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:
- Alone, Looking for Blossoms Along the River by Tu Fu
- Владимир Вишневский – На исходе двадцатого века
- Илья Эренбург – Я слышу всё, и горестные шепоты
- The house where I was born (07) by Yves Bonnefoy
- Old well by Yosa Buson
- Михаил Лермонтов – Звуки и взор
- Омар Хайям о Боге и религии: Рубаи, стихи Хайяма про Бога – Poetry Monster
- At The San Francisco Airport by Yvor Winters
- Man In Black by Sylvia Plath
- Юнна Мориц – Разноцветные котята
- The Poet by Thom Douglas Carlisle
- Вера Павлова – Телефонные кнопки
- Николай Карамзин – Две песни
- Вероника Тушнова – Костер
- Яков Полонский – Не жди
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
- A Terre by Wilfred Owen
- Arms And The Boy by Wilfred Owen
- Asleep by Wilfred Owen
- Exposure by Wilfred Owen
- Futility by Wilfred Owen
- Le Christianisme by Wilfred Owen
- An Imperial Elegy by Wilfred Owen
- But I Was Looking At The Permanent Stars by Wilfred Owen
- I Saw His Round Mouth’s Crimson by Wilfred Owen
- I know The Music (unfinished) by Wilfred Owen
- Hospital Barge At Cerisy by Wilfred Owen
- Has Your Soul Sipped? by Wilfred Owen
- Happiness by Wilfred Owen
- Greater Love by Wilfred Owen
- From My Diary, July 1914 by Wilfred Owen
- At A Calvary Near The Ancre by Wilfred Owen
- Apologia Pro Poemate Meo by Wilfred Owen
- Antaeus: [A Fragment] by Wilfred Owen
- A New Heaven (To-On Active Service) by Wilfred Owen
- 1914 by Wilfred Owen
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.