A poem by Alexander Pope (1688-1744) , the greatest English poet of “Augustan” or Georgian period
As some fond virgin, whom her mother’s care
Drags from the town to wholesome country air,
Just when she learns to roll a melting eye,
And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh;
From the dear man unwilling she must sever,
Yet takes one kiss before she parts for ever:
Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew,
Saw others happy, and with sighs withdrew;
Not that their pleasures caused her discontent,
She sigh’d not that they staid, but that she went.
She went to plain-work, and to purling brooks,
Old-fashion’d halls, dull aunts, and croaking rooks:
She went from opera, park, assembly, play,
To morning-walks, and prayers three hours a-day:
To part her time ‘twixt reading and bohea,
To muse, and spill her solitary tea;
Or o’er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,
Count the slow clock, and dine exact at noon;
Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire,
Hum half a tune, tell stories to the ‘squire;
Up to her godly garret after seven,
There starve and pray, for that’s the way to heaven.
Some ‘squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack;
Whose game is whist, whose treat, a toast in sack;
Who visits with a gun, presents you birds,
Then gives a smacking buss, and cries–No words!
Or with his hound comes hallooing from the stable,
Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table;
Whose laughs are hearty, though his jests are coarse,
And loves you best of all things–but his horse.
In some fair evening, on your elbow laid,
You dream of triumphs in the rural shade;
In pensive thought recall the fancied scene,
See coronations rise on every green;
Before you pass the imaginary sights
Of lords, and earls, and dukes, and garter’d knights,
While the spread fan o’ershades your closing eyes;
Then give one flirt, and all the vision flies.
Thus vanish sceptres, coronets, and balls,
And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls!
So when your slave, at some dear idle time,
(Not plagued with headaches, or the want of rhyme)
Stands in the streets, abstracted from the crew,
And while he seems to study, thinks of you;
Just when his fancy paints your sprightly eyes,
Or sees the blush of soft Parthenia rise,
Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite,
Streets, chairs, and coxcombs rush upon my sight;
Vex’d to be still in town, I knit my brow,
Look sour, and hum a tune, as you do now.
A few random poems:
- I Come From There by Mahmoud Darwish
- The Wistful Lady by Thomas Hardy
- Twelve Years by Paul Celan
- The Death of Nicou by Thomas Chatterton
- Sunflowers by Martin Willitts Jr.
- Вера Павлова – Завещание
- Гавриил Державин – Послание Мурзы Багрима к царевне Доброславе
- Peace of Mind poem – Amit Shankar Saha poems | Poems and Poetry
- The Lady’s Second Song by William Butler Yeats
- Once Was A Singer For God Remembering Nekia
- Cologne by Paul Celan
- Омар Хайям – Мы влюбчивая голь, здесь нету мусульман
- On The Cliffs Newport
- Владимир Корнилов – Место
- Morning Poem #40 by Wanda Phipps
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
- Robert Burns: A Poet’s Welcome To His Love-Begotten Daughter: The First Instance That Entitled Him To The Venerable Appellation Of Father
- Robert Burns: Epistle To John Rankine: Enclosing Some Poems
- Robert Burns: Reply To An Announcement By J. Rankine: On His Writing To The Poet, That A Girl In That Part Of The Country Was With A Child To Him.
- Robert Burns: Ballad On The American War:
- Robert Burns Country: In The Character Of A Ruined Farmer:
- Robert Burns: On My Ever Honoured Father:
- Robert Burns: On My Own Friend And My Father’s Friend, Wm. Muir In Tarbolton Mill:
- Robert Burns: On James Grieve, Laird Of Boghead, Tarbolton :
- Robert Burns: Epitaph On Wm. Hood, Senr., In Tarbolton:
- Robert Burns: Remorse: Fragment
- Robert Burns: Wha Is That At My Bower-Door:
- Robert Burns: Green Grow The Rashes: A Fragment
- Robert Burns: My Nanie, O:
- Robert Burns: Song Composed In August:
- Robert Burns: The Rigs O’ Barley:
- Robert Burns: I Dream’d I Lay:
- Robert Burns: Poor Mailie’s Elegy:
- Robert Burns: Death And Dying Words Of Poor Mailie, The Author’s Only Pet Yowe., The. An Unco Mournfu’ Tale:
- Robert Burns: John Barleycorn: A Ballad :
- Robert Burns: My Father Was A Farmer:
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
Alexander Pope (1688 – 1744) was a a post-Restoration English poet and satirist. He is a poet of the (British) Augustan period and one of its greatest artistic exponents.