á¤ ¾ø´Â ¾ó±¼À» ¹ö¸®°í ½Í´Ù
¾Æ¹«µµ ³ªÀÇ ¾ÆÇÄÀ» µ¹¾Æº¸Áö ¾Ê°í
¿ÀÈ÷·Á ¼ö·· ¼ÓÀ¸·Î
±íÀº ¼ö·· ¼ÓÀ¸·Î ¹Ð¾î ³Ö°í Àִµ¥
³» ¼Õ¿£ ¾Æ¹«°Íµµ ¾øÀ¸´Ï
¹Ì¼Ò¸¦ ÁöÀ¸¸ç ü³äÇÒ ¼ö¹Û¿¡......
À§ÅÂÀ§ÅÂÇÏ°Ô ºÎ¿©Àâ°í ÀÖ´ø °ÍµéÀÌ
»ê»êÀÌ ºÎ¼­Á®  ¹ö¸° ¾î´À³¯, ³ª´Â
ÇãÀüÇÑ µÞ¸ð½ÀÀ» º¸ÀÌ¸ç µ¹¾Æ¼­°í ÀÖ¾ú´Ù.

´©±º°¡°¡ ³ª¸¦ ÇâÇØ ´Ù°¡¿À¸é
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±×·¯´Ù°¡ ±×°¡ ³ª¿¡°Ô¼­ ¸Ö¾îÁ® °¥ ¶©
¹ßÀ» µ¿µ¿ ±¸¸£¸ç ¼ÕÁþÀ» ÇÑ´Ù.

¸¸³¯ ¶§ ÀÌ¹Ì Çì¾îÁú Áغñ¸¦ ÇÏ´Â ¿ì¸®´Â,
¾ÆÁÖ ³Ã´ãÇÏ°Ô µ¹¾Æ¼³ ¼ö ÀÖÁö¸¸
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<Ȧ·Î ¼­±â>¸¦ ÀÍÇô¾ß ÇÑ´Ù.

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ÀÌ ÃßÇÑ ¸ð½ÀÀ» º¸À̸鼭µµ »ì¾Æ ÀÖ´Ù.
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Ȧ·ÎÀÓÀ» ´À²¸¾ß ÇÑ´Ù.

±×¸®°í ¾îµò°¡¿¡¼­ Ȧ·Î ¼­°í ÀÖÀ»,
±× ´©±º°¡¸¦ À§ÇØ ÃкÒÀ» µéÀÚ.
ÇãÀüÇÑ °¡½¿À» ¸Þ¿ï ¼ö´Â ¾øÁö¸¸
<ÀÌ°ÍÀÌ´Ù> ÇÏ¸ç »ì¾Æ°¡°í ½Í´Ù.
´©±¸º¸´Ùµµ ¿­½ÉÈ÷ »ç¶ûÀ» ÇÏÀÚ.



 »îÀÌ ±×´ë¸¦ ¼ÓÀÏÁö¶óµµ
       (A SǪ½ÃŲ)   °Ô½ÃÀÏ - 1996.09.05.

»îÀÌ ±×´ë¸¦ ¼ÓÀÏÁö¶óµµ,
½½ÆÛÇϰųª ³ë¿©¿öÇÏÁö ¸¶¶ó.
½½ÇÄÀÇ ³¯À» Âü°í °ßµð¸é,
±â»ÝÀÇ ³¯Àº ¹Ýµå½Ã ã¾Æ ¿À¸®¶ó.
 ¸¶À½Àº ¹Ì·¡¿¡ »ç´Â °Í.
Áö³ªÄ¡´Â ½½ÇÄ¿£ ³¡ÀÌ ÀÖ°Ô ¸¶·Ã.
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³»ÀÏÀº ±â»ÝÀÌ µ¹¾Æ ¿À´À´Ï.


 What Though Life Conspire To Cheat You 
        By Aleksandr Sergeyerich Pushkin

What though life conspire to cheat you,
Do not sorrow or complain.
Lie still on the day of pain,
And the day of joy will greet you.
Hearts live in the coming day.
There's an end to passing sorrow.           '
Suddenly all flies away,
And delight returns tomorrow.



     ¾Ö³Êº§¡¤¸®     E.A.Æ÷¿ì    °Ô½ÃÀÏ - 1996. 08.05.

¾ÆÁÖ ¿©·¯ ÇØ Àü
¹Ù´å°¡ ¾î´À ¿Õ±¹¿¡
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¼Ò³à´Â ¾Æ¹« »ý°¢µµ ¾øÀÌ »ì¾Ò³×

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±×³à¿Í ³ª¸¦
ºÎ·¯¿öÇÒ ±×·± »ç¶ûÀ»

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±×·¸Áö ! ±×°ÍÀÌ ÀÌÀ¯¿´Áö (¹Ù´å°¡ ±× ¿Õ±¹
¸ðµç »ç¶÷ÀÌ ¾Ë µí)
±¸¸§À¸·ÎºÎÅÍ ¹Ù¶÷ÀÌ ºÒ¾î¿Í ±×³à¸¦ ½Î´ÃÇÏ°Ô ÇÏ°í
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ÇÏÁö¸¸ ¿ì¸®µéÀÇ »ç¶ûÀº ÈξÀ °­ÇÑ °Í
¿ì¸®º¸´Ù ³ªÀ̸ÔÀº »ç¶÷µéÀÇ »ç¶ûº¸´Ùµµ -
¿ì¸®º¸´Ù Çö¸íÇÑ »ç¶÷µéÀÇ »ç¶ûº¸´Ùµµ -
±×·¡¼­ õ»óÀÇ Ãµ»çµéµµ
¹Ù´Ù ¹Ø ¾Ç¸¶µéµµ
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´Þµµ ³»°¡ ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿î ¾Ö³Êº§ . ¸®ÀÇ
²ÞÀ» ²ÙÁö ¾ÊÀ¸¸é ºñÄ¡Áö ¾Ê³×
º°µµ ³»°¡ ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿î ¾Ö³Êº§ . ¸®ÀÇ
ºû³ª´Â ´«À» º¸Áö ¾ÊÀ¸¸é ¶°¿À¸£Áö ¾Ê³×
±×·¡¼­ ³ª´Â ¹ãÀÌ Áö»õµµ·Ï
³ªÀÇ »ç¶û, ³ªÀÇ »ý¸í, ³ªÀÇ ½ÅºÎ °ç¿¡ ´©¿ö¸¸ ÀÖ³×
¹Ù´å°¡ ±×°÷ ±×³àÀÇ ¹«´ý¿¡¼­ -
Æĵµ¼Ò¸® µé¸®´Â ¹Ù´å°¡ ±×³àÀÇ ¹«´ý¿¡¼­



    ANNABEL LEE    By Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
  In a kingdom by the sea,
   That a maiden there lived whom you may know
  By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
  Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
  In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
  I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
  Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
  In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
  My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
  And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
  In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
  Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
  In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
  Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
  Of those who were older than we-
  Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
  Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
  Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
  Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
  Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
    In the sepulchre there by the sea,
  In her tomb by the sounding sea.



 ´©°¡ ¹Ù¶÷À» º¸¾ÒÀ»±î¿ä?
       C.·ÎÁ¦Æ¼   °Ô½ÃÀÏ - 1996. 07.06.

´©°¡ ¹Ù¶÷À» º¸¾ÒÀ»±î¿ä?
³ªµµ ´ç½Åµµ ¾Æ´Õ´Ï´Ù.
±×·¯³ª ³ª¹µÀÙÀÌ ¸Å´Þ·Á Èå´À³¥ ¶§,
¹Ù¶÷Àº Áö³ª°¡°í ÀÖ´Â °Ì´Ï´Ù.

´©°¡ ¹Ù¶÷À» º¸¾ÒÀ»±î¿ä?
´ç½Åµµ ³ªµµ ¾Æ´Õ´Ï´Ù.
±×·¯³ª ³ª¹«µéÀÌ ¸Ó¸®¼÷¿© ÀýÇÒ ¶§,
¹Ù¶÷Àº Áö³ª°¡°í ÀÖ´Â °Ì´Ï´Ù.


  Who has seen the wind?
         By Christina Rossetti 

Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you.
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I.
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.
  
 
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