On the wooden deck of the wooden Junk, silent, alone, we lie,
With silver foam about the bow, and a silver moon in the sky:
A glimmer of dimmer silver here, from the anklets round your feet,
Our lips may close on each other’s lips, but never our souls may meet.
For though in my arms you lie at rest, your name I have never heard,
To carry a thought between us two, we have not a single word.
And yet what matter we do not speak, when the ardent eyes have spoken,
The way of love is a sweeter way, when the silence is unbroken.
As a wayward Fancy, tired at times, of the cultured Damask Rose,
Drifts away to the tangled copse, where the wild Anemone grows;
So the ordered and licit love ashore, is hardly fresh and free
As this light love in the open wind and salt of the outer sea.
So sweet you are, with your tinted cheeks and your small caressive hands,
What if I carried you home with me, where our Golden Temple stands?
Yet, this were folly indeed; to bind, in fetters of permanence,
A passing dream whose enchantment charms because of its trancience.
Life is ever a slave to Time; we have but an hour to rest,
Her steam is up and her lighters leave, the vessel that takes me west;
And never again we two shall meet, as we chance to meet to-night,
On the Junk, whose painted eyes gaze forth, in desolate want of sight.
And what is love at its best, but this? Conceived by a passing glance,
Nursed and reared in a transient mood, on a drifting Sea of Chance.
For rudderless craft are all our loves, among the rocks and the shoals,
Well we may know one another’s speech, but never each other’s souls.
Give here your lips and kiss me again, we have but a moment more,
Before we set the sail to the mast, before we loosen the oar.
Good-bye to you, and my thanks to you, for the rest you let me share,
While this night drifted away to the Past, to join the Nights that Were.

A few random poems:
- A Highly Valuable Chain Of Thoughts poem – Andrew Lang poems
- To a Discarded Toast by William Somervile
- What Happened by Rudyard Kipling
- Ecologue I by Virgil
- I Am Me by Patrick Neo Mabiletsa
- Robert Burns: The Chevalier’s Lament:
- Вера Павлова – Слово держу осторожно
- Илона Грошева – Каждый год в себе несет воскресение
- Николай Гумилев – Злобный гений, царь сомнений
- Robert Burns: Tam Glen:
- How Sleep the Brave by Walter de la Mare
- Омар Хайям – Если бог не услышит меня в вышине
- English Poetry. Thomas Moore. From “Irish Melodies”. 103. The Mountain Spite. Томас Мур.
- The Flower of Mending by Vachel Lindsay
- On A Fowler, By Isidorus by William Cowper
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
- WHAT ASYLUM! by Satish Verma
- WARMING UP by Satish Verma
- WALKING TOELESS by Satish Verma
- WALKING INTO YOU by Satish Verma
- VOICES by Satish Verma
- VERY DISTURBING by Satish Verma
- Vaulting by Satish Verma
- Unsung Hands by Satish Verma
- Unstitching by Satish Verma
- Unspoken by Satish Verma
- Unruffled by Satish Verma
- UNREADABLE by Satish Verma
- Unphrasing by Satish Verma
- Unforgetting by Satish Verma
- UNEVEN PATH by Satish Verma
- UNDECIPHERABLE by Satish Verma
- TURNING GRAY by Satish Verma
- TRUNCATED by Satish Verma
- TRANSPARENCY by Satish Verma
- TOELESS JOURNEY by Satish Verma
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.