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:
- The Burnt-Out Spa by Sylvia Plath
- Wind on the Hill by AA Milne
- I Have News For You by Tony Hoagland
- These nights by Manushya Puthiran
- Thee, God, I Come from poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Владимир Луговской – Баллада о пустыне
- The Pretense of Gathering Pebbles by the Shore by Syed Kawsar Jamal
- Владимир Высоцкий – Сколько павших бойцов полегло вдоль дорог
- Industrial Lace poem – Alice Fulton
- Sword Blades and Poppy Seed poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- Mother’s Death 1981 by Michael S Wilson
- A Nativity by Rudyard Kipling
- Алексей Толстой – Уж ласточки, кружась, над крышей щебетали
- day_dream.html
- Morning In The Hospital Solarium by Sylvia Plath
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
- Reproof: A Satire. by Tobias Smollett
- Tobias Smollett – Tobias Smollett
- Love Elegy (in imitation of Tibullus) by Tobias Smollett
- “Let the nymph still avoid and be deaf to the swain” by Tobias Smollett
- To Independence by Tobias Smollett
- “From the man whom I love, though my heart I disguise,” by Tobias Smollett
- “Come listen, ye students of every degree” by Tobias Smollett
- Blue-Eyed Ann by Tobias Smollett
- Advice: A Satire. by Tobias Smollett
- You Will Forget! by Timothy Thomas Fortune
- Words Of Love Forevermore by Timothy Thomas Fortune
- What Is Woman But A Song! by Timothy Thomas Fortune
- The Squirrel by Todd H. C. Fischer
- The Pulling Away by Timothy Cole
- The moon at noon by Tom Mukasa
- The Leather Suitcase by Tom Berman
- The Mocking Bird by Timothy Thomas Fortune
- The Heart That Is Pining by Timothy Thomas Fortune
- The Clime Of My Birth by Timothy Thomas Fortune
- The Bird Has Vanished by Timothy Thomas Fortune
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.