Love, let me thank you for this!
Now we have drifted apart,
Wandered away from the sea,–
For the fresh touch of your kiss,
For the young warmth of your heart,
For your youth given to me.
Thanks: for the curls of your hair,
Softer than silk to the hand,
For the clear gaze of your eyes.
For yourself: delicate, fair,
Seen as you lay on the sand,
Under the violet skies.
Thanks: for the words that you said,–
Secretly, tenderly sweet,
All through the tropical day,
Till, when the sunset was red,
I, who lay still at your feet,
Felt my life ebbing away,
Weary and worn with desire,
Only yourself could console.
Love let me thank you for this!
For that fierce fervour and fire
Burnt through my lips to my soul
From the white heat of your kiss!
You were the essence of Spring,
Wayward and bright as a flame:
Though we have drifted apart,
Still how the syllables sing
Mixed in your musical name,
Deep in the well of my heart!
Once in the lingering light,
Thrown from the west on the Sea,
Laid you your garments aside,
Slender and goldenly bright,
Glimmered your beauty, set free,
Bright as a pearl in the tide.
Once, ere the thrill of the dawn
Silvered the edge of the sea,
I, who lay watching you rest,–
Pale in the chill of the morn
Found you still dreaming of me
Stilled by love’s fancies possessed.
Fallen on sorrowful days,
Love, let me thank you for this,
You were so happy with me!
Wrapped in Youth’s roseate haze,
Wanting no more than my kiss
By the blue edge of the sea!
Ah, for those nights on the sand
Under the palms by the sea,
For the strange dream of those days
Spent in the passionate land,
For your youth given to me,
I am your debtor always!
A few random poems:
- Epistle to Major Logan by Robert Burns
- For Life and Death of a Poet by Marcin Malek
- Robert Burns: Farewell To Ballochmyle:
- Степан Щипачев – Шар земной
- Низами Гянджеви – Влюбленных порицают все
- His Dream by William Butler Yeats
- Plague Victims Catapulted Over Walls Into Besieged City by Thomas Lux
- A Winter Bluejay by Sara Teasdale
- one_almost_might.html
- To The Small Celandine by William Wordsworth
- Владимир Набоков – Есть в одиночестве свобода
- Владимир Набоков – На сельском кладбище
- Ольга Берггольц – Огонь, и воду, и медные трубы
- Наум Коржавин – Меня, как видно, Бог не звал
- Олег Григорьев – Угро
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
- Новелла Матвеева – Ветер
- Новелла Матвеева – Величие?
- Новелла Матвеева – Василий Андреевич
- Новелла Матвеева – Страна Дельфиния
- Новелла Матвеева – Смех Фавна
- Новелла Матвеева – Река
- Новелла Матвеева – Пушкин
- Новелла Матвеева – Подсолнух
- Новелла Матвеева – Отражённым светом
- Новелла Матвеева – О юморе
- Новелла Матвеева – Набрела на правильную строчку
- Новелла Матвеева – Мне кажется
- Новелла Матвеева – Маяк
- Новелла Матвеева – Когда Вселенная открывает нам добровольно
- Новелла Матвеева – Иней
- Новелла Матвеева – Есть вопиющий быт, есть вещие примеры
- Новелла Матвеева – Двое (Баллада)
- Новелла Матвеева – Дома без крыш
- Новелла Матвеева – Будьте, как дети
- Низами Гянджеви – Жить в заботе и невзгодах, расточая зло
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.