Just as the dawn of Love was breaking
Across the weary world of grey,
Just as my life once more was waking
As roses waken late in May,
Fate, blindly cruel and havoc-making,
Stepped in and carried you away.
Memories have I none in keeping
Of times I held you near my heart,
Of dreams when we were near to weeping
That dawn should bid us rise and part;
Never, alas, I saw you sleeping
With soft closed eyes and lips apart,
Breathing my name still through your dreaming.–
Ah! had you stayed, such things had been!
But Fate, unheeding human scheming,
Serenely reckless came between–
Fate with her cold eyes hard and gleaming
Unseared by all the sorrow seen.
Ah! well-beloved, I never told you,
I did not show in speech or song,
How at the end I longed to fold you
Close in my arms; so fierce and strong
The longing grew to have and hold you,
You, and you only, all life long.
They who know nothing call me fickle,
Keen to pursue and loth to keep.
Ah, could they see these tears that trickle
From eyes erstwhile too proud to weep.
Could see me, prone, beneath the sickle,
While pain and sorrow stand and reap!
Unopened scarce, yet overblown, lie
The hopes that rose-like round me grew,
The lights are low, and more than lonely
This life I lead apart from you.
Come back, come back! I want you only,
And you who loved me never knew.
You loved me, pleaded for compassion
On all the pain I would not share;
And I in weary, halting fashion
Was loth to listen, long to care;
But now, dear God! I faint with passion
For your far eyes and distant hair.
Yes, I am faint with love, and broken
With sleepless nights and empty days;
I want your soft words fiercely spoken,
Your tender looks and wayward ways–
Want that strange smile that gave me token
Of many things that no man says.
Cold was I, weary, slow to waken
Till, startled by your ardent eyes,
I felt the soul within me shaken
And long-forgotten senses rise;
But in that moment you were taken,
And thus we lost our Paradise!
Farewell, we may not now recover
That golden “Then” misspent, passed by,
We shall not meet as loved and lover
Here, or hereafter, you and I.
My time for loving you is over,
Love has no future, but to die.
And thus we part, with no believing
In any chance of future years.
We have no idle self-deceiving,
No half-consoling hopes and fears;
We know the Gods grant no retrieving
A wasted chance. Fate knows no tears.
A few random poems:
- On The Tomb Of A Priestess Of Artemis by Sappho
- God Neither Known Nor Loved By The World by William Cowper
- Heaven–Haven: A Nun Takes The Veil poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Live for the moment, be in the present by Ramesh V Deshpande
- Федор Сологуб – Солнце, которому больно
- The Death of Knowledge by Tomás Ó Cárthaigh
- Shame
- Olney Hymn 27: Welcome To The Table by William Cowper
- The Return by Sara Teasdale
- Miscast II poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- Eclogue:–The Best Man In The Vield by William Barnes
- Men by Maya Angelou
- Creativity in America and How Italians Can Learn From American Ingenuity
- Robert Burns: On The Death Of Robert Dundas, Esq., Of Arniston,: Late Lord President of the Court of Session.
- Let The Weary World Go Round poem – Alfred Austin
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
- English Poetry. Thomas Moore. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 56. Томас Мур.
- English Poetry. Thomas Moore. From “The Odes of Anacreon”. Ode 66. Томас Мур.
- English Poetry. Thomas Moore. From “Irish Melodies”. 103. The Mountain Spite. Томас Мур.
- English Poetry. Thomas Moore. From “Irish Melodies”. 99. ’Twas One of Those Dreams. Томас Мур.
- English Poetry. Thomas Moore. From “Irish Melodies”. 91. Oh, Ye Dead!. Томас Мур.
- English Poetry. Thomas Moore. From “Irish Melodies”. 85. Oh For the Swords of Former Time. Томас Мур.
- English Poetry. Thomas Moore. From “Irish Melodies”. 58. Farewell! – But Whenever You Welcome the Hour. Томас Мур.
- English Poetry. Thomas Moore. From “Irish Melodies”. 44. She Is Far From the Land. Томас Мур.
- English Poetry. Thomas Moore. From “Irish Melodies”. 26. Erin, Oh Erin. Томас Мур.
- English Poetry. Mark Akenside. The Pleasures of Imagination. Марк Эйкенсайд.
- English Poetry. Thomas Moore. From “Irish Melodies”. 22. Let Erin Remember the Days of Old. Томас Мур.
- English Poetry. Richard Hovey. The Old Pine. Ричард Хави.
- English Poetry. Richard Hovey. John Keats. Ричард Хави.
- English Poetry. Madison Julius Cawein. Haunted. Мэдисон Джулиус Кавейн.
- English Poetry. Madison Julius Cawein. Going for the Cows. Мэдисон Джулиус Кавейн.
- English Poetry. Madison Julius Cawein. Garden and Gardener. Мэдисон Джулиус Кавейн.
- English Poetry. Madison Julius Cawein. Forevermore. Мэдисон Джулиус Кавейн.
- English Poetry. Madison Julius Cawein. Finale. Мэдисон Джулиус Кавейн.
- English Poetry. Madison Julius Cawein. Evasion. Мэдисон Джулиус Кавейн.
- Copywriting Agency Foundation For Prosperous Business
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.