The Winged Mariners

Through the wild night, the silence and the dark,

Through league on league of the uncharted sky,

Lonelier than dove of fable from its ark,

The fieldfares fly.

Mate with his tiny mate, and younglings frail,

That only knew the crevice of their tree

Until, in faith stupendous, they set sail

Across the sea.

The black North Sea, that takes such savage toll

Of ships and men-and yet could not appal

These little mariners, who seek their goal

Beyond it all.

Turning those soft, indomitable breasts

To meet the unchained Titans of the deep-

Calm, as if cradled in Norwegian nests,

Their course they keep.

No more than thistledown or flake of snow

To those great gods at play, they win the game;

Never sped archer’s arrow from his bow

With surer aim.

Still tossed and scattered, their unwinking eyes

Point to that pole unseen where wanderings cease;

Still on they press, and warble to the skies

With hearts at peace.

Scenting the English morning in the air,

Through the salt night, ere any morning wakes-

The perfumed fields, the dun woods, sere and bare,

The brambly brakes-

The well-loved orchard, with its hawthorn hedge,

Where luscious berries, red and brown, are found-

The misty miles of water-mead and sedge

Where gnats abound.

But what is this, ‘twixt sea and surf-bound shore?

What form stands there, amid the shadows gray,

With flaming blade that smites them as they soar,

And bars their way?

Hushed are the twittering throats; each silken head

Turns to the voiceless siren-turns and stares-

By some strange lure of mystery and dread

Caught unawares.

It draws them on, as the magnetic sun

Draws vagrant meteors to its burning breast.

The day is near, the harbour all but won-

That English nest.

But here they meet inexorable Fate;

Here lies a dreadful reef of fire and glass;

Here stands a glittering sentry at the gate-

They cannot pass.

Confused, dismayed, they flutter in the gale,

Those little pinions that have lost their track;

The gallant hearts that sped them reel and fail

Like ships aback.

Sucked in a magic current, like a leaf

Torn from autumnal tree, they drift abroad,

But ever nearer to the siren reef,

The ruthless sword.

On, on, transfixed and swooning, without check,

To the lee shore of that bedazzling wall,

Until they strike, and break in utter wreck,

And founder all.

Brave little wings, that sailed the storm so well,

Trimmed to the set of every wayward blast!

Brave little hearts, that never storm could quell,

Beaten at last!

That great sea swallows them, and they are gone,

For ever gone, like bubbles of the foam;

And the bright star that lured them, shining on,

Still points to Home.

Poetry Monster – Home

A few random poems:

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 

• Arrival by William Carlos Williams by William Carlos Williams
• April Is The Saddest Month by William Carlos Williams by William Carlos Williams
• Après le Bain by William Carlos Williams by William Carlos Williams
• Approach Of Winter by William Carlos Williams by William Carlos Williams
• A Sort Of A Song by William Carlos Williams by William Carlos Williams
• A Goodnight by William Carlos Williams by William Carlos Williams
• A Celebration by William Carlos Williams by William Carlos Williams
• Women And Roses by Robert Browning by Anglo File
• Venus, on a fur by Witty Fay by Anglo File
• Ultima Thule by William Ellery Leonard by Anglo File
• To the Victor by William Ellery Leonard by Anglo File
• The Image Of Delight by William Ellery Leonard by Anglo File
• The First Part: Sonnet 5 – How that vast heaven intitled First is roll’d, by William Drummond by Anglo File
• The First Part: Sonnet 4 – Fair is my yoke, though grievous be my pains, by William Drummond by Anglo File
• The First Part: Sonnet 3 – Ye who so curiously do paint your thoughts, by William Drummond by Anglo File
• The First Part: Sonnet 2 – I know that all beneath the moon decays by William Drummond by Anglo File
• The First Part: Sonnet 14 – Nor Arne, nor Mincius, nor stately Tiber, by William Drummond by Anglo File
• The First Part: Sonnet 13 – O sacred blush, impurpling cheeks’ pure skies by William Drummond by Anglo File
• The First Part: Sonnet 12 – Ah! burning thoughts, now let me take some rest, by William Drummond by Anglo File
• The First Part: Sonnet 11 – Lamp of heaven’s crystal hall that brings the hours, by William Drummond by Anglo File

More external links (open in a new tab):

Russian Commerce Agency

Dealing Monster

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

Poems by Author and Category

The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works