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 

• Sonnet 115: Those lines that I before have writ do lie by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 114: Or whether doth my mind, being crowned with you by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 113: Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 112: Your love and pity doth th’ impression fill by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 111: O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 110: Alas, ’tis true, I have gone here and there by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 10: For shame, deny that thou bear’st love to any by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 109: O, never say that I was false of heart by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 108: What’s in the brain that ink may character by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 107: Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 106: When in the chronicle of wasted time by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 105: Let not my love be called idolatry by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 104: To me, fair friend, you never can be old by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 103: Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 102: My love is strengthened, though more weak in seeming by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 101: O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet 100: Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget’st so long by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sonnet LIV by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Silvia by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare
• Sigh No More by William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare

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