A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)
Sad is the Evening: all the level sand
Lies left and lonely, while the restless sea,
Tired of the green caresses of the land,
Withdraws into its own infinity.
But still more sad this white and chilly Dawn
Filling the vacant spaces of the sky,
While little winds blow here and there forlorn
And all the stars, weary of shining, die.
And more than desolate, to wake, to rise,
Leaving the couch, where softly sleeping still,
What through the past night made my heaven, lies;
And looking out across the window sill
See, from the upper window’s vantage ground,
Mankind slip into harness once again,
And wearily resume his daily round
Of love and labour, toil and strife and pain.
How the sad thoughts slip back across the night:
The whole thing seems so aimless and so vain.
What use the raptures, passion and delight,
Burnt out; as though they could not wake again.
The worn-out nerves and weary brain repeat
The question: Whither all these passions tend;–
This curious thirst, so painful and so sweet,
So fierce, so very short-lived, to what end?
Even, if seeking for ourselves, the Race,
The only immortality we know,–
Even if from the flower of our embrace
Some spark should kindle, or some fruit should grow,
What were the use? the gain, to us or it,
That we should cause another You or Me,–
Another life, from our light passion lit,
To suffer like ourselves awhile and die.
What aim, what end indeed? Our being runs
In a closed circle. All we know or see
Tends to assure us that a thousand Suns,
Teeming perchance with life, have ceased to be.
Ah, the grey Dawn seems more than desolate,
And the past night of passion worse than waste,
Love but a useless flower, that soon or late,
Turns to a fruit with bitter aftertaste.
Youth, even Youth, seems futile and forlorn
While the new day grows slowly white above.
Pale and reproachful comes the chilly Dawn
After the fervour of a night of love.
A few random poems:
- Comments: How to Write a Critical Appreciation of a Poem
- The Dregs Of Love poem – Alfred Austin
- What the Miner in the Desert Said by Vachel Lindsay
- Иван Дмитриев – Слепец, Собака его и Школьник
- Sonnet I: Loving In Truth by Sir Philip Sidney
- Ametas And Thestylis Making Hay-Ropes poem – Andrew Marvell poems
- Oonts by Rudyard Kipling
- Protest poem by Susan King Saunders
- Алексей Плещеев – Весна
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- The Fire by Nin Andrews
- Song Of Four Faries poem – John Keats poems
- The Effects of Chess on Leadership
- Kim by Rudyard Kipling
- Омар Хайям – Миг придёт, и смерть исторгнет жадно
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
- An Elegy On The Death Of A Mad Dog by Oliver Goldsmith
- Absolute Divine by Nithin Purple
- A Sculptor’s Vow by Nikhil Srinivas
- A woman’s desire by Oriada Dajko
- The Deserted Village by Oliver Goldsmith
- Poetic Abbreviations, Poetry Abbreviations
- I Remember, I Remember by Philip Larkin
- How Distant by Philip Larkin
- Home Is So Sad by Philip Larkin
- Homage To A Government by Philip Larkin
- High Windows by Philip Larkin
- He Hears That His Beloved Has Become Engaged by Philip Larkin
- Grief by Philip Larkin
- Going by Philip Larkin
- Friday Night At The Royal Station Hotel by Philip Larkin
- For Sidney Bechet by Philip Larkin
- First Sight by Philip Larkin
- Far Out by Philip Larkin
- Faith Healing by Philip Larkin
- Essential Beauty by Philip Larkin
More external links (open in a new tab):
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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.