A poem by Alistar Crowley (1875-1947)
I to the open road,
You to the hunchbacked street –
Which of us two
Shall the earlier rue
That day we chanced to meet?
I with a heart that’s sound,
You with sick fancies of pain –
Which of us two
Would the earlier rue
If we chanced to meet again?
I jingle homely lore,
While you rhyme is with kiss –
Which of us two
Will the earlier rue
The love of the Hoylake Miss?
Not I the first to go,
Nor I the first to deceive –
Which of us two
Shall the the earliest rue
Our garden of make-believe?
You were a Chinese god,
I an offering fair,
As we entered the
Garden of Allah,
To sing our holy prayer.
Entered with hearts bowed low,
Yet I heard a voice that cried:
For he is the god of the
Sacrifice,
You are the crucified.
It was all make-believe,
A foolish game of play,
Our garden of Allah
A drawing-room,
Our Chinese god of clay.
Strings of bruises for pearls,
Tears for forget-me-nots,
And a deadly pain
Of the sickening shame
Watching the fading spots.
As quickly they faded,
The heart of me faded as well,
Until nothing is left
Of my garden,
But a soul sunk to hell.
Hail!
Poet prend ton lute -Je disparaire,
No more together we’ll enter the
Enchanted garden of make-believe,
Nor my sad soul listen while thine deceive.
No more you’ll be the God of Sacrifice,
Nor I the crucified.
Ah, Garden of Allah -how bitter sweet
Thy fruit. Why breakest thou the heart?
Why spoilest thou the soul with notes
From thy golden lute?
Lo! our garden a common room
Our Chinese god burnt clay, and
The singing of verses a funeral hymn
That awakes with awakening day.
‘Twas all such a meaningless play,
Poet prend ton lute -Je disparaitre.
Hail!
Poet, take my hand -we’ll walk
Still a little way.
I’ll not desert thee at the close of day,
I, too, must pray.
A beggar asking alms of passers-by,
Does not refuse a drink to one who’s dry
That once by him did lie.
Poet, come close -before I leave for aye
Take thou my hand, we’ll walk still
A little way.
One garment covered both to keep us warm,
What harmed the one, was’t not the other’s harm?
Close clasped, one single form.
Was it not meant of aye?
Poet, take thou my hand -we’ll still
Walk a little way.
A few random poems:
- Владимир Высоцкий – Песня конченого человека
- do_not_get_angry.html
- Poem
- The Frantic by Mark Miller
- Sabbaths 2001 by Wendell Berry
- He Who Creates Re Creates Himself
- The Princess (part 3) poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- Robert Burns: Verses On The Destruction Of The Woods Near Drumlanrig:
- The Moon is a Painter by Vachel Lindsay
- Какие яблоки в саду
- Юлия Друнина – Я курила недолго, давно, на войне
- Олег Григорьев – Схватили за ногу правую
- The Captured Goddess poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- Виктор Кудлачев – Весна
- Independent at Birth by Suuk Simon Subinimah
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
- Hail, Zaragoza! If With Unwet eye by William Wordsworth
- Hail, Twilight, Sovereign Of One Peaceful Hour by William Wordsworth
- Guilt And Sorrow, Or, Incidents Upon Salisbury Plain by William Wordsworth
- Great Men Have Been Among Us by William Wordsworth
- Goody Blake And Harry Gill by William Wordsworth
- Gipsies by William Wordsworth
- George and Sarah Green by William Wordsworth
- From The Italian Of Michael Angelo by William Wordsworth
- From The Dark Chambers Of Dejection Freed by William Wordsworth
- From The Cuckoo And The Nightingale by William Wordsworth
- Foresight by William Wordsworth
- Fidelity by William Wordsworth
- Feelings Of The Tyrolese by William Wordsworth
- Feelings Of A Noble Biscayan At One Of Those Funerals by William Wordsworth
- Feelings of A French Royalist, On The Disinterment Of The Remains Of The Duke D’Enghien by William Wordsworth
- Extract From The Conclusion Of A Poem Composed In Anticipation Of Leaving School by William Wordsworth
- Extempore Effusion upon the Death of James Hogg by William Wordsworth
- Expostulation and Reply by William Wordsworth
- Even As A Dragon’s Eye That Feels The Stress by William Wordsworth
- Epitaphs Translated From Chiabrera 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
