A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)
Beloved! your hair was golden
As tender tints of sunrise,
As corn beside the River
In softly varying hues.
I loved you for your slightness,
Your melancholy sweetness,
Your changeful eyes, that promised
What your lips would still refuse.
You came to me, and loved me,
Were mine upon the River,
The azure water saw us
And the blue transparent sky;
The Lotus flowers knew it,
Our happiness together,
While life was only River,
Only love, and you and I.
Love wakened on the River,
To sounds of running water,
With silver Stars for witness
And reflected Stars for light;
Awakened to existence,
With ripples for first music
And sunlight on the River
For earliest sense of sight.
Love grew upon the River
Among the scented flowers,
The open rosy flowers
Of the Lotus buds in bloom–
Love, brilliant as the Morning,
More fervent than the Noon-day,
And tender as the Twilight
In its blue transparent gloom.
Love died upon the River!
Cold snow upon the mountains,
The Lotus leaves turned yellow
And the water very grey.
Our kisses faint and falter,
The clinging hands unfasten,
The golden time is over
And our passion dies away.
Away. To be forgotten,
A ripple on the River,
That flashes in the sunset,
That flashed,–and died away.
Second Song: The Girl from Baltistan
Throb, throb, throb,
Far away in the blue transparent Night,
On the outer horizon of a dreaming consciousness,
She hears the sound of her lover’s nearing boat
Afar, afloat
On the river’s loneliness, where the Stars are the only light;
Hear the sound of the straining wood
Like a broken sob
Of a heart’s distress,
Loving misunderstood.
She lies, with her loose hair spent in soft disorder,
On a silken sheet with a purple woven border,
Every cell of her brain is latent fire,
Every fibre tense with restrained desire.
And the straining oars sound clearer, clearer,
The boat is approaching nearer, nearer;
“How to wait through the moments’ space
Till I see the light of my lover’s face?”
Throb, throb, throb,
The sound dies down the stream
Till it only clings at the senses’ edge
Like a half-remembered dream.
Doubtless, he in the silence lies,
His fair face turned to the tender skies,
Starlight touching his sleeping eyes.
While his boat caught in the thickset sedge
And the waters round it gurgle and sob,
Or floats set free on the river’s tide,
Oars laid aside.
She is awake and knows no rest,
Passion dies and is dispossessed
Of his brief, despotic power.
But the Brain, once kindled, would still be afire
Were the whole world pasture to its desire,
And all of love, in a single hour,–
A single wine cup, filled to the brim,
Given to slake its thirst.
Some there are who are thus-wise cursed
Times that follow fulfilled desire
Are of all their hours the worst.
They find no Respite and reach no Rest,
Though passion fail and desire grow dim,
No assuagement comes from the thing possessed
For possession feeds the fire.
“Oh, for the life of the bright hued things
Whose marriage and death are one,
A floating fusion on golden wings.
Alit with passion and sun!
“But we who re-marry a thousand times,
As the spirit or senses will,
In a thousand ways, in a thousand climes,
We remain unsatisfied still.”
As her lover left her, alone, awake she lies,
With a sleepless brain and weary, half-closed eyes.
She turns her face where the purple silk is spread,
Still sweet with delicate perfume his presence shed.
Her arms remembered his vanished beauty still,
And, reminiscent of clustered curls, her fingers thrill.
While the wonderful, Starlit Night wears slowly on
Till the light of another day, serene and wan,
Pierces the eastern skies.
A few random poems:
- An Old Man’s Winter Night by Robert Frost
- Before You Returned by Shahida Latif
- Psalm 05 poem – John Milton poems
- Breathing Stars, Inspiration and the Labyrinth of Correspondence
- A Draught Of Sunshine poem – John Keats poems
- In Memory of a Child by Vachel Lindsay
- Xai Kou1
- Яков Полонский – Белая ночь
- Hymn To Death by William Cullen Bryant
- Epigram on Mr. James Gracie by Robert Burns
- Владимир Британишский – Не избранностью, не особенностью
- About Troy poem – Zbigniew Herbert poems | Poetry Monster
- Ballad on Mr. Heron’s Election—No. 3 by Robert Burns
- Best Friend by Nicole M Nugent
- On A Theme In The Greek Anthology
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
- Groupie poem – Ysabelle Moriarty poems | Poetry Monster
- Glacier poem – Yuyutsu Sharma poems | Poetry Monster
- Ghouls parade poem – Brako Attafua poems | Poetry Monster
- Ghouls’ Parade poem – Brako Attafua poems | Poetry Monster
- Gazel poem – Yahya Kemal Beyatli poems | Poetry Monster
- Fantasy poem – Ysabelle Moriarty poems | Poetry Monster
- Drying Clothes poem – Yang Wan-Li poems | Poetry Monster
- Destiny poem – Zubair Ahmad Parray poems | Poetry Monster
- Bloodstains from Iraq poem – Yuyutsu Sharma poems | Poetry Monster
- Autumn poem – Ysabelle Moriarty poems | Poetry Monster
- Adieu poem – Yuvraj Johri poems | Poetry Monster
- About Troy poem – Zbigniew Herbert poems | Poetry Monster
- A Faery’s Lament poem – Ysabelle Moriarty poems | Poetry Monster
- A Visit to Yu’s Cave poem – Yang Wan-Li poems | Poetry Monster
- A Knocker poem – Zbigniew Herbert poems | Poetry Monster
- A Ballad That We Do Not Perish poem – Zbigniew Herbert poems | Poetry Monster
- One Night, The Fukien Robbers poem – Yang Wan-Li poems | Poetry Monster
- O My Lord, Your Dwelling Places Are Lovely poem – Yehudah ha-Levi poems | Poetry Monster
- Not Speaking Of The Way poem – Yosano Akiko poems | Poetry Monster
- My Sweet Lad You Have Not Been Lost poem – Yiannis Ritsos poems | Poetry Monster
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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.