Death and Famine on every side
And never a sign of rain,
The bones of those who have starved and died
Unburied upon the plain.
What care have I that the bones bleach white?
To-morrow they may be mine,
But I shall sleep in your arms to-night
And drink your lips like wine!
Cholera, Riot, and Sudden Death,
And the brave red blood set free,
The glazing eye and the failing breath,–
But what are these things to me?
Your breath is quick and your eyes are bright
And your blood is red like wine,
And I shall sleep in your arms to-night
And hold your lips with mine!
I hear the sound of a thousand tears,
Like softly pattering rain,
I see the fever, folly, and fears
Fulfilling man’s tale of pain.
But for the moment your star is bright,
I revel beneath its shine,
For I shall sleep in your arms to-night
And feel your lips on mine!
And you need not deem me over cold,
That I do not stop to think
For all the pleasure this Life may hold
Is on the Precipice brink.
Thought could but lessen my soul’s delight,
And to-day she may not pine.
For I shall lie in your arms to-night
And close your lips with mine!
I trust what sorrow the Fates may send
I may carry quietly through,
And pray for grace when I reach the end,
To die as a man should do.
To-day, at least, must be clear and bright,
Without a sorrowful sign,
Because I sleep in your arms to-night
And feel your lips on mine!
So on I work, in the blazing sun,
To bury what dead we may,
But glad, oh, glad, when the day is done
And the night falls round us grey.
Would those we covered away from sight
Had a rest as sweet as mine!
For I shall sleep in your arms to-night
And drink your lips like wine!
A few random poems:
- Вероника Тушнова – Мне говорят, нету такой любви
- Robert Burns: My Father Was A Farmer:
- The Rabbi’s Song by Rudyard Kipling
- Vayu The Wind
- Николай Заболоцкий – Засуха
- Владимир Британишский – Как из конного двора
- Sonnet 112: Your love and pity doth th’ impression fill by William Shakespeare
- Виктор Гончаров – Дождь
- Arithmetic on the Frontier by Rudyard Kipling
- Call To Account! by Vladimir Mayakovsky
- Robert Burns: The Wren’s Nest: Fragment
- Mafeking poem – Alfred Austin
- Prologue, spoken by Mr. Woods at Edinburgh by Robert Burns
- Владимир Орлов – Ковровые дорожки
- The Current by Raymond Carver
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
- Sunflowers by Martin Willitts Jr.
- Morning by Mark R Slaughter
- Speaking the Language of Deer by Martin Willitts Jr.
- Mending Socks by Martin Willitts Jr.
- Some Say by Mark Miller
- So You Say by Mark Strand
- Manure by Mark R Slaughter
- Slag by Mark Base
- Mammary Tunes by Mark R Slaughter
- She and Drugs by Mark R Slaughter
- Sculpture of Debris on the Waterfront by Martina Reisz Newberry
- Lines For Winter by Mark Strand
- Life, wait for me by Martin Zakovski
- Question mark remarks by Mark Miller
- Life by Marvin Bell
- Postures by Martina Reisz Newberry
- My Father’s Hats by Mark Irwin
- Let Him Free by Mary Etta Metcalf
- Keeping Things Whole by Mark Strand
- Please Don’t Judas Me by Mark Miller
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

Violet Nicolson ( 1865 – 1904); otherwise known as Adela Florence Nicolson (née Cory), was an English poetess who wrote under the pseudonym of Laurence Hope, however she became known as Violet Nicolson. In the early 1900s, she became a best-selling author. She committed suicide and is buried in Madras, now Chennai, India.