A poem by Alistar Crowley (1875-1947)
The mighty sound of forests murmuring
In answer to the dread command;
The stars that shudder when their king
extends his hand,
His awful hand to bless, to curse; or moves
Toward the dimmest den
In the thick leaves, not known of loves
Or nymphs or men;
(Only the sylph’s frail gossamer may wave
Their quiet frondage yet,
Only her dewy tears may lave
The violet;)
The mighty answer of the shaken sky
To his supreme behest; the call
Of Ibex that behold on high
Night’s funeral,
And see the pale moon quiver and depart
Far beyond space, the sun ascend
And draw earth’s globe unto his heart
To make an end;
The shriek of startled birds; the sobs that tear
With sudden terror the sharp sea
That slept, and wove its golden hair
Most mournfully;
The rending of the earth at his command
Who wields the wrath of heaven, and is dumb;
Hell starts up; and before his hand
Is overcome.
I heard these voices, and beheld afar
These dread works wrought at his behest:
And on his forehead, lo! a star,
And on his breast.
And on his feet I knew the sandals were
More beautiful than flame, and white,
And on the glory of his hair
The crown of night.
And I beheld his robe, and on its hem
Were writ unlawful words to say,
Broidered like lilies, with a gem
More clear than day.
And round him shone so wonderful a light
As when on Galilee
Jesus once walked, and clove the night,
And calmed the sea.
I scarce could see his features for the fire
That dwelt about his brow,
Yet, for the whiteness of my own desire,
I see him now;
Because my footsteps follow his, and tread
The awful bounds of heaven, and make
The very graves yield up their dead,
And high thrones shake;
Because my eyes still steadily behold
And dazzle not, nor shun the night,
The foam; born lamp of beaten gold
And secret might;
Because my forehead bears the sacred Name,
And my lips bear the brand
Of Him whose heaven is one flame,
Whose holy hand
Gathers this earth, who built the vaults of space,
Moulded the stars, and fixed the iron sea,
Because His love lights through my face
And all of me.
Because my hand may fasten on the sword
Of my heart falter not, and smite
Those lampless limits most abhorred
Of iron night,
And pass beyond their horror to attack
Fresh foemen, light and truth to bring
Through their untrodden fields of black,
A victor king.
I know all must be well, all must be free;
I know God as I know a friend;
I conquer, and most silently
Await the end.
A few random poems:
- I am your friend by Vinaya Kumar Hanumanthappa
- The Bear, The Fire, And The Snow by Shel Silverstein
- Written In A Blank Leaf Of Macpherson’s Ossian by William Wordsworth
- I Know From my Bed by Michael Lee Johnson
- Ольга Берггольц – Обещание
- When the Walls Were White by Noele Martin
- Where fair Sabrina’s wand’ring currents flow by William Somervile
- From Another Sky by Pierre Reverdy
- Вера Павлова – Снежную бабочку-однодневку
- O fortunatus nimium, etc., a translation out of Virgil by Abraham Cowley
- The Triumph Of Achilles by Paul Celan
- Валерий Брюсов – Из-за облака скользящий
- Epithalamion poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Степан Щипачев – Не громок, не бросок мой стих
- Владимир Высоцкий – Сорняков, когда созреют
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 Маяковский – Вам
- Владимир Маяковский – В Советской России не может быть никакого царя… (Главполитпросвет №361)
- Владимир Маяковский – В шикарном вагоне, в вагоне-салоне… (Главполитпросвет №315)
- Владимир Маяковский – В РСФСР 130 миллионов населения (Агитплакаты)
- Владимир Маяковский – В России голод… (Главполитпросвет № 236)
- Владимир Маяковский – В Париже совещание “живых сил” (РОСТА №851)
- Владимир Маяковский – В начале настоящего года у нас было 3833 здоровых паровоза… (РОСТА №776)
- Владимир Маяковский – В мире два класса… (РОСТА №501)
- Владимир Маяковский – В Европе кризис (РОСТА №869)
- Владимир Маяковский – В авто
- Владимир Маяковский – В 12 часов по ночам
- Владимир Маяковский – Уже из-за снежных заносов прекратилось… (РОСТА №774)
- Владимир Маяковский – Ужасающая фамильярность
- Владимир Маяковский – Увеличивается ли питание Москвы… (Главполитпросвет №234)
- Владимир Маяковский – Успокоилась Франция, злобой не пышет… (РОСТА №625)
- Владимир Маяковский – Универсальный ответ
- Владимир Маяковский – Уймется Антанта… (РОСТА №571)
- Владимир Маяковский – Учитесь! (РОСТА №937)
- Владимир Маяковский – У шахтера нет чая, нет табаку, нет сахару… (РОСТА №604)
- Владимир Маяковский – У буржуев на весь мир пир… (РОСТА №315)
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
