A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)
_Rose-colour_
Rose Pink am I, the colour gleams and glows
In many a flower; her lips, those tender doors
By which, in time of love, love’s essence flows
From him to her, are dyed in delicate Rose.
Mine is the earliest Ruby light that pours
Out of the East, when day’s white gates unclose.
On downy peach, and maiden’s downier cheek
I, in a flush of radiant bloom, alight,
Clinging, at sunset, to the shimmering peak
I veil its snow in floods of Roseate light.
_Azure_
Mine is the heavenly hue of Azure skies,
Where the white clouds lie soft as seraphs’ wings,
Mine the sweet, shadowed light in innocent eyes,
Whose lovely looks light only on lovely things.
Mine the Blue Distance, delicate and clear,
Mine the Blue Glory of the morning sea,
All that the soul so longs for, finds not here,
Fond eyes deceive themselves, and find in me.
_Scarlet_
Hail! to the Royal Red of living Blood,
Let loose by steel in spirit-freeing flood,
Forced from faint forms, by toil or torture torn
Staining the patient gates of life new born.
Colour of War and Rage, of Pomp and Show,
Banners that flash, red flags that flaunt and glow,
Colour of Carnage, Glory, also Shame,
Raiment of women women may not name.
I hide in mines, where unborn Rubies dwell,
Flicker and flare in fitful fire in Hell,
The outpressed life-blood of the grape is mine,
Hail! to the Royal Purple Red of Wine.
Strong am I, over strong, to eyes that tire,
In the hot hue of Rapine, Riot, Flame.
Death and Despair are black, War and Desire,
The two red cards in Life’s unequal game.
_Green_
I am the Life of Forests, and Wandering Streams,
Green as the feathery reeds the Florican love,
Young as a maiden, who of her marriage dreams,
Still sweetly inexperienced in ways of Love.
Colour of Youth and Hope, some waves are mine,
Some emerald reaches of the evening sky.
See, in the Spring, my sweet green Promise shine,
Never to be fulfilled, of by and by.
Never to be fulfilled; leaves bud, and ever
Something is wanting, something falls behind;
The flowered Solstice comes indeed, but never
That light and lovely summer men divined.
_Violet_
I were the colour of Things, (if hue they had)
That are hard to name.
Of curious, twisted thoughts that men call “mad”
Or oftener “shame.”
Of that delicate vice, that is hardly vice,
So reticent, rare,
Ethereal, as the scent of buds and spice,
In this Eastern air.
On palm-fringed shores I colour the Cowrie shell,
With its edges curled;
And, deep in Datura poison buds, I dwell
In a perfumed world.
My lilac tinges the edge of the evening sky
Where the sunset clings.
My purple lends an Imperial Majesty
To the robes of kings.
_Yellow_
Gold am I, and for me, ever men curse and pray,
Selling their souls and each other, by night and day.
A sordid colour, and yet, I make some things fair,
Dying sunsets, fields of corn, and a maiden’s hair.
Thus they discoursed in the daytime,–Violet, Yellow, and Blue,
Emerald, Scarlet, and Rose-colour, the pink and perfect hue.
Thus they spoke in the sunshine, when their beauty was manifest,
Till the Night came, and the Silence, and gave them an equal rest.

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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
- Sonnet 48: How careful was I, when I took my way by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 47: Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 46: Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 45: The other two, slight air and purging fire by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 44: If the dull substance of my flesh were thought by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 43: When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 42: That thou hast her, it is not all my grief by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 41: Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 40: Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 3: Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 39: O, how thy worth with manners may I sing by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 38: How can my Muse want subject to invent by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 37: As a decrepit father takes delight by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 36: Let me confess that we two must be twain by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 35: No more be grieved at that which thou hast done by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 34: Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 33: Full many a glorious morning have I seen by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 74: But be contented when that fell arrest by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 72: O, lest the world should task you to recite by William Shakespeare
More external links (open in a new tab):
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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.