How I loved you in your sleep,
With the starlight on your hair!
The touch of your lips was sweet,
Aziza whom I adore,
As I lay at your slender feet,
And against their soft palms pressed,
I fitted my face to rest.
As winds blow over the sea
From Citron gardens ashore,
Came, through your scented hair,
The breeze of the night to me.
My lips grew arid and dry,
My nerves were tense,
Though your beauty soothe the eye
It maddens the sense.
Every curve of that beauty is known to me,
Every tint of that delicate roseleaf skin,
And these are printed on ever atom of me,
Burnt in on every fibre until I die.
And for this, my sin,
I doubt if ever, though dust I be,
The dust will lose the desire,
The torment and hidden fire,
Of my passionate love for you.
Aziza whom I adore,
My dust will be full of your beauty, as is the blue
And infinite ocean full of the azure sky.
In the light that waxed and waned
Playing about your slumber in silver bars,
As the palm trees swung their feathery fronds athwart the stars,
How quiet and young you were,
Pale as the Champa flowers, violet veined,
That, sweet and fading, lay in your loosened hair.
How sweet you were in your sleep,
With the starlight on your hair!
Your throat thrown backwards, bare,
And touched with circling moonbeams, silver white
On the couch’s sombre shade.
O Aziza my one delight,
When Youth’s passionate pulses fade,
And his golden heart beats slow,
When across the infinite sky
I see the roseate glow
Of my last, last sunset flare,
I shall send my thoughts to this night
And remember you as I die,
The one thing, among all the things of this earth, found fair.
How sweet you were in your sleep,
With the starlight, silver and sable, across your hair!

A few random poems:
- Untitled #10 by Nijole Miliauskaite
- Sadness and Joy by William Henry Davies
- Words Of Love Forevermore by Timothy Thomas Fortune
- Иван Киуру – Медовый аптекарь
- The Evening Light poem – Alfred Austin
- Sonnet 105: Let not my love be called idolatry by William Shakespeare
- Владимир Маяковский – Даешь автомобиль
- Fragment on Sensibility by Robert Burns
- Федор Сологуб – Зачем, скажи
- Нина Пикулева – Читайте, дети
- How to Survive After Losing a Loved One
- Robert Burns: Mark Yonder Pomp Of Costly Fashion:
- Юрий Верховский – Есть имена, таинственны и стары
- I Have Become Very Hairy by Yehuda Amichai
- Аля Кудряшева – Тяжело деревьям зимой
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
- Leto and Niobe by Sappho
- It’s no use by Sappho
- It was you, Atthis, who said by Sappho
- It is the Muses by Sappho
- It is the Muses by Sappho
- I took my lyre and said by Sappho
- I have no complaint by Sappho
- Hymn To Aphrodite by Sappho
- Hesperus The Bringer by Sappho
- He is more than a hero by Sappho
- He is more than a hero by Sappho
- Grace by Sappho
- Like the gods. . . by Sappho
- To A Girl In A Garden by Sappho
- Evening by Sappho
- Drapple-thorned Aphrodite, by Sappho
- Dica by Sappho
- Cyprian, in my dream by Sappho
- Claïs by Sappho
- Blame Aphrodite by Sappho
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.