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Hi, hôm nay lục ra tìm được 5 bức thư tình của các anh chị trường THPT Chuyên Lê Hồng Phong TPHCM đang du học, sẵn chia sẻ cho mọi người có thể mở mang vốn từ mới cũng như biết lãng mạn tiếng Anh là sao 
Lưu ý: Văn phạm cổ nên rất khó đọc
Lưu ý: Văn phạm cổ nên rất khó đọc
From Harvard to Stanford
Last night, I woke fraught with thoughts of you.
Darling, has it already been a year since we last met under the reminiscent golden halo of our schoolyard, after the intimate exchange of letters we wrote for the world to see? The bittersweet reunion in which we whispered words of love to each other, whilst knowing all too well that this passion between us is not meant to last. The unbearable truth could not be evaded forever: the divergent fate of our paths has been determined since you became Stanford, and I Harvard. However much I wish us to be together, responsibilities are still the burden we must bear. Many a times I wonder why any being on Heaven could have been so cruel to tear us ardent lovers apart.
Being apart from you has left me inconsolable. There has not been a night since our last encounter when I felt at peace; your angelic visage eternally burns my eyelids in the most delicious way, your soft voice that haunts my obsessive mind with ghosts of sibilant sweet nothings. Unrelentingly, throughout this one year, I have lived over in my memory your caresses, your tears, your affectionate solicitude. You kindle continually a burning and a glowing flame in my heart, even when your physical presence has not graced my searching sight for such a long time. I had thought that I could never love you more than I did a year ago, but since my separation from you, this love seemed to have expanded a thousandfold more.
But alas, it has taken me one whole year to realize that I cannot ever live without you. You, with your handsome beauty and bright future ahead of you, must have been met with many fervent pursuers already. My soul writhes with agony, every time I imagine you in the arms of another man; but I also cannot deny this desire for you that swells within my heart. My incomparable, sweet little lover, I would vow to endure this excruciating passion for as long as you wish me. In a few more years, upon graduation, I shall seek you, and if only you would give your consent, I shall place upon your rosy lips a sweet kiss, and our fates will forever be bound.
Last night, I woke fraught with thoughts of you.
Darling, has it already been a year since we last met under the reminiscent golden halo of our schoolyard, after the intimate exchange of letters we wrote for the world to see? The bittersweet reunion in which we whispered words of love to each other, whilst knowing all too well that this passion between us is not meant to last. The unbearable truth could not be evaded forever: the divergent fate of our paths has been determined since you became Stanford, and I Harvard. However much I wish us to be together, responsibilities are still the burden we must bear. Many a times I wonder why any being on Heaven could have been so cruel to tear us ardent lovers apart.
Being apart from you has left me inconsolable. There has not been a night since our last encounter when I felt at peace; your angelic visage eternally burns my eyelids in the most delicious way, your soft voice that haunts my obsessive mind with ghosts of sibilant sweet nothings. Unrelentingly, throughout this one year, I have lived over in my memory your caresses, your tears, your affectionate solicitude. You kindle continually a burning and a glowing flame in my heart, even when your physical presence has not graced my searching sight for such a long time. I had thought that I could never love you more than I did a year ago, but since my separation from you, this love seemed to have expanded a thousandfold more.
But alas, it has taken me one whole year to realize that I cannot ever live without you. You, with your handsome beauty and bright future ahead of you, must have been met with many fervent pursuers already. My soul writhes with agony, every time I imagine you in the arms of another man; but I also cannot deny this desire for you that swells within my heart. My incomparable, sweet little lover, I would vow to endure this excruciating passion for as long as you wish me. In a few more years, upon graduation, I shall seek you, and if only you would give your consent, I shall place upon your rosy lips a sweet kiss, and our fates will forever be bound.
"Dear my Harvard boy
I'm so felicitous that you craft a rejoinder to my excruciating letter.It's an ill-favoured thing sir, but mine own; yet, you retort it with an prosaic parlance, how asinine of you !
Still, as merry as the day is long, I have not slept one wink since I obtained your dope. I mused for awhile, wrigglingly grappling any anamneses in the tarn of agony. Did the quotidian life wallop your rendition of ardour to this abecedarian, obsequious and proletarian stratum ?
Reliving our antediluvian tête-à-têtes, I queried myself ""Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"". This was very midsummer madness...
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
Answer me ?"
I'm so felicitous that you craft a rejoinder to my excruciating letter.It's an ill-favoured thing sir, but mine own; yet, you retort it with an prosaic parlance, how asinine of you !
Still, as merry as the day is long, I have not slept one wink since I obtained your dope. I mused for awhile, wrigglingly grappling any anamneses in the tarn of agony. Did the quotidian life wallop your rendition of ardour to this abecedarian, obsequious and proletarian stratum ?
Reliving our antediluvian tête-à-têtes, I queried myself ""Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"". This was very midsummer madness...
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
Answer me ?"
How long has it been since we broke up our reminiscent schoolyard ? In my perception, on that day, all I see was stupendous avalanche of vituperative aspersions of yours. Why did you have to throw a blustery tantrum towards gratuitous peculiarities of mine ? Why on our commencement day ? Just that you have a more prominent endowment , it does not mean you have the right to condemn people. Our discrepancies are not my faults in our relationship.
However, you see, I still long for you, despite all the ignominy you levy on me; too bad I did not get to Harvard, but we are still on the same level of "aristocrat" like you assert,right ?
I will forgive you, if one day, you meet me again beneath the scintillating honey-light of maple leaves, we may begin again.
However, you see, I still long for you, despite all the ignominy you levy on me; too bad I did not get to Harvard, but we are still on the same level of "aristocrat" like you assert,right ?
I will forgive you, if one day, you meet me again beneath the scintillating honey-light of maple leaves, we may begin again.
From Yale to Princeton
Tantamounting your rhapsodic tune is nevertheless a scrupulous act. A well-thumbed thesaurus, gathering dust, inside my head. I cannot speak the words, that have already been said. You tore apart my paper heart with words that I was coveting – the words you say, so fancy-free. Your euphuistic language enraptured my days with its vehement power : confabulating incessantly on Shakespeare's prose was by no means outré of you; debunking Voltaire’s works was your ephemeral mania until you grew out of it and resorted back to “Titus Andronicus". I read what you flipped through ages ago, hearkened attentively whenever you felt the need to converse on mundane nodi. For you, I vanquished myriad of literary monuments. For you, I reigned supreme to others, only to impress. For you, my dearest Cleopatra, I tried to scotch a meager silhouette of my esse in your world of effervescent colors – if it's an entire spectrum that you marvel at, then my vision is solely finite to the rosy tint of your ever-flustered cheeks. Idolatry was never my ne plus ultra, but it preponderated my juvenescence like a bittersweet affliction.
“Rudderless, we drifted athwart a tempest, and when once the storm of youth is past,
Without lyre, without lute or chorus, Death the silent pilot comes at last.
And within the grave, there is no pleasure, for the blindworm battens on the root,
And Desire shudders into ashes, and the tree of Passion bears no fruit.
Yet I am not sorry that I loved you – ah! what else had I to do –
For the hungry teeth of time devour, and the silent-footed years pursue.
And at springtide, when the apple-blossoms brush the burnished bosom of the dove,
Two young lovers lying in an orchard would have read the story of our love
Would have read the legend of my passion, known the bitter of my heart,
Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two have fated now to part"
Tantamounting your rhapsodic tune is nevertheless a scrupulous act. A well-thumbed thesaurus, gathering dust, inside my head. I cannot speak the words, that have already been said. You tore apart my paper heart with words that I was coveting – the words you say, so fancy-free. Your euphuistic language enraptured my days with its vehement power : confabulating incessantly on Shakespeare's prose was by no means outré of you; debunking Voltaire’s works was your ephemeral mania until you grew out of it and resorted back to “Titus Andronicus". I read what you flipped through ages ago, hearkened attentively whenever you felt the need to converse on mundane nodi. For you, I vanquished myriad of literary monuments. For you, I reigned supreme to others, only to impress. For you, my dearest Cleopatra, I tried to scotch a meager silhouette of my esse in your world of effervescent colors – if it's an entire spectrum that you marvel at, then my vision is solely finite to the rosy tint of your ever-flustered cheeks. Idolatry was never my ne plus ultra, but it preponderated my juvenescence like a bittersweet affliction.
“Rudderless, we drifted athwart a tempest, and when once the storm of youth is past,
Without lyre, without lute or chorus, Death the silent pilot comes at last.
And within the grave, there is no pleasure, for the blindworm battens on the root,
And Desire shudders into ashes, and the tree of Passion bears no fruit.
Yet I am not sorry that I loved you – ah! what else had I to do –
For the hungry teeth of time devour, and the silent-footed years pursue.
And at springtide, when the apple-blossoms brush the burnished bosom of the dove,
Two young lovers lying in an orchard would have read the story of our love
Would have read the legend of my passion, known the bitter of my heart,
Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two have fated now to part"
Waning, the moon is
Mirage, you, and me
Agony, curse decreed
Infinitely asphyxiate me.
How long? A decennium. The blistering ray of the sun and the cacophonous aubade of that graduating day still besieges my noumenon. The taction of your asomatous élan vital through your pulchritudinous fingers still aggrandizes my paroxysm, and simultaneously engulf my vivacity. One love, the forbidden apple of Eve and Cleopatra. My Eve, I still relive the supposititiously illusory havens in our synchronized psyches. Your fuchsia, roseating labrum osculates with mine. O’ Lord. The vibes. The passion.
But you, and your impuissant will, that cannot thwart the societal, ostensibly flagtitious ideological darts. You devastated me, with a voiceless tenor. You sunder our maudlin, exotic, erotic ligature. You extirpate our rapture, my raison d'être.
But I bear no malice towards you, my inamorata. I will be lingering here, at Le Hong Phong of ours, to relish your temporal replica, even if it is the last time.
I still wait for you, my Eve. I crave for our sacrilegious, anathemic love. One Last Time
Your Cleopatra
“My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.”
Mirage, you, and me
Agony, curse decreed
Infinitely asphyxiate me.
How long? A decennium. The blistering ray of the sun and the cacophonous aubade of that graduating day still besieges my noumenon. The taction of your asomatous élan vital through your pulchritudinous fingers still aggrandizes my paroxysm, and simultaneously engulf my vivacity. One love, the forbidden apple of Eve and Cleopatra. My Eve, I still relive the supposititiously illusory havens in our synchronized psyches. Your fuchsia, roseating labrum osculates with mine. O’ Lord. The vibes. The passion.
But you, and your impuissant will, that cannot thwart the societal, ostensibly flagtitious ideological darts. You devastated me, with a voiceless tenor. You sunder our maudlin, exotic, erotic ligature. You extirpate our rapture, my raison d'être.
But I bear no malice towards you, my inamorata. I will be lingering here, at Le Hong Phong of ours, to relish your temporal replica, even if it is the last time.
I still wait for you, my Eve. I crave for our sacrilegious, anathemic love. One Last Time
Your Cleopatra
“My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.”
