“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:
- Infelix
- I Didn’t Apologize to the Well by Mahmoud Darwish
- A Pretty Woman by Robert Browning
- Владимир Британишский – Этот вечер
- Lamp Of Love by Rabindranath Tagore
- Валерий Брюсов – Германия (отрывки)
- In a Disused Graveyard by Robert Frost
- Annie Marshall the Foundling by William Topaz McGonagall
- Perseus by Sylvia Plath
- If You Only Knew by Robert Desnos
- SOMALIA CALLING by Satish Verma
- Poem Stories
- Михаил Лермонтов – Венеция
- The Poor Fisherman
- That devil of a man
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
- Омар Хайям – О доколе ты по свету будешь кружить
- Омар Хайям о Боге и религии: Рубаи, стихи Хайяма про Бога – Poetry Monster
- Омар Хайям – Ну, допустим, что будет тебе и почет
- Омар Хайям – Нищим дервишем ставши
- Омар Хайям – Никто не лицезрел ни рая, ни геенны
- Омар Хайям – Ни к другу не взывай, ни к небесам
- Омар Хайям – Нет ни рая, ни ада, о сердце моё
- Омар Хайям – Несовместимых мы порой полны желаний
- Омар Хайям – Неправ, кто думает, что бог неумолим
- Омар Хайям – Небо кушак, что облек изнуренный мой стан
- Омар Хайям – Не зли других и сам не злись
- Омар Хайям – Не зарекайся пить бесценных гроздий сок
- Омар Хайям – Не являй друзьям печальный вид
- Омар Хайям – Не выращивай в сердце печали росток
- Омар Хайям – Не устану в неверном театре теней
- Омар Хайям – Не у тех, кто во прах государства поверг
- Омар Хайям – Не таи в своем сердце обид и скорбей
- Омар Хайям – Не смешно ли весь век по копейке копить
- Омар Хайям – Не порочь лозы-невесты
- Омар Хайям – Не оплакивай, смертный, вчерашних потерь
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