Come, go and practise-get your work-
Do something, Nelly, pray.
I hate to see you moon about
In this uncertain way!
Why do you look so vacant, child?
I fear you must be ill.
Surely you are not thinking of
That Captain Cameron still?
Ah, yes-I fear’d so! You may blush;
I blush for you, my dear;
And it is scarce a week ago
Since Gerald brought him here-
The day he fell in the hunting-field,
And his pretty horse was lamed.
O child-and with your bringing up!
You ought to be ashamed.
Last night I saw you watching him,
And you danced with him thrice;
You turn’d quite red when he spoke to you-
Such manners are not nice.
You, Nelly Gray, should not be seen
(I don’t wish to be harsh)
Running wild, like the servant-girls,
For a red coat and moustache.
Not that he isn’t a gentleman
From spur to shako-brim-
I know good blood when I see it-yes,
I will say that for him.
He does not swagger, nor lisp, nor flirt-
Has none of those vulgar ways;
And he does not talk like a stable-boy,
As the fashion is nowadays.
In fact, I admire him very much-
My dear, you need not fret-
I do; he’s very different from
The rest of Gerald’s set.
He’s very handsome, certainly-
I don’t mind saying so.
He reminds me a bit of your uncle, when
I met him long ago.
He had a silky, long moustache
Of just that golden shade;
And broad Greek brows, with a tint of bronze,
That Indian suns had made.
He was a soldier, too, you know-
As big and strong and tall:
He’d just come home when I saw him first
At Lady Talbot’s ball.
I remember when we were introduced;
By stealth I look’d him o’er-
Such haughty, indolent, gentle eyes,
I never saw before!
I felt so strange when he look’d at me;
I cannot tell you why-
But I seem’d to feel he was mine, to keep
And love, till I should die.
‘Twas very odd-in a moment, too,
Before I knew his name!
But, Nelly-O how the world was changed
And brighten’d, when he came!
I was so restless all that night;-
I did not want to see,
I felt where he moved about the room
While he was away from me.
I was jealous-I could not help it,
Although I struggled hard-
Of the other girls, whose favour’d names
Were written on his card;
They were so rich, and I was poor;
They were so grandly dress’d,
And I so dowdy; and yet, and yet,
I thought he liked me best.
The last long hour he danced with them,
And oh I miss’d him so!
And then I heard our carriage call’d,
And I knew that I must go.
A big lump rose up in my throat
That I could hardly bear;
But, passing through the vestibule,
I saw him standing there.
I knew not where he came from,
But I felt no surprise
When he look’d down from his stately height
With his grave and quiet eyes,
And held his hand for a mute good-night
That said all words could say;-
Ah, love! he made me happy then
For ever and for aye.
Well, well,-but this is nonsense;
How I am running on!-
His golden hair grew thin and grey,
And now he’s dead and gone.
There, go and dress for dinner, child;
It’s getting late, you see;
And-perhaps I’ll ask young Cameron
If he’ll come in to tea.
A few random poems:
- Lady Clare poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- Олег Бундур – Вопросы
- Lit Instructor by William Stafford
- Desire by Samuel Coleridge
- Tobias Smollett – Tobias Smollett
- Covenent by Rudyard Kipling
- Beachy Blues poem – Andrew Neil Maternick poems | Poems and Poetry
- The Courage Of Shutting-Up by Sylvia Plath
- False Intimacy by Vaishnavi Prakash
- Иван Мятлев – Сельское хозяйство
- Wild Dark Love Song by Sharmagne Leland-St. John
- Владимир Маяковский – Да здравствует неделя ремонта! (РОСТА № 294)
- Sonnet 128: How oft, when thou, my music, music play’st by William Shakespeare
- Владимир Британишский – Первая послевоенная осень
- Your Poems on My Patio by Martina Reisz Newberry
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
- Spenserian Stanzas On Charles Armitage Brown poem – John Keats poems
- Spenserian Stanza. Written At The Close Of Canto II, Book V, Of “The Faerie Queene” poem – John Keats poems
- Specimen Of An Induction To A Poem poem – John Keats poems
- Sonnet XVII. Happy Is England poem – John Keats poems
- Sonnet XVI. To Kosciusko poem – John Keats poems
- Sonnet XV. On The Grasshopper And Cricket poem – John Keats poems
- Sonnet XIV. Addressed To The Same (Haydon) poem – John Keats poems
- Sonnet X. To One Who Has Been Long In City Pent poem – John Keats poems
- Sonnet XIII. Addressed To Haydon poem – John Keats poems
- Sonnet XII. On Leaving Some Friends At An Early Hour poem – John Keats poems
- Sonnet XI. On First Looking Into Chapman’s Homer poem – John Keats poems
- Sonnet. Written Upon The Top Of Ben Nevis poem – John Keats poems
- Sonnet. Written On A Blank Space At The End Of Chaucer’s Tale Of ‘The Floure And The Lefe’ poem – John Keats poems
- Sonnet. Written On A Blank Page In Shakespeare’s Poems, Facing ‘A Lover’s Complaint’ poem – John Keats poems
- Sonnet. Written In Disgust Of Vulgar Superstition poem – John Keats poems
- Sonnet. Written In Answer To A Sonnet By J. H. Reynolds poem – John Keats poems
- Sonnet. Written Before Re-Read King Lear poem – John Keats poems
- Sonnet. Why Did I Laugh Tonight? poem – John Keats poems
- Sonnet: When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be poem – John Keats poems
- Sonnet VIII. To My Brothers poem – John Keats poems
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.