Listen, Beloved, the Casurinas quiver,
Each tassel prays the wind to set it free,
Hark to the frantic sobbing of the river,
Wild to attain extinction in the sea.
All Nature blindly struggles to dissolve
In other forms and forces, thus to solve
The painful riddle of identity.
Ah, that my soul might lose itself in thee!
Yet, my Beloved One, wherefore seek I union,
Since there is no such thing in all the world,–
Are not our spirits linked in close communion,–
And on my lips thy clinging lips are curled?
Thy tender arms are round my shoulders thrown,
I hear thy heart more loudly than my own,
And yet, to my despair, I know thee far,
As in the stellar darkness, star from star.
Even in times when love with bounteous measure
A simultaneous joy on us has shed,
In the last moment of delirious pleasure,
Ere the sense fail, or any force be fled,
My rapture has been even as a wall,
Shutting out any thought of thee at all!
My being, by its own delight possessed,
Forgot that it was sleeping on thy breast.
Ay, from his birth each man is vowed and given
To a vast loneliness, ungauged, unspanned,
Whether by pain and woe his soul be riven,
Or all fair pleasures clustered ‘neath his hand.
His gain by day, his ecstasy by night,–
His force, his folly, fierce or faint delight,–
Suffering or sorrow, fortune, feud, or care,–
Whate’er he find or feel,–he may not share.
Lonely we join the world, and we depart
Even as lonely, having lived alone,
The breast that feeds us, the beloved one’s heart,
The lips we kiss,–or curse–alike unknown.
Ay, even these lips of thine, so often kissed,
What certitude have I that they exist?
Alas, it is the truth, though harsh it seems,
I have been loved as sweetly in my dreams.
Therefore if I should seem too fiercely fond,
Too swift to love, too eager to attain,
Forgive the fervour that would forge beyond
The limits set to mortal joy and pain.
Knowing the soul’s unmeasured loneliness,
My passion must be mingled with distress,
As I, despairing, struggle to draw near
What is as unattainable as dear.
Thirst may be quenched at any kindly river,
Rest may be found ‘neath any arching tree.
No sleep allures, no draughts of love deliver
My spirit from its aching need of thee.
Thy sweet assentiveness to my demands,
All the caressive touches of thy hands,–
These soft cool hands, with fingers tipped with fire,–
They can do nothing to assuage desire.
Sometimes I think my longing soul remembers
A previous love to which it aims and strives,
As if this fire of ours were but the embers
Of some wild flame burnt out in former lives.
Perchance in earlier days I _did_ attain
That which I seek for now so all in vain,
Maybe my soul with thine _was_ fused and wed
In some great night, long since dissolved and dead.
We may progress; but who shall answer clearly
The riddle of the endless change of things.
Perchance in other days men loved more dearly,
Or Love himself had wider ways and wings,
Maybe we gave ourselves with less control,
Or simpler living left more free the soul,
So that with ease the flesh aside was flung,–
Or was it merely that _Mankind was young?_
Or has my spirit a divine prevision
Of vast vague passions stored in days to be,
When some strong souls shall conquer their division
And two shall be as one, eternally?
Finding at last upon each other’s breast,
Unutterable calm and infinite rest,
While love shall burn with such intense a glow
That both shall die, and neither heed or know.
Why do I question thus, and wake confusion
In the soft thought that lights thy perfect face,
Ah, shed once more thy perfumed hair’s profusion,
Open thine arms and make my resting place.
Lay thy red lips on mine as heretofore,
Grant me the treasure of thy beauty’s store,
Stifle all thought in one imperious kiss,–
What shall I ask for more than this,–and this?
A few random poems:
- Epilogue by Vachel Lindsay
- Вера Павлова – Снег
- Kotri By The River
- To My Lord Fairfax poem – John Milton poems
- Нина Воронель – Санкт-Петербург
- New Year On Dartmoor by Sylvia Plath
- The Harvest Moon by Ted Hughes
- Grace before and after Meat by Robert Burns
- Epigram : To Christina, Queen Of Sweden, With Cromwell’s Picture (Translation) by William Cowper
- Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle by William Wordsworth
- Федор Сологуб – Золушка
- English Poetry. Algernon Charles Swinburne. The Triumph of Time. Алджернон Чарльз Суинбёрн.
- Sandys Ghost ; A Proper Ballad on the New Ovid’s Metamorphosis poem – Alexander Pope poems | Poetry Monster
- Владимир Маяковский – Порядочный гражданин
- Untitled XXIX by Yunus Emre
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
- Алишер Навои – О сердце, столько на земле
- Алишер Навои – О, мне бы крылья
- Алишер Навои – Нет, не от слез кровавых одежда моя красней
- Алишер Навои – Не в камфарной ли одежде этот кипарис прямой
- Алишер Навои – Над головой моею осенних дней листопад
- Алишер Навои – На лице горит созвездье у красавицы моей
- Алишер Навои – Моя безумная душа в обломках
- Алишер Навои – Луна в носилках, о постой
- Алишер Навои – Кто на стезе любви един
- Алишер Навои – Когда, тоскуя по тебе
- Алишер Навои – Кипарис подобен розе увлажненной
- Алишер Навои – Как от вздохов безнадежных дым
- Алишер Навои – Эти губы точно розы
- Алишер Навои – Если б был я быстрым ветром
- Алишер Навои – Двух резвых своих газелей, которые нежно спят
- Алишер Навои – Цветком, что счастье нам несет
- Алишер Навои – Чудесные свершения середины жизни
- Алишер Навои – Чаша, солнце отражая
- Альфред Теннисон – Волшебница Шалот
- Альфред Теннисон – В долине
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.