A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)
Ay, thou has found thy kingdom, Yasin Khan,
Thy fathers’ pomp and power are thine, at last.
No more the rugged roads of Khorasan,
The scanty food and tentage of the past!
Wouldst thou make war? thy followers know no fear.
Where shouldst thou lead them but to victory?
Wouldst thou have love? thy soft-eyed slaves draw near,
Eager to drain thy strength away from thee.
My thoughts drag backwards to forgotten days,
To scenes etched deeply on my heart by pain;
The thirsty marches, ambuscades, and frays,
The hostile hills, the burnt and barren plain.
Hast thou forgotten how one night was spent,
Crouched in a camel’s carcase by the road,
Along which Akbar’s soldiers, scouting, went,
And he himself, all unsuspecting, rode?
Did we not waken one despairing dawn,
Attacked in front, cut off in rear, by snow,
Till, like a tiger leaping on a fawn,
Half of the hill crashed down upon the foe?
Once, as thou mournd’st thy lifeless brother’s fate,
The red tears falling from thy shattered wrist,
A spent Waziri, forceful still, in hate,
Covered they heart, ten paces off,–and missed!
Ahi, men thrust a worn and dinted sword
Into a velvet-scabbarded repose;
The gilded pageants that salute thee Lord
Cover _one_ sorrow-rusted heart, God knows.
Ah, to exchange this wealth of idle days
For one cold reckless night of Khorasan!
To crouch once more before the camp-fire blaze
That lit the lonely eyes of Yasin Khan.
To watch the starlight glitter on the snows,
The plain stretched round us like a waveless sea,
Waiting until thy weary lids should close
To slip my furs and spread them over thee.
How the wind howled about the lonely pass,
While the faint snow-shine of that plateaued space
Lit, where it lay upon the frozen grass,
The mournful, tragic beauty of thy face.
Thou hast enough caressed the scented hair
Of these soft-breasted girls who waste thee so.
Hast thou not sons for every adult year?
Let us arise, O Yasin Khan, and go!
Let us escape from these prison bars
To gain the freedom of an open sky,
Thy soul and mine, alone beneath the stars,
Intriguing danger, as in days gone by.
Nay; there is no returning, Yasin Khan.
The white peaks ward the passes, as of yore,
The wind sweeps o’er the wastes of Khorasan;–
But thou and I go thitherward no more.
Close, ah, too close, the bitter knowledge clings,
We may not follow where my fancies yearn.
The years go hence, and wild and lovely things,
_Their own_, go with them, never to return.
A few random poems:
- Robert Burns: To Alex. Cunningham, ESQ., Writer: Ellisland, Nithsdale, July 27th, 1788.
- Как просто было в юности
- Robert Burns: Bonie Peg-a-Ramsay:
- Before The Law by Michael Major
- Finding Your Creative Self
- Иван Мятлев – Соловей
- Epitaph On Mr. Bridgeman by William Strode
- Morning Rain by Tu Fu
- Beautiful Balmoral by William Topaz McGonagall
- The Lost Pleiad by William Gilmore Simms
- SURVIVAL by Satish Verma
- Юлия Друнина – Убивали молодость мою
- My Bed is Covered Yellow by Peter Orlovsky
- Нина Воронель – Не слишком ли ты многого
- the_prison_of_the_past.html
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
- A Man, They Made a God by Walid Saba
- A Kind of Life by Stanley Wilkin
- A Gemini’s Hurt by Stephen Allen
- A Dogs Love Is a Never Ending Game by Stacey Chillemi
- A Carta/The Letter by Soaroir de Campos
- I stood musing in a black world by Stephen Crane
- I saw a man pursuing the horizon by Stephen Crane
- I met a seer by Stephen Crane
- I looked here by Stephen Crane
- I explain the silvered passing of a ship at night, by Stephen Crane
- God lay dead in heaven by Stephen Crane
- God fashioned the ship of the world carefully. by Stephen Crane
- Friend, your white beard sweeps the ground by Stephen Crane
- Forth went the candid man by Stephen Crane
- Each small gleam was a voice, by Stephen Crane
- A man went before a strange God by Stephen Crane
- A man toiled on a burning road by Stephen Crane
- A man saw a ball of gold in the sky by Stephen Crane
- A man said to the universe: by Stephen Crane
- A man feared that he might find an assassin by Stephen Crane
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.