Low on her little stool she sits
To make a nursing lap,
And cares for nothing but the form
Her little arms enwrap.
With hairless skull that gapes apart,
A broken plaster ball,
One chipped glass eye that squints askew,
And ne’er a nose at all-
No raddle left on grimy cheek,
No mouth that one can see-
It scarce discloses, at a glance,
What it was meant to be.
But something in the simple scheme
As it extends below
(It is the “tidy” from my chair
That she is rumpling so)-
A certain folding of the stuff
That winds the thing about
(But still permits the sawdust gore
To trickle down and out)-
The way it curves around her waist,
On little knees outspread-
Implies a body frail and dear,
Whence one infers a head.
She rocks the scarecrow to and fro,
With croonings soft and deep,
A lullaby designed to hush
The bunch of rags to sleep.
I ask what rubbish has she there.
“My dolly,” she replies,
But tone and smile and gesture say,
“My angel from the skies.”
Ineffable the look of love
Cast on the hideous blur
That somehow means a precious face,
Most beautiful, to her.
The deftness and the tenderness
Of her caressing hands . . . . . .
How can she possibly divine
For what the creature stands?
Herself a nurseling, that has seen
The summers and the snows
Of scarce five years of baby life.
And yet she knows-she knows.
Just as a puppy of the pack
Knows unheard huntsman’s call,
And knows it is a running hound
Before it learns to crawl.
Just as she knew, when hardly born,
The breast unseen before,
And knew-how well!-before they touched,
What milk and mouth were for.
So, by some mystic extra-sense
Denied to eyes and ears,
Her spirit communes with its own
Beyond the veil of years.
She hears unechoing footsteps run
On floors she never trod,
Sees lineaments invisible
As is the face of God-
Forms she can recognise and greet,
Though wholly hid from me.
Alas! a treasure that is not,
And that may never be.
The majesty of motherhood
Sits on her baby brow;
Before her little three-legged throne
My grizzled head must bow.
That dingy bundle in her arms
Symbols immortal things-
A heritage, by right divine,
Beyond the claims of kings.
A few random poems:
- Юлия Друнина – Убивали молодость мою
- The Silkworm by William Cowper
- A Bay In Anglesey poem – John Betjeman poems | Poems and Poetry
- All Night In Savannah The Wind Wrote Poetry
- Oh My Father, I am Yusif by Mahmoud Darwish
- The Riddle of the World poem – Alexander Pope
- The Benefactors Of The Little Box by Vasko Popa
- Валерий Брюсов – Идут года. Но с прежней страстью
- The Common Life by W H Auden
- Lesbos by Sylvia Plath
- Colophon poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster
- Captain Hook by Shel Silverstein
- Омар Хайям – Небо кушак, что облек изнуренный мой стан
- Илья Эренбург – Я слышу всё, и горестные шепоты
- Youths Can Raise Funds, Fight Drug Abuse Through Education
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
- Владимир Высоцкий – Песня Кэрролла
- Владимир Высоцкий – Песня Алисы
- Владимир Высоцкий – Песенка про ребёнка-поросёнка
- Владимир Высоцкий – Песенка-представление орлёнком Эдом Атаки Гризли
- Владимир Высоцкий – В плен, приказ, не сдаваться
- Владимир Высоцкий – В младенчестве нас матери пугали
- Владимир Высоцкий – В куски разлетелася корона
- Владимир Высоцкий – В этом доме большом раньше пьянка была
- Владимир Высоцкий – В далёком созвездии Тау Кита
- Владимир Высоцкий – В белье плотной вязки
- Владимир Высоцкий – Утренняя гимнастика
- Владимир Высоцкий – Упрямо я стремлюсь ко дну
- Владимир Высоцкий – Ублажаю ли душу романсом
- Владимир Высоцкий – У профессиональных игроков
- Владимир Высоцкий – У нас вчера с позавчера
- Владимир Высоцкий – У Наполеона Ватерлоо есть хотя б
- Владимир Высоцкий – У меня было сорок фамилий
- Владимир Высоцкий – У Доски, где почётные граждане
- Владимир Высоцкий – Тюменская нефть
- Владимир Высоцкий – Тот, кто раньше с нею был
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
Ada Cambridge (1844 – 1926), also known as Ada Cross, was an English-born Australian author and poetess. She wrote more than 25 works of fiction, three volumes of poetry and two autobiographical works.