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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• Robert Burns: Poem On Pastoral Poetry : by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: On Glenriddell’s Fox Breaking His Chain: A Fragment by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Posie : by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: What Can A Young Lassie Do Wi’ An Auld Man: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Charms Of Lovely Davies: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Epigram On Miss Davies: On being asked why she had been formed so little, and Mrs. A-so big. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Bonie Wee Thing: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Craigieburn Wood: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Lines Sent To Sir John Whiteford, Bart: With The Lament On The Death Of the Earl Of Glencairn by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Lament For James, Earl Of Glencairn: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: The Banks O’ Doon: Third Version by Robert Burns
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• Robert Burns: Out Over The Forth: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: There’ll Never Be Peace Till Jamie Comes Hame: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Lament Of Mary, Queen Of Scots, On The Approach Of Spring: by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Elegy On The Late Miss Burnet Of Monboddo : by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: On The Birth Of A Posthumous Child: Born in peculiar circumstances of family distress. by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Tam O’ Shanter: A Tale by Robert Burns
• Robert Burns: Verses On Captain Grose: Written on an Envelope, enclosing a Letter to Him. by Robert Burns

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