“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:
- Нина Воронель – Вечная мерзлота
- Олег Бундур – Каменный берег
- Юлия Друнина – Жизнь моя не катилась
- A Misty Morning by Mary Etta Mietcalf
- The Weaver by Nijole Miliauskaite
- Иван Киуру – Теленок Леня
- Ask Me No More poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- How I Walked Alone in the Jungles of Heaven by Vachel Lindsay
- The Sacred Tree
- Last night my soul cried O exalted sphere of Heaven by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- The Daughter Goes To Camp by Sharon Olds
- The End of the World
- February 23
- Night Song At Amalfi by Sara Teasdale
- Sonnet 03
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
- Владимир Костров – Мы на тяге ракетной берёзовых дров
- Владимир Костров – Душа, не кайся и не майся
- Владимир Костров – До чего нестерпимо и жёстко подуло
- Владимир Костров – Что может знать чужак
- Владимир Костров – Ботанический сад МГУ
- Владимир Костров – Бедное сердце болит спозаранку
- Владимир Костров – 1380 год
- Владислав Крапивин – Все спит в тропической ночи
- Владислав Крапивин – В южных морях и у севера дальнего
- Владислав Крапивин – Тяжелый толчок и вспышка у глаз
- Владислав Крапивин – Спокойная ночь
- Владислав Крапивин – Рыжий конь
- Владислав Крапивин – Под ветрами нам плыть
- Владислав Крапивин – На Диком Западе
- Владислав Крапивин – Маленький принц
- Владислав Крапивин – Когда тебя замучил враг
- Владислав Крапивин – Гонка
- Владислав Крапивин – Было все хорошо до недавней поры
- Владислав Крапивин – А по ночам у высокого плетня
- Владимир Вологдин – Не играйте, мальчики, в войну
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