I arise and go down to the River, and currents that come from the sea,
Still fresh with the salt of the ocean, are lovely and precious to me,
The waters are silver and silent, except where the kingfisher dips,
Or the ripples wash off from my shoulder the reddening stain of thy lips.
Two things make my joy at this moment: thy gold-coloured beauty by night,
And the delicate charm of the River, all pale in the day-breaking light,
So cool are the waters’ caresses. Ah, which is the lovelier,–this?
Or the fire that it kindles at midnight, beneath the soft glow of thy kiss?
Ah, Love has a mighty dominion, he forges with passionate breath
The links which stretch out to the Future, with forces of life and of death,
But great is the charm of the River, so soft is the sigh of the reeds,
They give me, long sleepless from passion, the peace that my weariness needs.
I float on the breast of my River, and startle the birds on the edge,
To land on a newly found island, a boat that is caught in the sedge,
The rays of the sun are still level, not yet has the heat of the day
Deflowered the mists of the morning, that linger in delicate grey.
What land was his dwelling whose fancy first gave unto Paradise birth?
He never had swum in my River, or else he had fixed it on earth!
Oh, grace of the palm-tree reflections, Oh, sense of the wind from the sea!
Oh, divine and serene exultation of one who is lonely and free!
Ah, delicate breezes of daybreak, so scentless, refreshing and free!
And yet–had my midnight been lonely you had been less lovely to me.
This coolness comes laden with solace, because I am hot from the fire,
As often devotion to virtue arises from sated desire.
_Gautama came forth from his Palace; he felt the night wind on his face,_
_He loathed, as he left, the embraces, the softness and scent of the place,_
_But, ah, if his night had been loveless, with no one to solace his need,_
_He never had written that sermon which men so devotedly read._
Ah, River, thy gentle persuasion! I doubt if I seek any more
The beauty that hurts me and holds me beneath the low roof on the shore.
I loved thee, ay, loved–for a season, but thou, was it love or desire,
The glow of the Sun in his glory, or only the heat of a fire?
I think not that thou wilt regret me, for thou art too joyous and fair,
So many are keen to caress thee, thy passionate midnights to share.
Thou wilt not have time to remember, before a new love-knot is tied,
The stranger who loved thee and left thee, who drifted away on the tide.
Two things I have found that are lovely, though most things are sullen and grey;
One: Peace–but what mortal has found him; and Passion–but when would he stay?
So I shall return to my River, and floating at ease on its breast,
Shall find, what Love never has given–a sense of most infinite rest.
When the years have gone by and departed, what thought shall I keep of this land?
A curl of thy waist-reaching-tresses? a flower received from thy hand?
Nay, if I can fathom the future, I fancy my relic will be
Some shell, my beloved one, the River, has stol’n from the store of the sea.
A few random poems:
- Come home, sweetheart by Raj Arumugam
- Trial by Ruth Padel
- In the Name of Eternal Love by Walter William Safar
- Couplet 3 poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Untitled #13 by Nijole Miliauskaite
- Robert Burns: There’ll Never Be Peace Till Jamie Comes Hame:
- The Countess Cathleen In Paradise by William Butler Yeats
- Before the Altar poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- A Child’s Grace by Robert Herrick
- To A Husband poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- Николай Языков – А. Н. Татаринову (Здорово, брат! Поставь сюда две чаши)
- Владимир Маяковский – Нападали белогвардейцы на Донецкий бассейн… (РОСТА №611)
- When You Are Old by William Butler Yeats
- To A Castillan Song by Sara Teasdale
- Chanson D’Amour by Shaunna Harper
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
- This Will Not Win Him by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- This we Have Now by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- This is Love by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- This Aloneness by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- There is a Way by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- There is a life-force within your soul by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- There is a Community of Spirit by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- There is a Candle in your Heart by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- There is a Candle in your Heart by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- There Are A Hundred Kinds Of Prayer (Quatrain in Farsi with English Translation) by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- The Freshness by Rumi
- The Breeze at Dawn by Jelaluddin Rumi
- The time has come for us to become madmen in your chain by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- The Taste of Morning by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- The springtime of Lovers has come by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- The Self We Share by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- The Seed Market by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- The ravings which my enemy uttered I heard within my heart by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- The beauty of the heart by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- A Stone I died by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
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.