After the Hazara War
I lie alone beneath the Almond blossoms,
Where we two lay together in the spring,
And now, as then, the mountain snows are melting,
This year, as last, the water-courses sing.
That was another spring, and other flowers,
Hung, pink and fragile, on the leafless tree,
The land rejoiced in other running water,
And I rejoiced, because you were with me.
You, with your soft eyes, darkly lashed and shaded,
Your red lips like a living, laughing rose,
Your restless, amber limbs so lithe and slender
Now lost to me. Gone whither no man knows.
You lay beside me singing in the sunshine;
The rough, white fur, unloosened at the neck,
Showed the smooth skin, fair as the Almond blossoms,
On which the sun could find no flaw or fleck.
I lie alone, beneath the Almond flowers,
I hated them to touch you as they fell.
And now, who killed you? worse, Ah, worse, who loves you?
(My soul is burning as men burn in Hell.)
How I have sought you in the crowded cities!
I have been mad, they say, for many days.
I know not how I came here, to the valley,
What fate has led me, through what doubtful ways.
Somewhere I see my sword has done good service,
Some one I killed, who, smiling, used your name,
But in what country? Nay, I have forgotten,
All thought is shrivelled in my heart’s hot flame.
Where are you now, Delight, and where your beauty,
Your subtle curls, and laughing, changeful face?
Bound, bruised and naked (dear God, grant me patience),
And sold in Cabul in the market-place.
I asked of you of all men. Who could tell me?
Among so many captured, sold, or slain,
What fate was yours? (Ah, dear God, grant me patience,
My heart is burnt, is burnt, with fire and pain.)
Oh, lost Delight! my heart is almost breaking,
My sword is broken and my feet are sore,
The people look at me and say in passing,
“He will not leave the village any more.”
For as the evening falls, the fever rises,
With frantic thoughts careering through the brain,
Wild thoughts of you. (Ah, dear God, grant me patience,
My soul is hurt beyond all men call pain.)
I lie alone, beneath the Almond blossoms,
And see the white snow melting on the hills
Till Khorassan is gay with water-courses,
Glad with the tinkling sound of running rills,
And well I know that when the fragile petals
Fall softly, ere the first green leaves appear,
(Ah, for these last few days, God, grant me patience,)
Since Delight is not, I shall not be, here!
A few random poems:
- Endymion: Book IV poem – John Keats poems
- Ode to Fanny poem – John Keats poems
- Николай Карамзин – Куплеты из одной сельской комедии, игранной благородными любителями театра
- Николай Огарев – Прощанье с краем, откуда не уезжал
- Ольга Седакова – Плач
- A Roxbury Garden poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- Владимир Маяковский – За женщиной
- Ode On A Distant Prospect Of Eton College by Thomas Gray
- The Primrose by Thomas Carew
- Poetry And Politics
- Tyburn by Ramesh Anand
- Lines Composed on the Body Politic by Rita Dove
- Que Sera Sera poem – A. Van Jordan poems
- Women’s Harvest Song poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- Beautiful Aberfoyle by William Topaz McGonagall
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
- Halo by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Grey eyed Goddess by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Everything ends by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Damned by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Compromising my ego by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Both ways I lose by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Blue flower by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Blue eyes by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Be there for me by Tanisha Avarsekar
- An ode to you by Tanisha Avarsekar
- What time are we living in by T. Wignesan
- Villanelle: Oscar Victorius by T. Wignesan
- To the author(s) of Manimekalai by T. Wignesan
- To Don Quixote, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s A Don Quichotte by T. Wignesan.
- To a woman, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s sonnet: A une femme by T. Wignesan.
- To a person, they say, frigid, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem: A celle que l’on fit froide by T. Wignesan
- The Virgin Maid of Orleans, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s sonnet: La Pucelle by T. Wignesan.
- The Evening Soup, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem: La Soupe du soir by T. Wignesan
- Prison Souvenirs, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem: Prière by T. Wignesan.
- Prayer, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem: Prière by T. Wignesan.
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.