Why above others was I so blessed
And honoured? to be chosen one
To hold you, sleeping, against my breast,
As now I may hold your only son.
Twelve months ago; that wonderful night!
You gave your life to me in a kiss;
Have I done well, for that past delight,
In return, to have given you this?
Look down at his face, your face, beloved,
His eyes are azure as yours are blue.
In every line of his form is proved
How well I loved you, and only you.
I felt the secret hope at my heart
Turned suddenly to the living joy,
And knew that your life and mine had part
As golden grains in a brass alloy.
And learning thus, that your child was mine,
Thrilled by the sense of its stirring life,
I held myself as a sacred shrine
Afar from pleasure, and pain, and strife,
That all unworthy I might not be
Of that you had deigned to cause to dwell
Hidden away in the heart of me,
As white pearls hide in a dusky shell.
Do you remember, when first you laid
Your lips on mine, that enchanted night?
My eyes were timid, my lips afraid,
You seemed so slender and strangely white.
I always tremble; the moments flew
Swiftly to dawn that took you away,
But this is a small and lovely you
Content to rest in my arms all day.
Oh, since you have sought me, Lord, for this,
And given your only child to me,
My life devoted to yours and his,
Whilst I am living, will always be.
And after death, through the long To Be,
(Which, I think, must surely keep love’s laws,)
I, should you chance to have need of me,
Am ever and always, only yours.
A few random poems:
- Metaphors by Sylvia Plath
- Sacred And Profane Love poem – Alfred Austin
- Spring in New Hampshire by William Shakespeare
- Live Inspired With Famous Inspiring Quotes
- Robert Burns: Epitaph On John Rankine:
- For A Picture Of St. Dorothea poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Thanksgiving Day by Will McKendree Carleton
- Олег Григорьев – Как вы думаете, где лучше тонуть
- Meg Merrilies poem – John Keats poems
- Владимир Бенедиктов – Чесменские трофеи
- Traveling
- Виктор Гончаров – Не знаю, что делать с душою
- Степан Щипачев – Жил мальчик в деревне
- The Farmer Of Tilsbury Vale by William Wordsworth
- Schlummerland – Slumberland / CD by Roland Zoss
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
- Not out of the running by Margaret Marie Hubbard
- Nevertheless by Marianne Moore
- Nearly A Valediction by Marilyn Hacker
- My Mother’s Body by Marge Piercy
- My Daughter at 14, Christmas Dance, 1981 by Maria Mazziotti Gillan
- Morning News by Marilyn Hacker
- Love Poem to My Husband of Thirty-one Years by Maria Mazziotti Gillan
- Locked Away by Margaret Marie Hubbard
- Labyrinth by Sera Jacob
- Iva’s Pantoum by Marilyn Hacker
- Island-Hearth by M. Ivana Trevisani Bach
- Irish Love Song by Margaret Widdemer
- Invocation by Marilyn Hacker
- If you should tire of loving me by Margaret Widdemer
- I Dream of my Grandmother and Great-Grandmother by Maria Mazziotti Gillan
- I Deserve It by Margaret Marie Hubbard
- Hurry by Marie Howe
- He Made This Screen by Marianne Moore
- Forever Closed by Margaret Marie Hubbard
- For the Young Who Want To by Marge Piercy
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.