The Window Overlooking The Harbour

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.

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Poems in English 

• To an Early Daffodil poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• To a Friend poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• Thompson’s Lunch Room – Grand Central Station poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• The Way poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• The Trout poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• The Tree of Scarlet Berries poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• The Temple poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• The Taxi poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• The Shadow poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• The Road to Avignon poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• The Red Lacquer Music-Stand poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• The Promise of the Morning Star poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• The Precinct. Rochester poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• The Pleiades poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• The Pike poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• The Paper Windmill poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• The Fruit Garden Path poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• The Forsaken poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• The Foreigner poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell
• The Fool Errant poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry by Amy Lowell

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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.

 

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