A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)
Beat on the Tom-toms, and scatter the flowers,
Jasmin, Hibiscus, vermillion and white,
This is the day, and the Hour of Hours,
Bring forth the Bride for her Lover’s delight.
Maidens no more, as a maiden shall claim her,
Near, in his Mystery, draweth Desire.
Who, if she waver a moment, shall blame her?
She is a flower, and love is a fire.
Choti Tinchaurya syani hogayi!
Give her the anklets, the rings and the necklace,
Darken her eyelids with delicate Art,
Heighten the beauty, so youthful and fleckless,
By the Gods favoured, oh, Bridegroom thou art!
Twine in thy fingers her fingers so slender,
Circle together the Mystical Fire,
Bridegroom,–a whisper–be gentle and tender,
Choti Tinchaurya knows not desire.
Abhi Tinchaurya syani hogayi!
Bring forth the silks and the veil that shall cover
Beauty, till yesterday, careless and wild,
Red are her lips for the kiss of a lover,
Ripe are her breasts for the lips of a child.
Centre and Shrine of Mysterious Power,
Chalice of Pleasure and Rose of Delight,
Shyly aware of the swift-coming hour,
Waiting the shade and the silence of night,
Choti Tinchaurya syani hogayi!
Still must the Bridegroom his longing dissemble,
Longing to loosen the silk-woven cord,
Ah, how his fingers will flutter and tremble,
Fingers well skilled with the bridle and sword.
Thine is his valor oh, Bride, and his beauty,
Thine to possess and re-issue again,
Such is thy tender and passionate duty,
Licit thy pleasure and honoured thy pain.
Choti Tinchaurya syani hogayi!
Choti Tinchaurya, lovely and tender,
Still all unbroken to sorrow and strife.
Come to the Bridegroom who, silk-clad and slender,
Brings thee the Honour and Burden of Life.
Bidding farewell to thy light-hearted playtime,
Worship thy Lover with fear and delight,
Art thou not ever, though slave of his daytime,
Choti Tinchaurya, queen of his night?
Choti Tinchaurya syani hogayi!
A few random poems:
- Олег Григорьев – Пьет оса кисель из чашки
- Владимир Маяковский – Разве у вас не чешутся обе лопатки
- Robert Burns: The Rigs O’ Barley:
- Федор Сологуб – Во внутреннем дворе отеля
- On the Burning of Lord Mansfield’s Library by William Cowper
- Алексей Толстой – То было раннею весной
- Friday’s Child by W H Auden
- The Weather-Beaten Tree by William Barnes
- Владимир Маяковский – За 10 месяцев 1920 года… (РОСТА №748)
- Living with Cancer by Nin Andrews
- Олег Бундур – Наши неприятности
- On Being Challenged to Write an Epigram in the Manner of Herrick by Sir Walter Raleigh
- The Giver by Sara Teasdale
- Protest By Zahir U Din
- Where My Sight Goes by Yvor Winters
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
- Aubade by William Shakespeare
- A Lover’s Complaint by William Shakespeare
- A Fairy Song by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 128: How oft, when thou, my music, music play’st by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 149: Canst thou, O cruel, say I love thee not by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 148: O me! what eyes hath love put in my head by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 147: My love is as a fever, longing still by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 146: Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 145: Those lips that Love’s own hand did make by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 144: Two loves I have, of comfort and despair by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 143: Lo, as a careful huswife runs to catch by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 142: Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 141: In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 140: Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 13: O, that you were your self! But, love, you are by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 138: When my love swears that she is made of truth by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 137: Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 136: If thy soul check thee that I come so near by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 135: Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 134: So, now I have confessed that he is thine by William Shakespeare
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.