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:
- By The Fire-Side by Robert Browning
- Vaishnavi Prakash by Vaishnavi Prakash
- Нина Пикулева – Читайте, дети
- Numbers and the Bible
- Westward on the High-Hilled Plains poem – A. E. Housman
- Raise the head, child by Vinko Kalinić
- To Aphrodite by Sappho
- Юрий Верховский – Есть имена, таинственны и стары
- Invern poem – Ezra Pound poems
- To S.M., A Young African Painter, On Seeing His Works by Phillis Wheatley
- Poem (The lump of coal my parents teased) by William Matthews
- Olney Hymn 61: The Narrow Way by William Cowper
- Sonnet 97: How like a winter hath my absence been by William Shakespeare
- The Land Of Happy by Shel Silverstein
- In Midnight Sleep. by Walt Whitman
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
- Spain 1873–’74. by Walt Whitman
- Souvenirs of Democracy. by Walt Whitman
- Song of the Universal. by Walt Whitman
- Song of the Redwood-Tree. by Walt Whitman
- Song of the Open Road. by Walt Whitman
- Song of the Exposition. by Walt Whitman
- Song of the Broad-Axe. by Walt Whitman
- Song for All Seas, All Ships. by Walt Whitman
- Song at Sunset. by Walt Whitman
- Sometimes with One I Love. by Walt Whitman
- Solid, Ironical, Rolling Orb. by Walt Whitman
- Sobbing of The Bells, The. by Walt Whitman
- So Long. by Walt Whitman
- So Far and So Far, and on Toward the End. by Walt Whitman
- The Sleepers by Walt Whitman
- Singer in the Prison, The. by Walt Whitman
- Sing of the Banner at Day-Break. by Walt Whitman
- Shut Not Your Doors, &c. by Walt Whitman
- Ship Starting, The. by Walt Whitman
- Scented Herbage of My Breast. by Walt Whitman
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.