A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)
The listless Palm-trees catch the breeze above
The pile-built huts that edge the salt Lagoon,
There is no Breeze to cool the heat of love,
No wind from land or sea, at night or noon.
Perfumed and robed I wait, my Lord, for you,
And my heart waits alert, with strained delight,
My flowers are loath to close, as though they knew
That you will come to me before the night.
In the Verandah all the lights are lit,
And softly veiled in rose to please your eyes,
Between the pillars flying foxes flit,
Their wings transparent on the lilac skies.
Come soon, my Lord, come soon, I almost fear
My heart may fail me in this keen suspense,
Break with delight, at last, to know you near.
Pleasure is one with Pain, if too intense.
I envy these: the steps that you will tread,
The jasmin that will touch you by its leaves,
When, in your slender height, you stoop your head
At the low door beneath the palm-thatched eaves.
For though you utterly belong to me,
And love has done his utmost ‘twixt us twain,
Your slightest, careless touch yet seems to be
That keen delight so much akin to pain.
The night breeze blows across the still Lagoon,
And stirs the Palm-trees till they wave above
Our pile-built huts; Oh, come, my Lord, come soon,
There is no Breeze to cool the heat of love.
Every time you give yourself to me,
The gift seems greater, and yourself more fair,
This slight-built, palm-thatched hut has come to be
A temple, since, my Lord, you visit there.
And as the water, gurgling softly, goes
Among the piles beneath the slender floor;
I hear it murmur, as it seaward flows,
Of the great Wonder seen upon the shore.
The Miracle, that you should come to me,
Whom the whole world, seeing, can but desire,
It is as though some White Star stooped to be
The messmate of our little cooking fire.
Leaving the Glory of his Purple Skies,
And the White Friendship of the Crescent Moon,
And yet;–I look into your brilliant eyes,
And find content; Oh, come, my Lord, come soon.
Perfumed and robed I wait for you, I wait,
The flowers that please you wreathed about my hair,
And this poor face set forth in jewelled state,
So more than proud since you have found it fair.
My lute is ready, and the fragrant drink
Your lips may honour, how it will rejoice
Losing its life in yours! the lute I think
But wastes the time when I might hear your voice.
But you desired it, therefore I obey.
Your slightest, as your utmost, wish or will,
Whether it please you to caress or slay,
It would please me to give obedience still.
I would delight to die beneath your kiss;
I envy that young maiden who was slain,
So her warm blood, flowing beneath the kiss,
Might ease the wounded Sultan of his pain–
If she loved him as I love you, my Lord.
There is no pleasure on the earth so sweet
As is the pain endured for one adored;
If I lay crushed beneath your slender feet
I should be happy! Ah, come soon, come soon,
See how the stars grow large and white above,
The land breeze blows across the salt Lagoon,
There is no Breeze to cool the heat of love.
A few random poems:
- Robert Burns: The Solemn League And Covenant:
- A Clear Day And No Memories by Wallace Stevens
- These Little Songs by William Allingham
- Иван Крылов – Лиса-строитель (Басня)
- Tinker Jack And The Tidy Wives by Sylvia Plath
- the_nomad039s_vision_ode_to_a_skylark_dressed_in_black.html
- Your Dream
- To One Who Has Been Long In City Pent poem – John Keats poems
- Какие яблоки в саду
- Исикава Такубоку – Дом
- The Epic of Jack and Jill by Robby Charters
- A youth in apparel that glittered by Stephen Crane
- Владимир Высоцкий – Мне в душу ступит кто-то посторонний
- Not Fair
- Аля Кудряшева – Рыбный вальсок
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
- Robert Burns: Epitaph For James Smith:
- Robert Burns: Epitaph On John Dove, Innkeeper:
- Robert Burns: To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough:
- Robert Burns: Halloween: The following poem will, by many readers, be well enough understood; but for the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of the country where the scene is cast, notes are added to give some account of the principal charms and spells of that night, so big with prophecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. The passion of prying into futurity makes a striking part of the history of human nature in its rude state, in all ages and nations; and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, if any such honour the author with a perusal, to see the remains of it among the more unenlightened in our own.-R.B.
- Robert Burns: Farewell To Ballochmyle:
- Robert Burns: Young Peggy Blooms:
- Robert Burns: Second Epistle to Davie: A Brother Poet
- Robert Burns: Masonic Song:
- Robert Burns: Lines On Meeting With Lord Daer:
- Robert Burns: Address To The Toothache:
- Robert Burns: Farewell Song To The Banks Of Ayr: “I composed this song as I conveyed my chest so far on my road to Greenock, where I was to embark in a few days for Jamaica. I meant it as my farewell dirge to my native land.”-R. B.
- Robert Burns: O Thou Dread Power: Lying at a reverend friend’s house one night, the author left the following verses in the room where he slept:-
- Robert Burns: Epigram On Rough Roads:
- Robert Burns: Fragment Of Song:
- Robert Burns: The Brigs Of Ayr: Inscribed to John Ballantine, Esq., Ayr.
- Robert Burns: Reply To A Trimming Epistle Received From A Tailor:
- Robert Burns: Willie Chalmers: Mr. Chalmers, a gentleman in Ayrshire, a particular friend of mine, asked me to write a poetic epistle to a young lady, his Dulcinea. I had seen her, but was scarcely acquainted with her, and wrote as follows:-
- Robert Burns: Nature’s Law – A Poem: Humbly inscribed to Gavin Hamilton, Esq.
- Robert Burns: The Calf: To the Rev. James Steven, on his text, Malachi, ch. iv. vers. 2. “And ye shall go forth, and grow up, as Calves of the stall.”
- Robert Burns: Thomson’s Edward and Eleanora.:
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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.