First-born of Chaos, who so fair didst come
From the old Negro’s darksome womb!
Which, when it saw the lovely child,
The melancholy mass put on kind looks and smiled,
Thou tide of glory which no rest dost know,
But ever ebb and ever flow!
Thou golden shower of a true Jove,
Who does in thee descend, and heaven to earth make love!
Hail, active nature’s watchful life and health,
Her joy, her ornament and wealth!
Hail to thy husband Heat, and thee!
Thou the world’s beauteous bride, the lusty bridegroom he!
Say, from what golden quivers of the sky
Do all thy winged arrows fly?
Swiftness and power by birth are thine:
From thy great Sire they came, thy Sire the Word divine.
‘Tis, I believe, this archery to show,
That so much cost in colors thou,
And skill in painting, dost bestow
Upon thy ancient arms, the gaudy heavenly bow.
Swift as light thoughts their empty career run,
Thy race is finished when begun;
Let a post-angel start with thee,
And thou the goal of earth shalt teach as soon as he.
Thou in the moon’s bright chariot, proud and gay,
Dost thy bright wood of stars survey,
And all the year dost with thee bring,
Of thousand flowery lights, thine own nocturnal spring.
Thou Scythian-like dost round thy lands, above
The sun’s gilt tent, forever move,
And still, as thou in pomp dost go,
The shining pageants of the world attend thy show.
Nor amidst all these triumphs dost thou scorn
The humble glowworms to adorn,
And with those living spangles gild –
O greatness without pride! – the bushes of the field.
Night and her ugly subjects thou dost fright,
And sleep, the lazy owl of night;
Ashamed and fearful to appear,
They screen their horrid shapes with the black hemisphere.
With ’em there hastes, and wildly takes the alarm,
Of painted dreams, a busy swarm;
At the first openings of thine eye,
The various clusters break, the antic atoms fly.
The guilty serpents and obscener beasts
Creep conscious to their secret rests;
Nature to thee does reverence pay;
Ill omens and ill sights removes out of thy way.
At thy appearance, Grief itself is said
To shake his wings and rouse his head.
And cloudy Care has often took
A gentle beamy smile reflected from thy look.
At thy appearance, Fear itself grows bold;
Thy sunshine melts away his cold.
Encouraged at the sight of thee,
To the cheek color comes, and firmness to the knee.
Even Lust, the master of a hardened face,
Blushes if thou beest in the place,
To darkness’ curtains he retires;
In sympathizing night he rolls his smoky fires.
When, goddess, thou list’st up thy wakened head
Out of the morning’s purple bed,
Thy quire of birds about thee play,
And all the joyful world salutes the rising day.
The ghosts and monster spirits that did presume
A body’s privilege to assume
Vanish again invisibly,
And bodies gain again their visibility.
All the world’s bravery that delights our eyes
Is but thy several liveries;
Thou the rich dye on them bestow’st;
Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thou go’st.
A crimson garment in the rose thou wear’st;
A crown of studded gold thou bear’st;
The virgin blies in their white
Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked light.
The violet, spring’s little infant, stands
Girt in thy purple swaddling-bands;
On the fair tulip thou dost dote;
Thou cloth’st it in a gay and parti-colored coat.
With flame condensed thou dost the jewels fix,
And solid colors in it mix;
Flora herself envies to see
Flowers fairer than her own, and durable as she.
Ah, goddess! would thou couldst thy hand withhold
And be less liberal to gold;
Didst thou less value to it give,
Of how much care, alas! mightst thou poor man relieve!
To me the sun is more delightful far,
And all fair days much fairer are,
But few, ah wondrous few, there be
Who do not gold prefer, O goddess, even to thee.
Through the soft ways of heaven, and air, and sea,
Which open all their pores to thee,
Like a clear river thou dost glide,
And with thy living stream through the close channels slide.
But where firm bodies thy free course oppose,
Gently thy source the land o’erflows,
Takes there possession, and does make
Of colors mingled, light, a thick and standing lake.
But the vast ocean of unbounded day
In the empyrean heaven does stay.
Thy rivers, lakes, and springs below
From thence took first their rise, thither at last must flow.
A few random poems:
- Written In Early Youth. The Time,–An Autumnal Evening by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
- Its gonna be sunday by Shailendra Singh
- Федор Сологуб – Так нежен был внезапный поцелуй
- Владимир Маяковский – Приказ по армии искусства
- Woodchucks by Maxine Kumin
- Diving Into The Wreck
- Victims poem – Yaseen Anwer poems | Poetry Monster
- Without You by Miraj Patel
- Year O’ year by Nikunj Sharma
- A Pity, We Were Such A Good Invention by Yehuda Amichai
- Resolution And Independence by William Wordsworth
- In The Train by Sara Teasdale
- Владимир Высоцкий – Нет меня, я покинул Расею
- Владимир Высоцкий – Вот и настал этот час опять
- Николай Заболоцкий – Искушение
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 Британишский – Чернышев переулок и мост Чернышев
- Владимир Британишский – Чай
- Владимир Британишский – Царство – одно, но России-то – две
- Владимир Британишский – Быт
- Владимир Британишский – Буссоль
- Владимир Британишский – Будто катаясь на коньках
- Владимир Британишский – Богаевский
- Владимир Британишский – Били в армии, в школе, в столице, в селе
- Владимир Британишский – Баня Быстрицкого
- Владимир Британишский – Багульник, ельник, изволоки, взгорья
- Владимир Британишский – Автопортрет Давида
- Владимир Британишский – Архитектор Юрий Фельтен
- Владимир Британишский – Аркадия
- Владимир Британишский – Античник Альтман
- Владимир Британишский – Аэрогеофизик
- Владимир Британишский – A за Уралом – сгустки городов
- Владимир Британишский – А весна наступает все же
- Владимир Британишский – А Новый год мы встретили в лесу
- Владимир Британишский – 1942 год
- Владимир Британишский – 1848 год в Зимнем дворце
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
Abraham Cowley (1618 – 1667), the Royalist Poet.Poet and essayist Abraham Cowley was born in London, England, in 1618. He displayed early talent as a poet, publishing his first collection of poetry, Poetical Blossoms (1633), at the age of 15. Cowley studied at Cambridge University but was stripped of his Cambridge fellowship during the English Civil War and expelled for refusing to sign the Solemn League and Covenant of 1644. In turn, he accompanied Queen Henrietta Maria to France, where he spent 12 years in exile, serving as her secretary. During this time, Cowley completed The Mistress (1647). Arguably his most famous work, the collection exemplifies Cowley’s metaphysical style of love poetry. After the Restoration, Cowley returned to England, where he was reinstated as a Cambridge fellow and earned his MD before finally retiring to the English countryside. He is buried at Westminster Abbey alongside Geoffrey Chaucer and Edmund Spenser. Cowley is a wonderful poet and an outstanding representative of the English baroque.