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:
- Eight O’Clock by Sara Teasdale
- Expressive Moments by Pamela Griffiths
- Robert Burns: Auld Lang Syne:
- Leto and Niobe by Sappho
- Robert Burns: Canst Thou Leave Me Thus, My Katie:
- long_i_waited_in_vain.html
- The Laird Of Waristoun poem – Andrew Lang poems
- Wraiths by Siegfried Sassoon
- The Delibash poem – Alexander Pushkin
- Thoras Song Ashtaroth
- Lovers in Cafe by Aiyah De Torres
- From The Long Sad Party by Mark Strand
- Sonnet 127: In the old age black was not counted fair by William Shakespeare
- Cino poem – Ezra Pound poems
- Алишер Навои – Чаша, солнце отражая
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
- Conversation Among The Ruins by Sylvia Plath
- Circus In Three Rings by Sylvia Plath
- Child’s Park Stones by Sylvia Plath
- “Célibataire” by Sylvia Plath
- By Candlelight by Sylvia Plath
- Burning The Letters by Sylvia Plath
- Bluebeard by Sylvia Plath
- Blackberrying by Sylvia Plath
- Black Rook In Rainy Weather by Sylvia Plath
- Black Pine Tree In An Orange Light by Sylvia Plath
- Battle-Scene From the Comic Operatic Fantasy The Seafarer by Sylvia Plath
- Balloons by Sylvia Plath
- Ariel by Sylvia Plath
- Apprehensions by Sylvia Plath
- An Appearance by Sylvia Plath
- Amnesiac by Sylvia Plath
- All The Dead Dears by Sylvia Plath
- Aftermath by Sylvia Plath
- Admonition by Sylvia Plath
- Above The Oxbow by Sylvia Plath
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.