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:
- Витамины
- Владимир Бенедиктов – Близ берегов
- Lune de Miel by T. S. Eliot
- Femme Fatale by Nijole Miliauskaite
- As At Thy Portals Also Death. by Walt Whitman
- Mahomet Ali Beg; Or, the Faithful Minister of State by William Somervile
- Olney Hymn 59: A Living And A Dead Faith by William Cowper
- Introspection In Evening poem – Amy Cavanaugh poems | Poems and Poetry
- The Space Heater by Sharon Olds
- Василий Жуковский – Торжество победителей
- A Circular by Thomas Hardy
- Model For The Laureate by William Butler Yeats
- Tatiana’s Letter poem – Alexander Pushkin
- The Eve Of St. Agnes poem – John Keats 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
- Halo by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Grey eyed Goddess by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Everything ends by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Damned by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Compromising my ego by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Both ways I lose by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Blue flower by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Blue eyes by Tanisha Avarsekar
- Be there for me by Tanisha Avarsekar
- An ode to you by Tanisha Avarsekar
- What time are we living in by T. Wignesan
- Villanelle: Oscar Victorius by T. Wignesan
- To the author(s) of Manimekalai by T. Wignesan
- To Don Quixote, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s A Don Quichotte by T. Wignesan.
- To a woman, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s sonnet: A une femme by T. Wignesan.
- To a person, they say, frigid, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem: A celle que l’on fit froide by T. Wignesan
- The Virgin Maid of Orleans, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s sonnet: La Pucelle by T. Wignesan.
- The Evening Soup, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem: La Soupe du soir by T. Wignesan
- Prison Souvenirs, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem: Prière by T. Wignesan.
- Prayer, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem: Prière by T. Wignesan.
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.