IT was a dismal and a fearful night:
Scarce could the Morn drive on th’ unwilling Light,
When Sleep, Death’s image, left my troubled breast
By something liker Death possest.
My eyes with tears did uncommanded flow,
And on my soul hung the dull weight
Of some intolerable fate.
What bell was that? Ah me! too much I know!
My sweet companion and my gentle peer,
Why hast thou left me thus unkindly here,
Thy end for ever and my life to moan?
O, thou hast left me all alone!
Thy soul and body, when death’s agony
Besieged around thy noble heart,
Did not with more reluctance part
Than I, my dearest Friend, do part from thee.
My dearest Friend, would I had died for thee!
Life and this world henceforth will tedious be:
Nor shall I know hereafter what to do
If once my griefs prove tedious too.
Silent and sad I walk about all day,
As sullen ghosts stalk speechless by
Where their hid treasures lie;
Alas! my treasure ‘s gone; why do I stay?
Say, for you saw us, ye immortal lights,
How oft unwearied have we spent the nights,
Till the Ledaean stars, so famed for love,
Wonder’d at us from above!
We spent them not in toys, in lusts, or wine;
But search of deep Philosophy,
Wit, Eloquence, and Poetry-
Arts which I loved, for they, my Friend, were thine.
Ye fields of Cambridge, our dear Cambridge, say
Have ye not seen us walking every day?
Was there a tree about which did not know
The love betwixt us two?
Henceforth, ye gentle trees, for ever fade;
Or your sad branches thicker join
And into darksome shades combine,
Dark as the grave wherein my Friend is laid!
Large was his soul: as large a soul as e’er
Submitted to inform a body here;
High as the place ’twas shortly in Heaven to have,
But low and humble as his grave.
So high that all the virtues there did come,
As to their chiefest seat
Conspicuous and great;
So low, that for me too it made a room.
Knowledge he only sought, and so soon caught
As if for him Knowledge had rather sought;
Nor did more learning ever crowded lie
In such a short mortality.
Whene’er the skilful youth discoursed or writ,
Still did the notions throng
About his eloquent tongue;
Nor could his ink flow faster than his wit.
His mirth was the pure spirits of various wit,
Yet never did his God or friends forget;
And when deep talk and wisdom came in view,
Retired, and gave to them their due.
For the rich help of books he always took,
Though his own searching mind before
Was so with notions written o’er,
As if wise Nature had made that her book.
With as much zeal, devotion, piety,
He always lived, as other saints do die.
Still with his soul severe account he kept,
Weeping all debts out ere he slept.
Then down in peace and innocence he lay,
Like the Sun’s laborious light,
Which still in water sets at night,
Unsullied with his journey of the day.
But happy Thou, ta’en from this frantic age,
Where ignorance and hypocrisy does rage!
A fitter time for Heaven no soul e’er chose-
The place now only free from those.
There ‘mong the blest thou dost for ever shine;
And wheresoe’er thou casts thy view
Upon that white and radiant crew,
See’st not a soul clothed with more light than thine.
A few random poems:
- I Went Down into the Desert by Vachel Lindsay
- The Lighted Window by Sara Teasdale
- The Fairies Break Their Dances poem – A. E. Housman
- Song Of The Wandering Jew by William Wordsworth
- Константин Бальмонт – Мы прячем, душим тонкой сетью лжи
- An Astrologer’s Song by Rudyard Kipling
- inscription on Mr. Syme’s crystal goblet by Robert Burns
- The Clote (Water-Lily) by William Barnes
- When to the sessions of sweet silent thought (Sonnet 30) by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 27: Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed by William Shakespeare
- A Leaf for Hand in Hand. by Walt Whitman
- Альфред де Мюссе – Люси
- Василий Тредиаковский – К почтению, льзя объявить любовь
- I saw Old General at Bay. by Walt Whitman
- Михаил Лермонтов – Юнкерская молитва
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
- Ribblesdale poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Repeat That, Repeat poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Pied Beauty poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Penmaen Pool poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Peace poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Patience, Hard Thing! The Hard Thing But To Pray poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- On the Portrait of Two Beautiful Young People poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- No Worst, There Is None. Pitched Past Pitch Of Grief poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- My prayers must meet a brazen heaven poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- My Own Heart Let Me Have More Have Pity On; Let poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Morning Midday And Evening Sacrifice poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Moonrise poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Moonless darkness stands between poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- May Magnificat poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Love Preparing to Fly poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Let me be to Thee as the circling bird poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Inversnaid poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- In The Valley Of The Elwy poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- In Honour Of St. Alphonsus Rodriguez poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- I Wake And Feel The Fell Of Dark, Not Day poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins 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
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.