A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)
The listless Palm-trees catch the breeze above
The pile-built huts that edge the salt Lagoon,
There is no Breeze to cool the heat of love,
No wind from land or sea, at night or noon.
Perfumed and robed I wait, my Lord, for you,
And my heart waits alert, with strained delight,
My flowers are loath to close, as though they knew
That you will come to me before the night.
In the Verandah all the lights are lit,
And softly veiled in rose to please your eyes,
Between the pillars flying foxes flit,
Their wings transparent on the lilac skies.
Come soon, my Lord, come soon, I almost fear
My heart may fail me in this keen suspense,
Break with delight, at last, to know you near.
Pleasure is one with Pain, if too intense.
I envy these: the steps that you will tread,
The jasmin that will touch you by its leaves,
When, in your slender height, you stoop your head
At the low door beneath the palm-thatched eaves.
For though you utterly belong to me,
And love has done his utmost ‘twixt us twain,
Your slightest, careless touch yet seems to be
That keen delight so much akin to pain.
The night breeze blows across the still Lagoon,
And stirs the Palm-trees till they wave above
Our pile-built huts; Oh, come, my Lord, come soon,
There is no Breeze to cool the heat of love.
Every time you give yourself to me,
The gift seems greater, and yourself more fair,
This slight-built, palm-thatched hut has come to be
A temple, since, my Lord, you visit there.
And as the water, gurgling softly, goes
Among the piles beneath the slender floor;
I hear it murmur, as it seaward flows,
Of the great Wonder seen upon the shore.
The Miracle, that you should come to me,
Whom the whole world, seeing, can but desire,
It is as though some White Star stooped to be
The messmate of our little cooking fire.
Leaving the Glory of his Purple Skies,
And the White Friendship of the Crescent Moon,
And yet;–I look into your brilliant eyes,
And find content; Oh, come, my Lord, come soon.
Perfumed and robed I wait for you, I wait,
The flowers that please you wreathed about my hair,
And this poor face set forth in jewelled state,
So more than proud since you have found it fair.
My lute is ready, and the fragrant drink
Your lips may honour, how it will rejoice
Losing its life in yours! the lute I think
But wastes the time when I might hear your voice.
But you desired it, therefore I obey.
Your slightest, as your utmost, wish or will,
Whether it please you to caress or slay,
It would please me to give obedience still.
I would delight to die beneath your kiss;
I envy that young maiden who was slain,
So her warm blood, flowing beneath the kiss,
Might ease the wounded Sultan of his pain–
If she loved him as I love you, my Lord.
There is no pleasure on the earth so sweet
As is the pain endured for one adored;
If I lay crushed beneath your slender feet
I should be happy! Ah, come soon, come soon,
See how the stars grow large and white above,
The land breeze blows across the salt Lagoon,
There is no Breeze to cool the heat of love.
A few random poems:
- Ghazal 119 by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- Эмиль Верхарн – Вокруг моего дома
- Robert Burns: Young Jamie, Pride Of A’ The Plain:
- Владимир Маяковский – Чтоб с голодом справиться и с разрухой-дурой (Главполитпросвет)
- Love Compared To A Game Of Tables by William Strode
- Beloved Ireland by Walter William Safar
- Greengrocer by Robert McNamara
- Valley-dawn by Sunil Sharma
- A Hedge Of Rubber Trees poem – Amy Clampitt poems | Poems and Poetry
- Nocturne by W H Auden
- Владимир Британишский – Несбывшееся
- Xai Kou1
- what a poet must do by Raj Arumugam
- Robert Burns: The Raptures Of Folly:
- Dreamers by Siegfried Sassoon
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
- This Will Not Win Him by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- This we Have Now by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- This is Love by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- This Aloneness by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- There is a Way by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- There is a life-force within your soul by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- There is a Community of Spirit by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- There is a Candle in your Heart by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- There is a Candle in your Heart by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- There Are A Hundred Kinds Of Prayer (Quatrain in Farsi with English Translation) by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- The Freshness by Rumi
- The Breeze at Dawn by Jelaluddin Rumi
- The time has come for us to become madmen in your chain by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- The Taste of Morning by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- The springtime of Lovers has come by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- The Self We Share by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- The Seed Market by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- The ravings which my enemy uttered I heard within my heart by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- The beauty of the heart by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- A Stone I died by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
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.