Song by Valgovind
The fields are full of Poppies, and the skies are very blue,
By the Temple in the coppice, I wait, Beloved, for you.
The level land is sunny, and the errant air is gay,
With scent of rose and honey; will you come to me to-day?
From carven walls above me, smile lovers; many a pair.
“Oh, take this rose and love me!” she has twined it in her hair.
He advances, she retreating, pursues and holds her fast,
The sculptor left them meeting, in a close embrace at last.
Through centuries together, in the carven stone they lie,
In the glow of golden weather, and endless azure sky.
Oh, that we, who have for pleasure so short and scant a stay,
Should waste our summer leisure; will you come to me to-day?
The Temple bells are ringing, for the marriage month has come.
I hear the women singing, and the throbbing of the drum.
And when the song is failing, or the drums a moment mute,
The weirdly wistful wailing of the melancholy flute.
Little life has got to offer, and little man to lose,
Since to-day Fate deigns to proffer, Oh wherefore, then, refuse
To take this transient hour, in the dusky Temple gloom
While the poppies are in flower, and the mangoe trees abloom.
And if Fate remember later, and come to claim her due,
What sorrow will be greater than the Joy I had with you?
For to-day, lit by your laughter, between the crushing years,
I will chance, in the hereafter, eternities of tears.

A few random poems:
- Владимир Британишский – Буссоль
- Leaving and Leaving You by Sophie Hannah
- The Conspiracy by Robert Creeley
- A February Night poem – Amy Cavanaugh poems | Poems and Poetry
- Ballade Against The Jesuits poem – Andrew Lang poems
- the_children_look_at_the_parents.html
- Song from Arcadia by Sir Philip Sidney
- Evening wind by Yosa Buson
- Жан де Лафонтен – Лисица, Мухи и Еж
- Robert Burns: A Tippling Ballad: On the Duke of Brunswick’s Breaking up his Camp, and the defeat of the Austrians, by Dumourier, November 1792.
- Robert Burns: Ah, Woe Is Me, My Mother Dear: Paraphrase of Jeremiah, 15th Chap., 10th verse
- Straw sandal half sunk by Yosa Buson
- “Look up, desponding hearts! See, Morning sallies” poem – Alfred Austin
- Summer We Called Home by Vinita Agrawal
- Pure call of the wilderness by Vinko Kalinic
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
- Atalanta’s Race by William Morris
- A Good Knight In Prison by William Morris
- A Death Song by William Morris
- We embraced and talked about rains by Vinko Kalinic
- Twins by Vinko Kalinić
- To a friend by Vinko Kalinić
- Those seven days by Vinaya Kumar Hanumanthappa
- The face wanted by Vinko Kalinić
- The Boy by Vinko Kalinić
- Summer We Called Home by Vinita Agrawal
- Story of a Drunk by Violet Uram
- Sometimes by Vinko Kalinić
- See, how I love you by Vinko Kalinić
- Sea God and the wind rose by Vinko Kalinić
- Respect her by Vinaya Kumar Hanumanthappa
- Requiem for Two by Vinko Kalinić
- Raw Silk by Vinita Agrawal
- Raise the head, child by Vinko Kalinić
- Pure call of the wilderness by Vinko Kalinic
- Pigeon Haiku by Violet Uram
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.