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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• Book Fifth-Books by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Book Eleventh: France [concluded] by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Book Eighth: Retrospect–Love Of Nature Leading To Love Of Man by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• “Behold Vale! I Said, When I Shall Con” by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Beggars by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• “Avaunt All Specious Pliancy Of Mind” by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• At Applewaite, Near Keswick 1804 by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• ” As faith thus sanctified the warrior’s crest” by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Artegal And Elidure by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Anticipation, October 1803 by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Animal Tranquility And Decay by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Anecdote For Fathers by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Andrew Jones by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• “And Is It Among Rude Untutored Dales” by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• An Evening Walk by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Among All Lovely Things My Love Had Been by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Alice Fell, Or Poverty by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• After-Thought by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• “Advance – Come Forth From Thy Tyrolean Ground” by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Admonition by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth

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