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:
- Robert Burns: To A Mountain Daisy: On turning down with the Plough, in April, 1786.
- Damon The Mower poem – Andrew Marvell poems
- Drowning. Not Waving by P.J.Reed
- The Soundless Ocean by Tanmoy
- From Marinero en tierra by Rafael Alberti
- conference_swan_beauty.html
- flight_of_stairs.html
- Song—Address to the Woodlark by Robert Burns
- Владимир Маяковский – По городам Союза
- You by Vladimir Mayakovsky
- Константин Бальмонт – Мы шли в золотистом тумане
- To Don Quixote, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s A Don Quichotte by T. Wignesan.
- dear owl, forlorn like King Lear by Raj Arumugam
- Hare-hunting by William Somervile
- Prairie-Grass Dividing, The. by Walt Whitman
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
- When ‘Omer Smote ‘Is Bloomin’ Lyre by Rudyard Kipling
- When Earth’s Last Picture Is Painted by Rudyard Kipling
- What the People Said by Rudyard Kipling
- What Happened by Rudyard Kipling
- Ulster by Rudyard Kipling
- Two Months by Rudyard Kipling
- Two Kopjes by Rudyard Kipling
- Troopin’ by Rudyard Kipling
- Tommy by Rudyard Kipling
- Tin Fish by Rudyard Kipling
- The Young British Soldier by Rudyard Kipling
- The Wishing-Caps by Rudyard Kipling
- The Winners by Rudyard Kipling
- The Widow at Windsor by Rudyard Kipling
- The Truce of the Bear by Rudyard Kipling
- The Thousandth Man by Rudyard Kipling
- The Story of Uriah by Rudyard Kipling
- The Story of Ung by Rudyard Kipling
- The Sons of Martha by Rudyard Kipling
- The Songs of the Lathes by Rudyard Kipling
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.