A poem by Alistar Crowley (1875-1947)
I to the open road,
You to the hunchbacked street –
Which of us two
Shall the earlier rue
That day we chanced to meet?
I with a heart that’s sound,
You with sick fancies of pain –
Which of us two
Would the earlier rue
If we chanced to meet again?
I jingle homely lore,
While you rhyme is with kiss –
Which of us two
Will the earlier rue
The love of the Hoylake Miss?
Not I the first to go,
Nor I the first to deceive –
Which of us two
Shall the the earliest rue
Our garden of make-believe?
You were a Chinese god,
I an offering fair,
As we entered the
Garden of Allah,
To sing our holy prayer.
Entered with hearts bowed low,
Yet I heard a voice that cried:
For he is the god of the
Sacrifice,
You are the crucified.
It was all make-believe,
A foolish game of play,
Our garden of Allah
A drawing-room,
Our Chinese god of clay.
Strings of bruises for pearls,
Tears for forget-me-nots,
And a deadly pain
Of the sickening shame
Watching the fading spots.
As quickly they faded,
The heart of me faded as well,
Until nothing is left
Of my garden,
But a soul sunk to hell.
Hail!
Poet prend ton lute -Je disparaire,
No more together we’ll enter the
Enchanted garden of make-believe,
Nor my sad soul listen while thine deceive.
No more you’ll be the God of Sacrifice,
Nor I the crucified.
Ah, Garden of Allah -how bitter sweet
Thy fruit. Why breakest thou the heart?
Why spoilest thou the soul with notes
From thy golden lute?
Lo! our garden a common room
Our Chinese god burnt clay, and
The singing of verses a funeral hymn
That awakes with awakening day.
‘Twas all such a meaningless play,
Poet prend ton lute -Je disparaitre.
Hail!
Poet, take my hand -we’ll walk
Still a little way.
I’ll not desert thee at the close of day,
I, too, must pray.
A beggar asking alms of passers-by,
Does not refuse a drink to one who’s dry
That once by him did lie.
Poet, come close -before I leave for aye
Take thou my hand, we’ll walk still
A little way.
One garment covered both to keep us warm,
What harmed the one, was’t not the other’s harm?
Close clasped, one single form.
Was it not meant of aye?
Poet, take thou my hand -we’ll still
Walk a little way.
A few random poems:
- Astrophel And Stella-First Song by Sir Philip Sidney
- To The Poet, John Dyer by William Wordsworth
- Follies of War by Michael Levy
- The Hospital On The Shore
- Robert Burns: Epigram To Miss Ainslie In Church: Who was looking up the text during sermon.
- Addressed To Haydon poem – John Keats poems
- Яков Полонский – Чтобы песня моя разлилась как поток
- Владимир Маяковский – Нас потеснили… (РОСТА №337)
- Robert Burns: Crowdie Ever Mair:
- Юргис Балтрушайтис – Светлая заутреня
- Иннокентий Анненский – Леконт де Лиль. Над синим мраком ночи длинной
- The Rape of the Lock: Canto 2 poem – Alexander Pope
- Гавриил Державин – Амур и Психея
- Олег Бундур – Хорошее слово
- Владимир Высоцкий – Песня о вещем Олеге
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
- Английская поэзия. Редьярд Киплинг. «Расходы и поступления». (1919-1926). 9. Джейн выходит замуж. Rudyard Kipling. «Debits and Credits». (1919-1926). 9. Jane’s Marriage
- Английская поэзия. Уильям Шекспир. Сонет 139. Оправдывать меня не принуждай. William Shakespeare. Sonnet 139. o call not me to justify the wrong
- Английская поэзия. Перси Биши Шелли. К Мэри Шелли. Percy Bysshe Shelley. To Mary Shelley
- Английская поэзия. Айзек Розенберг. Дочери войны. Isaac Rosenberg. Daughters of War
- Английская поэзия. Перси Биши Шелли. Тень Ада. Percy Bysshe Shelley. Satan Broken Loose
- Английская поэзия. Редьярд Киплинг. «Эпитафии Войны». 1914-1918. 1. Убытки поровну. Rudyard Kipling. «Epitaphs of the War». 1914-1918. 1. «Equality of Sacrifice»
- Lament For The Makers By William Dunbar
- Done is a battle by William Dunbar
- Robert Burns: Inscription To Miss Jessy Lewars: On a copy of the Scots Musical Museum, in four volumes, presented to her by Burns.
- Robert Burns: O Wert Thou In The Cauld Blast:
- Robert Burns: A Health To Ane I Loe Dear:
- Robert Burns: O Lay Thy Loof In Mine, Lass:
- Robert Burns: Complimentary Versicles To Jessie Lewars: On Her Recovery
- Robert Burns: Complimentary Versicles To Jessie Lewars: Jessie’s illness
- Robert Burns: Complimentary Versicles To Jessie Lewars: The Menagerie
- Robert Burns: Complimentary Versicles To Jessie Lewars: The Toast
- Robert Burns: The Trogger.: Heron Election Ballad, No. IV.
- Robert Burns: A Lass Wi’ A Tocher:
- Robert Burns: Epistle To Colonel De Peyster:
- Robert Burns: The Dean Of Faculty: A New Ballad
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
