“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:
- A Girl Was Singing In A Church Choir poem – Aleksandr Blok poems | Poetry Monster
- On A Plant Of Virgin’s-Bower, Designed To Cover A Garden-seat by William Cowper
- Николай Некрасов – Взирает он на жизнь сурово, строго
- How To Get On In Society poem – John Betjeman poems | Poems and Poetry
- Спиридон Дрожжин – Люблю я сельский мой приют
- Sonnet CXXVIII by William Shakespeare
- Николай Заболоцкий – Дождь
- Владимир Маяковский – Вперед, комсомольцы
- Омар Хайям – Несовместимых мы порой полны желаний
- Юргис Балтрушайтис – Соме le onde
- The Sea And The Skylark poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Futility by Wilfred Owen
- Another on the said Occasion by Robert Burns
- On A Mischievous Bull, Which The Owner Him Sold At The Author’s Instance by William Cowper
- Олег Бундур – Ранним утром
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

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