Love, let me thank you for this!
Now we have drifted apart,
Wandered away from the sea,–
For the fresh touch of your kiss,
For the young warmth of your heart,
For your youth given to me.
Thanks: for the curls of your hair,
Softer than silk to the hand,
For the clear gaze of your eyes.
For yourself: delicate, fair,
Seen as you lay on the sand,
Under the violet skies.
Thanks: for the words that you said,–
Secretly, tenderly sweet,
All through the tropical day,
Till, when the sunset was red,
I, who lay still at your feet,
Felt my life ebbing away,
Weary and worn with desire,
Only yourself could console.
Love let me thank you for this!
For that fierce fervour and fire
Burnt through my lips to my soul
From the white heat of your kiss!
You were the essence of Spring,
Wayward and bright as a flame:
Though we have drifted apart,
Still how the syllables sing
Mixed in your musical name,
Deep in the well of my heart!
Once in the lingering light,
Thrown from the west on the Sea,
Laid you your garments aside,
Slender and goldenly bright,
Glimmered your beauty, set free,
Bright as a pearl in the tide.
Once, ere the thrill of the dawn
Silvered the edge of the sea,
I, who lay watching you rest,–
Pale in the chill of the morn
Found you still dreaming of me
Stilled by love’s fancies possessed.
Fallen on sorrowful days,
Love, let me thank you for this,
You were so happy with me!
Wrapped in Youth’s roseate haze,
Wanting no more than my kiss
By the blue edge of the sea!
Ah, for those nights on the sand
Under the palms by the sea,
For the strange dream of those days
Spent in the passionate land,
For your youth given to me,
I am your debtor always!
A few random poems:
- Meeting at an Airport by Taha Muhammad Ali
- The Prayer of Miriam Cohen by Rudyard Kipling
- Владимир Орлов – Ковровые дорожки
- Ольга Берггольц – Слышала, приедешь к нам не скоро ты
- Sonnet 42: That thou hast her, it is not all my grief by William Shakespeare
- A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton by Robert Burns
- Владимир Костров – Новогодняя ночь
- Yaddo : The Grand Manor by Sylvia Plath
- The Cold Heaven by William Butler Yeats
- On Friendship by Phillis Wheatley
- Hora Stellatrix poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- Владимир Высоцкий – Странные скачки
- An Ode, On Reading Mr. Richardson’s History Of Sir Charles Grandison by William Cowper
- Alone poem – by Ambrose Bierce poems | Poems and Poetry
- Sonnet CXXXVI by William Shakespeare
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
- A Winter Ship by Sylvia Plath
- A Secret by Sylvia Plath
- Years by Sylvia Plath
- Wuthering Heights by Sylvia Plath
- Words by Sylvia Plath
- Witch Burning by Sylvia Plath
- Wintering by Sylvia Plath
- Winter Trees by Sylvia Plath
- Widow by Sylvia Plath
- Who by Sylvia Plath
- Whitsun by Sylvia Plath
- Whiteness I Remember by Sylvia Plath
- Verbal Calisthenics by Sylvia Plath
- Vanity Fair by Sylvia Plath
- Tulips by Sylvia Plath
- Touch-And-Go by Sylvia Plath
- Totem by Sylvia Plath
- Three Women by Sylvia Plath
- Thalidomide by Sylvia Plath
- Terminal by Sylvia Plath
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

Violet Nicolson ( 1865 – 1904); otherwise known as Adela Florence Nicolson (née Cory), was an English poetess who wrote under the pseudonym of Laurence Hope, however she became known as Violet Nicolson. In the early 1900s, she became a best-selling author. She committed suicide and is buried in Madras, now Chennai, India.