A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)
No others sing as you have sung
Oh, Well Beloved of me!
So glad you are, so lithe and young,
As joyous as the sea,
That dances in the golden rain
The falling sunbeams fling, –
Ah, stoop and kiss me once again
Then take your lute and sing.
Oh, Lute player, my Lute player,
Take up your lute and sing !
The wind comes blowing, light and free :
In all the summer isles
No laughing thing it found to see
As brilliant as your smiles.
You are the very heart of Youth,
The very Soul of Song,
That lovely dream, made living truth.
For which the poets long.
Oh, Lute player, my Lute player,
The very Soul of Song !
Ah, dear and dark-eyed Lute player
This joy is almost pain,
To reach, when evening cools the air.
Your level roof again.
To see the palms, erect and slim,
Against a golden sky,
And hear, as twilight closes dim.
The Mouddin’s mournful cry.
Across your songs, my Lute player.
The Faithful’s evening cry.
Each slender finger lightly slips,
To its appointed strings.
Ah, the sweet scarlet, parted lips
Of One Beloved, who sings !
Ah, the soft radiance of eyes
By love and music lit !
What need of Heaven beyond the skies
Since here we enter it ?
You make my Heaven, my Lute player.
And hold the keys of it !
And when the music waxes strong
I hear the sound of War,
The drums are throbbing in the song.
The clamour and the roar.
The Desert’s self is in the strain.
The agony of slaves,
The winds that sigh, as if in pain.
About forgotten graves.
Oh, Lute player, my Lute player,
Those lonely Desert graves !
The sightless sockets, whence the eyes,
Were wrenched or burnt away,
The mangled form that e’er it dies,
Becomes the jackals’ prey.
The forced caress, the purchased smile,
Ere youth be yet awake, —
Ah, break your melody awhile
Or else my heart will break !
I sometimes think, my Lute player,
You wish my heart to break !
The sunset fires desert the West,
The stars invade the sky.
Lover of mine, ’tis time to rest
And let the music die.
Though Melody awake the morn.
Yet Love should end the day.
I kiss your hand the strings have worn
And take your lute away.
I kiss your hand, my Lute player,
And take the Lute away.
At twilight on this roof of ours,
So lonely and so high.
We catch the scent of all the flowers
Ascending to the sky.
Sultan of Song, whose burning eyes
Outblaze the stars above.
Forget not, when the sunset dies
You reign as Lord of Love !
Ah, come to me, my Lute player,
Lover, and Lord of Love !
A few random poems:
- Sonnet 154: The little Love-god lying once asleep by William Shakespeare
- Владимир Бенедиктов – Мысль
- Владимир Маяковский – Врангель прет… (РОСТА №363)
- Know thy SELF by Neelam Sinha
- Олег Бундур – Под сосной
- Quies poem – Ezra Pound poems
- Владимир Британишский – Гердер в Риге
- Winter Promises by Marge Piercy
- Олег Широв – Она бесценна, просто ангел
- Владимир Бенедиктов – Пируя праздник возвращенья
- On Observing Some Names Of Little Note Recorded In The Biographia Britannica by William Cowper
- The Master of the Dance by Vachel Lindsay
- Best Friend by Nicole M Nugent
- Степан Щипачев – День
- Robert Burns: Composed In Spring:
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
- In A Restaurant by Sara Teasdale
- In A Railroad Station by Sara Teasdale
- In A Garden by Sara Teasdale
- In A Cuban Garden by Sara Teasdale
- “If I Must Go” by Sara Teasdale
- I Would Live In Your Love by Sara Teasdale
- “I Know The Stars” by Sara Teasdale
- Helen Of Troy by Sara Teasdale
- Grandfather’s Love by Sara Teasdale
- In A Garden by Sara Teasdale
- Galahad In The Castle Of The Maidens by Sara Teasdale
- From The Woolworth Tower by Sara Teasdale
- From The North by Sara Teasdale
- For The Anniversary Of John Keats’ Death by Sara Teasdale
- Eight O’Clock by Sara Teasdale
- Effigy Of A Nun by Sara Teasdale
- Dusk In War Time by Sara Teasdale
- Dusk In June by Sara Teasdale
- Dusk In Autumn by Sara Teasdale
- Deep In The Night by Sara Teasdale
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
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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.