“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:
- Snapshots Of A Daughter In Law
- Delinquency by Satish Verma
- Crossing the Frontier
- Нина Воронель – Маме
- Orlando Furioso Canto 18 by Ludovico Ariosto
- Николай Карамзин – Прости
- Владимир Высоцкий – Песня Геращенко
- Владимир Корнилов – Рифма
- Black Stone On Top Of Nothing by Philip Levine
- Виктор Гюго – Без книги в мире ночь и ум людской убог
- A Poetical Epistle To Lady Austen by William Cowper
- Sonnet To George Keats: Written In Sickness poem – John Keats poems
- Олег Бундур – Дневник
- The Natural History of Elephants by Milton Acorn
- Earthly Wounds by Satish Verma
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
- Stepping Westward by William Wordsworth
- Star-Gazers by William Wordsworth
- Stanzas by William Wordsworth
- Stanzas Written In My Pocket Copy Of Thomson’s “Castle Of Indolence” by William Wordsworth
- Spanish Guerillas by William Wordsworth
- Sonnet: On seeing Miss Helen Maria Williams weep at a tale of distress by William Wordsworth
- Sonnet: “It is not to be thought of” by William Wordsworth
- Song Of The Wandering Jew by William Wordsworth
- Song Of The Spinning Wheel by William Wordsworth
- Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle by William Wordsworth
- Simon Lee: The Old Huntsman by William Wordsworth
- Siege Of Vienna Raised By Jihn Sobieski by William Wordsworth
- She Was A Phantom Of Delight by William Wordsworth
- September, 1819 by William Wordsworth
- September 1815 by William Wordsworth
- September 1, 1802 by William Wordsworth
- Scorn Not The Sonnet by William Wordsworth
- Say, What Is Honour?–‘Tis The Finest Sense by William Wordsworth
- Ruth by William Wordsworth
- Rural Architecture by William Wordsworth
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