“My heritage!” It is to live within
The marts of Pleasure and of Gain, yet be
No willing worshiper at either shrine;
To think, and speak, and act, not for my pleasure,
But others’. The veriest slave of time
And circumstances. Fortune’s toy!
To hear of fraud, injustice, and oppression,
And feel who is the unshielded victim.
Cold friends and causeless foes!
Proud thoughts that rise to fall.
Bright stars that set in seas of blood;
Affections, which are passions, lava-like
Destroying what they rest upon. Love’s
Fond and fervid tide preparing icebergs
That fragile bark, this loving human heart.
O’ermastering Pride!
Ruler of the Soul!
Life, with all its changes, cannot bow ye.
Soul-subduing Poverty!
That lays his iron, cold grasp upon the high
Free spirit: strength, sorrow-born, that bends
But breaks not in his clasp-all, all
These are “my heritage!”
And mine to know a reckless human love, all passion and intensity, and see a mist come o’er the scene, a dimness steal o’er the soul!
Mine to dream of joy and wake to wretchedness!
Mine to stand on the brink of life
One little moment where the fresh’ning breeze
Steals o’er the languid lip and brow, telling
Of forest leaf, and ocean wave, and happy
Homes, and cheerful toil; and bringing gently
To this wearied heart its long-forgotten
Dreams of gladness.
But turning the fevered cheek to meet the soft kiss of the winds, my eyes look to the sky, where I send up my soul in thanks. The sky is clouded-no stars-no music -the heavens are hushed.
My poor soul comes back to me, weary and disappointed.
The very breath of heaven, that comes to all, comes not to me.
Bound in iron gyves of unremitting toil, my vital air is wretchedness-what need I any other?
“My heritage!” The shrouded eye, the trampled leaf, wind-driven and soiled with dust-these tell the tale.
Mine to watch
The glorious light of intellect
Burn dimly, and expire; and mark the soul,
Though born in Heaven, pause in its high career,
Wave in its course, and fall to grovel in
The darkness of earth’s contamination, till
Even Death shall scorn to give a thing
o low his welcome greeting!
Who would be that pale,
Blue mist, that hangs so low in air, like Hope
That has abandoned earth, yet reacheth
Not the stars in their proud homes?
A dying eagle, striving to reach the sun?
A little child talking to the gay clouds as they flaunt past in their purple and crimson robes?
A timid little flower singing to the grand old trees?
Foolish waves, leaping up and trying to kiss the moon?
A little bird mocking the stars?
Yet this is what men call Genius.
A few random poems:
- No, Love Is Not Dead by Robert Desnos
- Sunday Morning Blues poem – A. D. Winans poems | Poetry Monster
- “Give me a roof where Wisdom dwells” poem – Alfred Austin
- 10 Valentine’s Day Scrapbooking Ideas With or Without Photos
- Astrophel and Stella: I by Sir Philip Sidney
- Robert Burns: The Bonie Lad That’s Far Awa:
- Spider by Sylvia Plath
- phantasm.html
- Amy Margaret’s Five Year Old by William Allingham
- I Shall Forget
- Betrayal by Priyanka Dutt
- The Call of the Crows by Tanmoy
- Владимир Бенедиктов – На гулянье
- Vorticism Is A Choka In Its Modular Home
- Ballad Of The Skeletons poem – Allen Ginsberg
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
- Not the Pilot. by Walt Whitman
- Not My Enemies Ever Invade Me. by Walt Whitman
- Not Heaving from My Ribb’d Breast Only. by Walt Whitman
- Not Heat Flames up and Consumes. by Walt Whitman
- No Labor-Saving Machine. by Walt Whitman
- Night on The Prairies. by Walt Whitman
- Native Moments. by Walt Whitman
- Mystic Trumpeter, The. by Walt Whitman
- Myself and Mine. by Walt Whitman
- My Picture-Gallery. by Walt Whitman
- Mother and Babe. by Walt Whitman
- Miracles. by Walt Whitman
- Mediums. by Walt Whitman
- Me Imperturbe. by Walt Whitman
- Mannahatta. by Walt Whitman
- Manhattan Streets I Saunter’d, Pondering. by Walt Whitman
- Look Down, Fair Moon. by Walt Whitman
- Longings for Home. by Walt Whitman
- Long, too Long, O Land! by Walt Whitman
- Long I Thought that Knowledge. by Walt Whitman
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
Adah Isaacs Menken (1835 – 1868) was an American actress and a performer, who painted painter and wrote a number of poems (31 published so far). She was supposedly the highest earning actress of her time. She was best known for her performance in the hippodrama Mazeppa (with libretto based on Pushkin’s work), it is said that the climax of the spectacle featured her apparently nude and riding a horse on stage. After great success for a few years with the play in New York and San Francisco, she appeared in a production in London and Paris, from 1864 to 1866. She was a friend of Alexander Dumas. Adah Menken died in Paris at the age of 33