Low on her little stool she sits
To make a nursing lap,
And cares for nothing but the form
Her little arms enwrap.
With hairless skull that gapes apart,
A broken plaster ball,
One chipped glass eye that squints askew,
And ne’er a nose at all-
No raddle left on grimy cheek,
No mouth that one can see-
It scarce discloses, at a glance,
What it was meant to be.
But something in the simple scheme
As it extends below
(It is the “tidy” from my chair
That she is rumpling so)-
A certain folding of the stuff
That winds the thing about
(But still permits the sawdust gore
To trickle down and out)-
The way it curves around her waist,
On little knees outspread-
Implies a body frail and dear,
Whence one infers a head.
She rocks the scarecrow to and fro,
With croonings soft and deep,
A lullaby designed to hush
The bunch of rags to sleep.
I ask what rubbish has she there.
“My dolly,” she replies,
But tone and smile and gesture say,
“My angel from the skies.”
Ineffable the look of love
Cast on the hideous blur
That somehow means a precious face,
Most beautiful, to her.
The deftness and the tenderness
Of her caressing hands . . . . . .
How can she possibly divine
For what the creature stands?
Herself a nurseling, that has seen
The summers and the snows
Of scarce five years of baby life.
And yet she knows-she knows.
Just as a puppy of the pack
Knows unheard huntsman’s call,
And knows it is a running hound
Before it learns to crawl.
Just as she knew, when hardly born,
The breast unseen before,
And knew-how well!-before they touched,
What milk and mouth were for.
So, by some mystic extra-sense
Denied to eyes and ears,
Her spirit communes with its own
Beyond the veil of years.
She hears unechoing footsteps run
On floors she never trod,
Sees lineaments invisible
As is the face of God-
Forms she can recognise and greet,
Though wholly hid from me.
Alas! a treasure that is not,
And that may never be.
The majesty of motherhood
Sits on her baby brow;
Before her little three-legged throne
My grizzled head must bow.
That dingy bundle in her arms
Symbols immortal things-
A heritage, by right divine,
Beyond the claims of kings.
A few random poems:
- What the Coal-Heaver Said by Vachel Lindsay
- A Photograph on the Desk by Mary Etta Metcalf
- Even if I don’t hear your voice, I know by Vinko Kalinic
- Robert Burns: Highland Harry Back Again:
- All Kinds by William Wright Harris
- Second Poem by Peter Orlovsky
- Woman With Parasol by Martin Willitts Jr.
- Владимир Маяковский – Частушки (Милкой мне в подарок бурка…)
- Низами Гянджеви – Я долго шел по лугу лет
- Аля Кудряшева – Тишина
- A Florida Sunday. by Sidney Lanier
- Petrarchan Sonnet: If no one else breathed in this wide, wide world by T. Wignesan
- The First Thrush by Mary Gilmore
- The useless counsellor by Ross D Tyler
- In The Country – English Translation by Rabindranath Tagore
External links
Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus
Talking Writing Monster’s Page –
Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh
Poems in English
- Sunt Leones by Stevie Smith
- Pad, Pad by Stevie Smith
- Our Bog Is Dood by Stevie Smith
- Not Waving But Drowning by Stevie Smith
- Nor We Of Her To Him by Stevie Smith
- Never Again by Stevie Smith
- My Heart Was Full by Stevie Smith
- My Heart Goes Out by Stevie Smith
- Mother, Among The Dustbins by Stevie Smith
- Infelice by Stevie Smith
- In The Night by Stevie Smith
- I Remember by Stevie Smith
- I Do Not Speak by Stevie Smith
- Happiness by Stevie Smith
- Freddy by Stevie Smith
- Exeat by Stevie Smith
- Edmonton, thy cemetery by Stevie Smith
- Drugs Made Pauline Vague by Stevie Smith
- Deeply Morbid by Stevie Smith
- Conviction (iv) by Stevie Smith
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
Search engines:
Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)
Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.
Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees
Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.
Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.
Parallel Translations of Poetry
The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works
Ada Cambridge (1844 – 1926), also known as Ada Cross, was an English-born Australian author and poetess. She wrote more than 25 works of fiction, three volumes of poetry and two autobiographical works.