The sins of Youth are hardly sins,
So frank they are and free.
‘T is but when Middle-age begins
We need morality.
Ah, pause and weigh this bitter truth:
That Middle-age, grown cold,
No comprehension has of Youth,
No pity for the Old.
Youth, with his half-divine mistakes,
She never can forgive,
So much she hates his charm which makes
Worth while the life we live.
She scorns Old Age, whose tolerance
And calm, well-balanced mind
(Knowing how crime is born of chance)
Can pardon all mankind.
Yet she, alas! has all the power
Of strength and place and gold,
Man’s every act, through every hour,
Is by her laws controlled.
All things she grasps with sordid hands
And weighs in tarnished scales.
She neither feels, nor understands,
And yet her will prevails!
Cold-blooded vice and careful sin,
Gold-lust, blind selfishness,–
The shortest, cheapest way to win
Some, worse than cheap, success.
Such are her attributes and aims,
Yet meekly we obey,
While she to guide and order claims
All issues of the day.
You seek for honour, friendship, truth?
Let Middle-age be banned!
Go, for warm-hearted acts, to Youth;
To Age,–to understand!
A few random poems:
- Life of Ms Anonymous by Raj Arumugam
- A March Afternoon poem – Amy Cavanaugh poems | Poems and Poetry
- In Sutton Woods poem – Alfred Austin
- Nature that Washed Her Hands in Milk by Sir Walter Raleigh
- Finding freedom from invisible bonds by Sunil Sharma
- Robert Burns: Halloween: The following poem will, by many readers, be well enough understood; but for the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the country where the scene is cast, notes are added to give some account of the principal charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. The passion of prying into futurity makes a striking part of the history of human nature in its rude state, in all ages and nations; and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, if any such honour the author with a perusal, to see the remains of it among the more unenlightened in our own.-R.B.
- You Must n’t Swim… by Rudyard Kipling
- Sonnet : To Eva by Sylvia Plath
- The Man That Poetry Made
- Monument by Satish Verma
- The Snowman on the Moor by Sylvia Plath
- Child’s Park Stones by Sylvia Plath
- Омар Хайям – До того, как мы чашу судьбы изопьем
- A Cradle Song by William Blake
- Владимир Бенедиктов – Комета
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
- My Eyes in the Time of Apparition by Rachel McKibbens
- Mrs. Mouse has glasses by R. L. KARLOWSKY
- Mother by Sachin Yadav (Pen Name: Rahul Nachhiketa)
- Most Precious by R. L. Karlowsky
- Minneapolipstick by Rachel McKibbens
- Meditation by Radames Antonio Cruz
- Manipulation by Radames Antonio Cruz
- intertwined by rachel wright
- I Hardly Remember by Rafael Guillen
- Homecoming of Love on the Sands by Rafael Alberti
- Hex by Rachel McKibbens
- From Marinero en tierra by Rafael Alberti
- EVENING… by R.M. Engelhardt
- El Cafetal by Rafael Guillen
- Across the Street from the Whitmore Home for Girls, 1949 by Rachel McKibbens
- zen: a very short history by Raj Arumugam
- you witness my dying by Raj Arumugam
- you say you love the earth by Raj Arumugam
- you are there moon by Raj Arumugam
- word of God by Raj Arumugam
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.