A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)
Do you ever think of me? you who died
Ere our Youth’s first fervour chilled,
With your soft eyes and your pulses stilled
Lying alone, aside,
Do you ever think of me, left in the light,
From the endless calm of your dawnless night?
I am faithful always: I do not say
That the lips which thrilled to your lips of old
To lesser kisses are always cold;
Had you wished for this in its narrow sense
Our love perhaps had been less intense;
But as we held faithfulness, you and I,
I am faithful always, as you who lie,
Asleep for ever, beneath the grass,
While the days and nights and the seasons pass,–
Pass away.
I keep your memory near my heart,
My brilliant, beautiful guiding Star,
Till long live over, I too depart
To the infinite night where perhaps you are.
Oh, are you anywhere? Loved so well!
I would rather know you alive in Hell
Than think your beauty is nothing now,
With its deep dark eyes and tranquil brow
Where the hair fell softly. Can this be true
That nothing, nowhere, exists of you?
Nothing, nowhere, oh, loved so well
I have _never_ forgotten.
Do you still keep
Thoughts of me through your dreamless sleep?
Oh, gone from me! lost in Eternal Night,
Lost Star of light,
Risen splendidly, set so soon,
Through the weariness of life’s afternoon
I dream of your memory yet.
My loved and lost, whom I could not save,
My youth went down with you to the grave,
Though other planets and stars may rise,
I dream of your soft and sorrowful eyes
And I cannot forget.
A few random poems:
- Plague Victims Catapulted Over Walls Into Besieged City by Thomas Lux
- Motto prefixed to the Author’s first Publication by Robert Burns
- Our March by Vladimir Mayakovsky
- Иннокентий Анненский – Еврипид. Геракл (перевод)
- Written In Juice Of Lemon
- Владимир Маяковский – Старый мотив (РОСТА №137)
- Владимир Маяковский – Вот для чего мужику самолет
- Ольга Ермолаева – В кирзовых сапогах скользить по горной глине
- The Poet And Imagination
- Green Fields by W. S. Merwin
- Владимир Британишский – Уронили, потеряли
- Translated From A Sonnet Of Ronsard poem – John Keats poems
- The Gardener LXXXIV: Over the Green by Rabindranath Tagore
- A Man Young And Old: V. The Empty Cup by William Butler Yeats
- Paris In Spring by Sara Teasdale
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
- Robert Burns: Verses To Collector Mitchell :
- Robert Burns: Jockey’s Taen The Parting Kiss:
- Robert Burns: Mally’s Meek, Mally’s Sweet:
- Robert Burns: Crowdie Ever Mair:
- Robert Burns: News, Lassies, News:
- Robert Burns: The Wren’s Nest: Fragment
- Robert Burns: Leezie Lindsay: Fragment
- Robert Burns: Inscription: Written on the blank leaf of a copy of the last edition of my poems, presented to the Lady whom, in so many fictitious reveries of passion, but with the most ardent sentiments of real friendship, I have so often sung under the name of-“Chloris.”
- Robert Burns: O That’s The Lassie O’ My Heart :
- Robert Burns: Song Inscribed To Alexander Cunningham:
- Robert Burns: O Bonie Was Yon Rosy Brier:
- Robert Burns: This Is No My Ain Lassie:
- Robert Burns: The Braw Wooer:
- Robert Burns: Why, Why Tell The Lover: Fragment,
- Robert Burns: Forlorn, My Love, No Comfort Near:
- Robert Burns: Their Groves O’Sweet Myrtle :
- Robert Burns: Twas Na Her Bonie Blue E’e:
- Robert Burns: Mark Yonder Pomp Of Costly Fashion:
- Robert Burns: How Cruel Are The Parents: Altered from an old English song. tune-“John Anderson, my jo.”
- Robert Burns: On Chloris Being Ill:
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
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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.