A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)
Syed Amir is dead, and his numerous foes
Are hushed in a breathless awe of amazed relief.
The hearts of his friends are cold as the Tirah snows,
And I am blind and deaf in the Grip of my Grief. —
My Soul has borrowed a portion of Pain from Hell”
Oh, Syed Amir, my brother and Friend, Farewell!
His women weep, but a woman’s tears flow lightly.
A bauble or two, or a child, can soon console.
But I, who am stranger to tears, lie sleepless, nightly,
Feeling the Fangs of-Grief in my desolate soul.
I maddened myself with Churus, it could not cure me-
Ransacked the Bazar, to beg at the hands of lust
An hour’s respite, but how was sin to allure me,
Who know the beauty of Syed Amir is dust?
A little while I wander in Tribulation,
In a Feud or two, or a few light loves take part,
But Death will come, and this is my Consolation,
Men live not long with a stricken and wounded heart’
What further challenge from Fate can I hope or fear,
Who mourn the ruined glory of Syed Amir?
All gifts were Syed Amir’s; an Arrestive Beauty
That caught men’s breath when he passed, Serene and Royal,
A clear and delicate Mind, where Honour and Duty,
Sentried the gate, that nothing might pass disloyal,
And these are taken from Khorassan for ever,
Their light is quenched in the land where he used to dwell,
But I, who loved him, cease from loving him never;
Oh, Syed Amir, my brother and Friend, Farewell!
A few random poems:
- Rule I By Eric Mottram Stop Writing Literature You Garrulous Indian
- On The Benefit Received By His Majesty From Sea-Bathing, In The Year 1789 by William Cowper
- Counting Sheep by Russell Edson
- Fancy
- Вера Полозкова – Или, к примеру, стоял какой-нибудь
- The Discovery of the Kama Sutra by Raj Arumugam
- Ольга Ермолаева – Я так же, как ты, от стыда опускаю ресницы
- Thought. by Walt Whitman
- The Beginning by Rabindranath Tagore
- Not Intrigued With Evening by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- Robert Burns: The Braes O’ Killiecrankie:
- Кондратий Рылеев – Мне тошно здесь, как на чужбине
- Robert Burns: Lines On Meeting With Lord Daer:
- Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind by William Shakespeare
- Untitled XXIV by Yunus Emre
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
- Merging, Emerging by Shahida Latif
- Men by Maya Angelou
- Little Clock by T. Wignesan
- Let me Count the Poets Left by Michael K. Shiu
- Last Turn Of The Morning Carousel/Forever Turn The Midnight Carousel by Matthew Abuelo
- kaleidoscopic whorled wide web. by matthew scott harris
- Kailangan ko’y Yakap by Melissa Sazon Flores
- It Asked a Crumb of Me by Michael K. Shiu
- Insomniac by Maya Angelou
- initial mother’s day eve by matthew scott harris
- In the Park by Maxine Kumin
- Illusion by Mercedes Madrigal
- I Know From my Bed by Michael Lee Johnson
- Humankind – How Limitless In Genius by Michael Levy
- How Am I? by Matt Bohart
- Haunted by you by Melissa Skelton
- Forced by Mayank Sharma
- Forbidden Fruit by Michael Lally
- Follies of War by Michael Levy
- Eve- Song by Mary Gilmore
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.