Through the wild night, the silence and the dark,
Through league on league of the uncharted sky,
Lonelier than dove of fable from its ark,
The fieldfares fly.
Mate with his tiny mate, and younglings frail,
That only knew the crevice of their tree
Until, in faith stupendous, they set sail
Across the sea.
The black North Sea, that takes such savage toll
Of ships and men-and yet could not appal
These little mariners, who seek their goal
Beyond it all.
Turning those soft, indomitable breasts
To meet the unchained Titans of the deep-
Calm, as if cradled in Norwegian nests,
Their course they keep.
No more than thistledown or flake of snow
To those great gods at play, they win the game;
Never sped archer’s arrow from his bow
With surer aim.
Still tossed and scattered, their unwinking eyes
Point to that pole unseen where wanderings cease;
Still on they press, and warble to the skies
With hearts at peace.
Scenting the English morning in the air,
Through the salt night, ere any morning wakes-
The perfumed fields, the dun woods, sere and bare,
The brambly brakes-
The well-loved orchard, with its hawthorn hedge,
Where luscious berries, red and brown, are found-
The misty miles of water-mead and sedge
Where gnats abound.
But what is this, ‘twixt sea and surf-bound shore?
What form stands there, amid the shadows gray,
With flaming blade that smites them as they soar,
And bars their way?
Hushed are the twittering throats; each silken head
Turns to the voiceless siren-turns and stares-
By some strange lure of mystery and dread
Caught unawares.
It draws them on, as the magnetic sun
Draws vagrant meteors to its burning breast.
The day is near, the harbour all but won-
That English nest.
But here they meet inexorable Fate;
Here lies a dreadful reef of fire and glass;
Here stands a glittering sentry at the gate-
They cannot pass.
Confused, dismayed, they flutter in the gale,
Those little pinions that have lost their track;
The gallant hearts that sped them reel and fail
Like ships aback.
Sucked in a magic current, like a leaf
Torn from autumnal tree, they drift abroad,
But ever nearer to the siren reef,
The ruthless sword.
On, on, transfixed and swooning, without check,
To the lee shore of that bedazzling wall,
Until they strike, and break in utter wreck,
And founder all.
Brave little wings, that sailed the storm so well,
Trimmed to the set of every wayward blast!
Brave little hearts, that never storm could quell,
Beaten at last!
That great sea swallows them, and they are gone,
For ever gone, like bubbles of the foam;
And the bright star that lured them, shining on,
Still points to Home.
A few random poems:
- Владимир Костров – Сверстницам
- Give Me Back My Rags by Vasko Popa
- A Catalpa Tree On West Twelfth Street poem – Amy Clampitt poems | Poems and Poetry
- His Phoenix by William Butler Yeats
- cats.html
- Robert Burns: Ballads on Mr. Heron’s Election, 1795: Second-Election Day
- Владимир Корнилов – Одиссей
- The Vaudois by William Wordsworth
- Sonnet 102: My love is strengthened, though more weak in seeming by William Shakespeare
- Song—A Lass wi’ a Tocher by Robert Burns
- Balmoral Castle by William Topaz McGonagall
- Ольга Седакова – Филемон и Бавкида
- Late Autumn by William Allingham
- Stalker poem – Alice Notley
- I hear it was Charged against Me. by Walt Whitman
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 Высоцкий – Песня Кэрролла
- Владимир Высоцкий – Песня Алисы
- Владимир Высоцкий – Песенка про ребёнка-поросёнка
- Владимир Высоцкий – Песенка-представление орлёнком Эдом Атаки Гризли
- Владимир Высоцкий – В плен, приказ, не сдаваться
- Владимир Высоцкий – В младенчестве нас матери пугали
- Владимир Высоцкий – В куски разлетелася корона
- Владимир Высоцкий – В этом доме большом раньше пьянка была
- Владимир Высоцкий – В далёком созвездии Тау Кита
- Владимир Высоцкий – В белье плотной вязки
- Владимир Высоцкий – Утренняя гимнастика
- Владимир Высоцкий – Упрямо я стремлюсь ко дну
- Владимир Высоцкий – Ублажаю ли душу романсом
- Владимир Высоцкий – У профессиональных игроков
- Владимир Высоцкий – У нас вчера с позавчера
- Владимир Высоцкий – У Наполеона Ватерлоо есть хотя б
- Владимир Высоцкий – У меня было сорок фамилий
- Владимир Высоцкий – У Доски, где почётные граждане
- Владимир Высоцкий – Тюменская нефть
- Владимир Высоцкий – Тот, кто раньше с нею был
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
Ada Cambridge (1844 – 1926), also known as Ada Cross, was an English-born Australian author and poetess. She wrote more than 25 works of fiction, three volumes of poetry and two autobiographical works.