الموضوع
:
هل تولد الحياة من رحم الموت؟؟؟ دراسة بحثية
عرض مشاركة واحدة
06-23-2011, 12:12 AM
المشاركة
900
ايوب صابر
مراقب عام سابقا
اوسمتي
مجموع الاوسمة
: 4
تاريخ الإنضمام :
Sep 2009
رقم العضوية :
7857
المشاركات:
12,768
فرانسس ثومبسون
يتمه: ماتت امه وهو صغير.
مجاله: شاعر انجليزي.
Francis Thompson (16 December 1859 – 13 November 1907) was an
English
poet and
ascetic
. After attending college, he moved to
London
to become a writer, but in menial work, became addicted to
opium
, and was a street vagrant for years. A married couple read his poetry and rescued him, publishing his first book,
Poems
in 1893. Francis Thompson lived as an unbalanced invalid in
Wales
and at
Storrington
, but wrote three books of poetry, with other works and essays, before dying of
tuberculosis
in 1907.
Poet, b. at Preston, Lancashire, 18 Dec., 1859; d. in
London
, 13 Nov., 1907. He came from the middle classes, the classes great in
imaginative
poetry. His father was a provincial doctor; two paternal uncles dabbled in literature;
he himself referred his heredity chiefly to his mother, who died in his boyhood.
His
parents
being
Catholics
, he was
educated
at
Ushaw
, the college that had in former years
Lingard
,
Waterton
, and
Wiseman
as pupils. There he was noticeable for
love
of literature and neglect of games, though as spectator he always cared for cricket, and in later years remembered the players of his day with something like personal
love
. After seven years he went to Owens College to study medicine. He
hated
this proposed profession more than he would confess to his
father
; he evaded rather than rebelled, and finally disappeared. No blame, or attribution of hardships or neglect should attach to his
father's
memory; every careful father knows his own anxieties. Francis Thompson went to
London
, and there endured three years of destitution that left him in a state of incipient disease. He was employed as bookselling agent, and at a shoemaker's, but very briefly, and became a wanderer in
London
streets, earning a few pence by selling matches and calling cabs, often famished, often cold, receiving occasional
alms
; on one great day finding a sovereign on the footway, he was requested to come no more to a public
library
because he was too ragged. He was nevertheless able to compose a little — "Dream-Tryst", written in memory of a child, and "Paganism Old and New", with a few other pieces of verse and prose.
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