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:
- To A Wife, On Mother’s Day by Ronald G. Auguste
- Please Don’t Judas Me by Mark Miller
- Here the Frailest Leaves of Me. by Walt Whitman
- The Allies poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- Олег Бундур – Дедушка воспитывает папу
- Robert Burns: Kirk and State Excisemen:
- Dedication From Moremi by Wole Soyinka
- Михаил Кузмин – Живется нам не плохо
- Sarah Cynthia Slyvia Stout Would Not Take The Garbage Out by Shel Silverstein
- A Mathematical Problem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
- The Blue Guitar by P. K. Page
- life on the escalator by Raj Arumugam
- Breath by Ryssel Guzman
- I Write a Poem by Aiyah De Torres
- Forgotten by Priya Prithviraj
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
- Graydigger’s Home by William Stafford
- For My Young Friends Who Are Afraid by William Stafford
- Atavism by William Stafford
- Ask Me by William Stafford
- Allegiances by William Stafford
- Across Kansas by William Stafford
- A Ritual To Read To Each Other by William Stafford
- Sonnet 127: In the old age black was not counted fair by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 126: O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 125: Were’t aught to me I bore the canopy by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 124: If my dear love were but the child of state by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 123: No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 122: Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 121: Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 120: That you were once unkind befriends me now by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 11: As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow’st by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 119: What potions have I drunk of Siren tears by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 118: Like as to make our appetite more keen by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 117: Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 116: Let me not to the marriage of true minds by William Shakespeare
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.