Alas! alas! this wasted Night
With all its Jasmin-scented air,
Its thousand stars, serenely bright!
I lie alone, and long for you,
Long for your Champa-scented hair,
Your tranquil eyes of twilight hue;
Long for the close-curved, delicate lips
–Their sinuous sweetness laid on mine–
Here, where the slender fountain drips,
Here, where the yellow roses glow,
Pale in the tender silver shine
The stars across the garden throw.
Alas! alas! poor passionate Youth!
Why must we spend these lonely nights?
The poets hardly speak the truth,–
Despite their praiseful litany,
His season is not all delights
Nor every night an ecstasy!
The very power and passion that make–
_Might_ make–his days one golden dream,
How he must suffer for their sake!
Till, in their fierce and futile rage,
The baffled senses almost deem
They might be happier in old age.
Age that can find red roses sweet,
And yet not crave a rose-red mouth;
Hear Bulbuls, with no wish that feet
Of sweeter singers went his way;
Inhale warm breezes from the South,
Yet never fed his fancy stray.
From some near Village I can hear
The cadenced throbbing of a drum,
Now softly distant, now more near;
And in an almost human fashion,
It, plaintive, wistful, seems to come
Laden with sighs of fitful passion,
To mock me, lying here alone
Among the thousand useless flowers
Upon the fountain’s border-stone–
Cold stone, that chills me as I lie
Counting the slowly passing hours
By the white spangles in the sky.
Some feast the Tom-toms celebrate,
Where, close together, side by side,
Gay in their gauze and tinsel state
With lips serene and downcast eyes,
Sit the young bridegroom and his bride,
While round them songs and laughter rise.
They are together; Why are we
So hopelessly, so far apart?
Oh, I implore you, come to me!
Come to me, Solace of mine eyes!
Come Consolation of my heart!
Light of my senses! What replies?
A little, languid, mocking breeze
That rustles through the Jasmin flowers
And stirs among the Tamarind trees;
A little gurgle of the spray
That drips, unheard, though silent hours,
Then breaks in sudden bubbling play.
Wind, have you never loved a rose?
And water, seek you not the Sea?
Why, therefore, mock at my repose?
Is it my fault I am alone
Beneath the feathery Tamarind tree
Whose shadows over me are thrown?
Nay, I am mad indeed, with thirst
For all to me this night denied
And drunk with longing, and accurst
Beyond all chance of sleep or rest,
With love, unslaked, unsatisfied,
And dreams of beauty unpossessed.
Hating the hour that brings you not,
Mad at the space betwixt us twain,
Sad for my empty arms, so hot
And fevered, even the chilly stone
Can scarcely cool their burning pain,–
And oh, this sense of being alone!
Take hence, O Night, your wasted hours,
You bring me not my Life’s Delight,
My Star of Stars, my Flower of Flowers!
You leave me loveless and forlorn,
Pass on, most false and futile night,
Pass on, and perish in the Dawn!
A few random poems:
- The Snowman on the Moor by Sylvia Plath
- Conviction (iv) by Stevie Smith
- Our Army Of The Dead by Will McKendree Carleton
- Николай Языков – Элегия (Есть много всяких мук – и много я их знаю)
- Mirage
- Extract From The Conclusion Of A Poem Composed In Anticipation Of Leaving School by William Wordsworth
- Earth! my Likeness! by Walt Whitman
- Robert Burns: Halloween: The following poem will, by many readers, be well enough understood; but for the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the country where the scene is cast, notes are added to give some account of the principal charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. The passion of prying into futurity makes a striking part of the history of human nature in its rude state, in all ages and nations; and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, if any such honour the author with a perusal, to see the remains of it among the more unenlightened in our own.-R.B.
- Harp Song of the Dane Women by Rudyard Kipling
- O My Lord, Your Dwelling Places Are Lovely poem – Yehudah ha-Levi poems | Poetry Monster
- Iceland First Seen by William Morris
- The Innocent Ill
- Альфред Теннисон – Смерть Старого Года
- Константин Бальмонт – Морская пани
- gratitudes_of_a_dozen_roses.html
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
- Every Sect has a Faith – Har Qaum Raast Raahay poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Every Sect has a Faith – Har Qaum Raast Raahay poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Couplet poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Couplet 7 poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Couplet 6 poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Couplet 5 poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Couplet 4 poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Couplet 3 poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Couplet 2 poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Couplet 11 poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Couplet 10 poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Couplet 1 poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- O Wondrous Ecstatic Eyes – Chashmay Mastay poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Chaap Tilak poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Celebrate Spring Today poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Bahut Kathin Hai poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Babul poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- What a Glow Everywhere I see – Aaj Rung Hai poem – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Celebrate Spring Today poem with a translation – Amir Khusro poems | Poems and Poetry
- Words You Said poem – Andrew Neil Maternick poems | Poems and Poetry
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.