The Window Overlooking The Harbour

A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)

Sad is the Evening: all the level sand

Lies left and lonely, while the restless sea,

Tired of the green caresses of the land,

Withdraws into its own infinity.

But still more sad this white and chilly Dawn

Filling the vacant spaces of the sky,

While little winds blow here and there forlorn

And all the stars, weary of shining, die.

And more than desolate, to wake, to rise,

Leaving the couch, where softly sleeping still,

What through the past night made my heaven, lies;

And looking out across the window sill

See, from the upper window’s vantage ground,

Mankind slip into harness once again,

And wearily resume his daily round

Of love and labour, toil and strife and pain.

How the sad thoughts slip back across the night:

The whole thing seems so aimless and so vain.

What use the raptures, passion and delight,

Burnt out; as though they could not wake again.

The worn-out nerves and weary brain repeat

The question: Whither all these passions tend;–

This curious thirst, so painful and so sweet,

So fierce, so very short-lived, to what end?

Even, if seeking for ourselves, the Race,

The only immortality we know,–

Even if from the flower of our embrace

Some spark should kindle, or some fruit should grow,

What were the use? the gain, to us or it,

That we should cause another You or Me,–

Another life, from our light passion lit,

To suffer like ourselves awhile and die.

What aim, what end indeed? Our being runs

In a closed circle. All we know or see

Tends to assure us that a thousand Suns,

Teeming perchance with life, have ceased to be.

Ah, the grey Dawn seems more than desolate,

And the past night of passion worse than waste,

Love but a useless flower, that soon or late,

Turns to a fruit with bitter aftertaste.

Youth, even Youth, seems futile and forlorn

While the new day grows slowly white above.

Pale and reproachful comes the chilly Dawn

After the fervour of a night of love.

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Poems in English 

• Владимир Маяковский – Рабочие столицы, крестьяне окраины… (Роста №89) by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Рабочей России Красной рыцарь… by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Рабкор (Лбом пробив безграмотья горы) by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Пятый интернационал by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Пустяк у Оки by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Птичка божия by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Проверь, товарищ, правильность факта by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Протекция by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Прощанье by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Промедление – смерть (Главполитпросвет №339) by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Пролетарка, пролетарий, заходите в планетарий by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Профсоюзы – производства рычаг… (Главполитпросвет №10) by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Профплакаты by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Продналог оставил деревне много лишка… (Главполитпросвет №157) by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Проч руки от Китая by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Про Тита и Ваньку by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Про пешеходов и разинь, вонзивших глазки небу в синь by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Про гидру контрреволюции сегодня сказ (РОСТА № 79) by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Про это by Владимир Маяковский
• Владимир Маяковский – Привет, КИМ by Владимир Маяковский

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