A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)
Softly the feathery Palm-trees fade in the violet Distance,
Faintly the lingering light touches the edge of the sea,
Sadly the Music of Waves, drifts, faint as an Anthem’s insistence,
Heard in the aisles of a dream, over the sandhills, to me.
Now that the Lights are reversed, and the Singing changed into sighing,
Now that the wings of our fierce, fugitive passion are furled,
Take I unto myself, all alone in the light that is dying,
Much of the sorrow that lies hid at the Heart of the World.
Sad am I, sad for your loss: for failing the charm of your presence,
Even the sunshine has paled, leaving the Zenith less blue.
Even the ocean lessens the light of its green opalescence,
Since, to my sorrow I loved, loved and grew weary of, you.
Why was our passion so fleeting, why had the flush of your beauty
Only so slender a spell, only so futile a power?
Yet, even thus ever is life, save when long custom or duty
Moulds into sober fruit Love’s fragile and fugitive flower.
Fain would my soul have been faithful; never an alien pleasure
Lured me away from the light lit in your luminous eyes,
But we have altered the World as pitiful man has leisure
To criticise, balance, take counsel, assuredly lies.
All through the centuries Man has gathered his flower, and fenced it,
–Infinite strife to attain; infinite struggle to keep,–
Holding his treasure awhile, all Fate and all forces against it,
Knowing it his no more, if ever his vigilance sleep.
But we have altered the World as pitiful man has grown stronger,
So that the things we love are as easily kept as won,
Therefore the ancient fight can engage and detain us no longer,
And all too swiftly, alas, passion is over and done.
Far too speedily now we can gather the coveted treasure,
Enjoy it awhile, be satiated, begin to tire;
And what shall be done henceforth with the profitless after-leisure,
Who has the breath to kindle the ash of a faded fire?
Ah, if it only had lasted! After my ardent endeavour
Came the delirious Joy, flooding my life like a sea,
Days of delight that are burnt on the brain for ever and ever,
Days and nights when you loved, before you grew weary of me.
Softly the sunset decreases dim in the violet Distance,
Even as Love’s own fervour has faded away from me,
Leaving the weariness, the monotonous Weight of Existence,–
All the farewells in the world weep in the sound of the sea.
A few random poems:
- Parting by William Butler Yeats
- Climbing poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- My rains by Vinko Kalinic
- Нина Воронель – Маме
- Олег Григорьев – Полосатая оса
- A Hundred Years Hence by Rabindranath Tagore
- The Country Doctor by Will McKendree Carleton
- Collecting Milkweed by Satish Verma
- Владимир Высоцкий – Нараспашку, при любой погоде
- The Spires Of Oxford by Winifred Mary Letts
- Cigarettes And Whiskey And Wild, Wild Women by Anne Sexton
- That Light by Paul Hostovsky
- Book Sixth [Cambridge and the Alps] by William Wordsworth
- For the Men at the Front by John Oxenham
- A Hairline Fracture poem – Amy Clampitt poems | Poems and Poetry
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
- Robert Burns: The Farewell:
- Robert Burns: Stanzas On Naething: Extempore Epistle to Gavin Hamilton, Esq.
- Robert Burns: Lines Written On A Banknote:
- Robert Burns: Lines To Mr. John Kennedy:
- Robert Burns: Motto Prefixed To The Author’s First Publication:
- Robert Burns: Lines To An Old Sweetheart:
- Robert Burns: The Lass O’ Ballochmyle:
- Robert Burns: Epitaph On “Wee Johnie”: Hic Jacet wee Johnie.
- Robert Burns: Epitaph For Gavin Hamilton, Esq.:
- Robert Burns: Epitaph For Robert Aiken, Esq.:
- Robert Burns: A Bard’s Epitaph:
- Robert Burns: Farewell To Eliza:
- Robert Burns: On A Scotch Bard, Gone To The West Indies:
- Robert Burns: The Farewell To the Brethren of St. James’ Lodge, Tarbolton:
- Robert Burns: Versified Note To Dr. Mackenzie, Mauchline:
- Robert Burns: A Dedication : To Gavin Hamilton, Esq.
- Robert Burns: A Dream: Thoughts, words, and deeds, the Statute blames with reason; But surely Dreams were ne’er indicted Treason. On reading, in the public papers, the Laureate’s Ode, with the other parade of June 4th, 1786, the Author was no sooner dropt asleep, than he imagined himself transported to the Birth-day Levee: and, in his dreaming fancy, made the following Address:
- Robert Burns: Address Of Beelzebub: To the Right Honourable the Earl of Breadalbane, President of the Right Honourable and Honourable the Highland Society, which met on the 23rd of May last at the Shakespeare, Covent Garden, to concert ways and means to frustrate the designs of five hundred Highlanders, who, as the Society were informed by Mr. M’Kenzie of Applecross, were so audacious as to attempt an escape from their lawful lords and masters whose property they were, by emigrating from the lands of Mr. Macdonald of Glengary to the wilds of Canada, in search of that fantastic thing-Liberty.
- Robert Burns: Epistle To A Young Friend:
- Robert Burns: My Highland Lassie, O:
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.