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:
- word of God by Raj Arumugam
- English Poetry. Mark Akenside. The Pleasures of Imagination. Марк Эйкенсайд.
- The Grandmother poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- A Question Answered poem – Alfred Austin
- Bitterness by Philip Levine
- To a Certain Cantatrice. by Walt Whitman
- missing.html
- Had I a cave by Robert Burns
- Responsibilities; Introduction by William Butler Yeats
- Lament by Sylvia Plath
- To Youth by Sarojini Naidu
- Colbert Report: Australia by Raj Arumugam
- love_flower.html
- Lincoln by Vachel Lindsay
- Спиридон Дрожжин – Свети мне, солнышко
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
- Two Hundred Years After by Siegfried Sassoon
- Twelve Months After by Siegfried Sassoon
- Trench Duty by Siegfried Sassoon
- Tree and Sky by Siegfried Sassoon
- Together by Siegfried Sassoon
- Today by Siegfried Sassoon
- To Victory by Siegfried Sassoon
- To My Brother by Siegfried Sassoon
- To Leonide Massine in ‘Cleopatra’ by Siegfried Sassoon
- To His Dead Body by Siegfried Sassoon
- To Any Dead Officer by Siegfried Sassoon
- To a Very Wise Man by Siegfried Sassoon
- To a Childless Woman by Siegfried Sassoon
- Thrushes by Siegfried Sassoon
- ‘They’ by Siegfried Sassoon
- Their Frailty by Siegfried Sassoon
- The Working Party by Siegfried Sassoon
- The Troops by Siegfried Sassoon
- The Tombstone-Maker by Siegfried Sassoon
- The Road by Siegfried Sassoon
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.