Lie still, Beloved, I also see the day
Shoot his white arrows through the trembling sky,
But what is dawn to us, who cast away
All sense of time that mars our ecstasy ?
The scented orange bushes check the breeze
Granting in tribute many waxen stars,
And aromatic Eucalyptus trees
Defy the sun with grey-green scimitars.
Since fate has given us this garden love,
And Time and Space, for once, have acquiesced,
Ah, take no heed of paling skies above
Let us deem night is with us yet, and rest.
Let us lie still and drift away in dreams.
Back to the jewelled kingdom of the night.
Whose golden stars with dimly radiant gleams
Lit up your loveliness for my delight.
Once we are risen all the cares of day
Will seize and bind us to their wanton will.
Why should we own that night has passed away ?
Oh, as you value love, lie still, lie still!
A few random poems:
- When I read the Book. by Walt Whitman
- Poem of Remembrance for a Girl or a Boy. by Walt Whitman
- The joyful things in life by Martin Smith
- Ah, Are You Digging On My Grave? by Thomas Hardy
- Carpe Diem by William Shakespeare
- Verses Written At Bath, On Finding The Heel Of A Shoe by William Cowper
- Илья Эренбург – Я бы мог прожить совсем иначе
- Teatro Bambino. Dublin, N. H. poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- Face Lift by Sylvia Plath
- I am He that Aches with Love. by Walt Whitman
- Robert Burns: How Lang And Dreary Is The Night:
- Robert Burns: Halloween: The following poem will, by many readers, be well enough understood; but for the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the country where the scene is cast, notes are added to give some account of the principal charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. The passion of prying into futurity makes a striking part of the history of human nature in its rude state, in all ages and nations; and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, if any such honour the author with a perusal, to see the remains of it among the more unenlightened in our own.-R.B.
- Snow & Ice by Quincy Troupe
- Rosalie’s Good Eats Cafe by Shel Silverstein
- Always Unsuitable by Marge Piercy
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
- Федор Сологуб – В камине пылания много
- Федор Сологуб – В иных веках, в иной отчизне
- Федор Сологуб – В этот час
- Федор Сологуб – В его саду растет рябина
- Федор Сологуб – Терцинами писать как будто очень трудно
- Федор Сологуб – Тепло мне потому, что мой уютный дом
- Федор Сологуб – Тень решётки прочной
- Федор Сологуб – Там, внизу, костры горели
- Федор Сологуб – Так же внятен мне, как прежде
- Федор Сологуб – Так нежен был внезапный поцелуй
- Федор Сологуб – Святых имен твоих не знаю
- Федор Сологуб – Своеволием рока
- Федор Сологуб – Светлый пир
- Федор Сологуб – Светлый дом мой всё выше
- Федор Сологуб – Сверкайте, миги строгих дней
- Федор Сологуб – Солнце, которому больно
- Федор Сологуб – Собака седого короля
- Федор Сологуб – Снова саваны надели
- Федор Сологуб – Снежное поле бесшумно
- Федор Сологуб – Слышу голос милой
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.