Bechara El Khoury
Bechara El Khoury was born in Beyrut
called (The prince of love and passion)
he established newspaper called Al (Parik(البرق))
he died in 1968 also in Beyrut. more »
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Bechara El Khoury Poems
The prettiness which it is going to thin...
He cries and laughs irregularly once he is happy once he is sad. As an adorer lover practices love for the first time then cuts out. Out of the glimmering of the stars there is whispering on his poems. From the glance of runaway deer, he creates his rhythms sometimes.
Oh! Who you have joint eyebrows.
Oh! What wonder! The joint eyebrows look shiny upon thy brow. If you have intended to slay me once, you had killed me twice. Lo! What do you suspect on me since I do not intend something is terrible? Is it the paleness spot on my brow or my hands show tremble?
O, jihad the glory has been Clapping to ...
Ask the sublimity and time, however, they can discuss. Do we guard not our promise one day since they know us? The chivalries that we are inherited still flourish. Burst forth on our blood yet they do not finish.
I die after you…
Shun away from me, my feelings die early. Live your enjoyable life as long as you can abandon me. What do you lose if you stay as a dear lover? Didst your eyes see not your interesting figure?
Youth and Beauty
Youth and Beauty, met in one, Are thy kingdom, thine alone; And was ever crown more fair Than the crown which thou dost wear?
Comments about Bechara El Khoury
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
The prettiness which it is going to thin its mode.
He cries and laughs irregularly once he is happy once he is sad.
As an adorer lover practices love for the first time then cuts out.
Out of the glimmering of the stars there is whispering on his poems.
From the glance of runaway deer, he creates his rhythms sometimes.
His heart has practiced all types of pleasure when he was youthful.
As if the bud touches the wind and soon it is flowerful
What about the brownish daisy, does she divert her passion against us?
Her beauty softens our sights as twice as it does.
If you knew how many griefs, have I suffered?