A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)
I hate this City, seated on the Plain,
The clang and clamour of the hot Bazar,
Knowing, amid the pauses of my pain,
This month the Almonds bloom in Kandahar.
The Almond-trees, that sheltered my Delight,
Screening my happiness as evening fell.
It was well worth–that most Enchanted Night–
This life in torment, and the next in Hell!
People are kind to me; one More than Kind,
Her lashes lie like fans upon her cheek,
But kindness is a burden on my mind,
And it is weariness to hear her speak.
For though that Kaffir’s bullet holds me here,
My thoughts are ever free, and wander far,
To where the Lilac Hills rise, soft and clear,
Beyond the Almond Groves of Kandahar.
He followed me to Sibi, to the Fair,
The Horse-fair, where he shot me weeks ago,
But since they fettered him I have no care
That my returning steps to health are slow.
They will not loose him till they know my fate,
And I rest here till I am strong to slay,
Meantime, my Heart’s Delight may safely wait
Among the Almond blossoms, sweet as they.
That cursed Kaffir! Well, he won by day,
But I won, what I so desired, by night,
_My_ arms held what his lack till Judgment Day!
Also, the game is not yet over–quite!
Wait, Amir Ali, wait till I come forth
To kill, before the Almond-trees are green,
To raze thy very Memory from the North,
_So that thou art not, and thou hast not been!_
Aha! Friend Amir Ali! it is Duty
To rid the World from Shiah dogs like thee,
They are but ill-placed moles on Islam’s beauty,
Such as the Faithful cannot calmly see!
Also thy bullet hurts me not a little,
Thy Shiah blood might serve to salve the ill.
Maybe some Afghan Promises are brittle;
Never a Promise to oneself, to kill!
Now I grow stronger, I have days of leisure
To shape my coming Vengeance as I lie,
And, undisturbed by call of War or Pleasure,
Can dream of many ways a man may die.
I shall not torture thee, thy friends might rally,
Some Fate assist thee and prove false to me;
Oh! shouldst thou now escape me, Amir Ali,
This would torment me through Eternity!
Aye, Shuffa-Jan, I will be quiet indeed,
Give here the Hakim’s powder if thou wilt,
And thou mayst sit, for I perceive thy need,
And rest thy soft-haired head upon my quilt.
Thy gentle love will not disturb a mind
That loves and hates beneath a fiercer Star.
Also, thou know’st, my Heart is left behind,
Among the Almond-trees of Kandahar!
A few random poems:
- Debt by Sara Teasdale
- Blood And The Moon by William Butler Yeats
- In The Train by Sara Teasdale
- Diya {original title is Greek, Delta-iota-psi-alpha} poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- Love’s Harvest poem – Alfred Austin
- Run to Death poem – Amy Levy poems | Poems and Poetry
- The Dawn by William Butler Yeats
- Watching the Bird Watcher by Richard Schiffman
- REVOLT OF A SUTRA by Satish Verma
- On A Goldfinch, Starved To Death In His Cage by William Cowper
- Weathering poem – A. R. Ammons poems | Poetry Monster
- On Seeing the Ladies Crux-Easton Walk in the Woods by the Grotto. poem – Alexander Pope poems | Poetry Monster
- Владимир Маяковский – Эй, товарищи! От сбора продналога… (Главполитпросвет №284)
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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: Scroggam, My Dearie:
- Robert Burns: When She Cam’ Ben She Bobbed :
- Robert Burns: The Weary Pund O’ Tow:
- Robert Burns: Lines On Fergusson, The Poet :
- Robert Burns: I do Confess Thou Art Sae Fair: Alteration of an Old Poem.
- Robert Burns: My Native Land Sae Far Awa:
- Robert Burns: Thou Gloomy December :
- Robert Burns: Behold The Hour, The Boat, Arrive:
- Robert Burns: Ae Fond Kiss, And Then We Sever:
- Robert Burns: O May, Thy Morn:
- Robert Burns: A Grace After Dinner, Extempore:
- Robert Burns: A Grace Before Dinner, Extempore:
- Robert Burns: The Keekin’-Glass:
- Robert Burns: Divine Service In The Kirk Of Lamington:
- Robert Burns: The Toadeater:
- Robert Burns: Poem On Sensibility:
- Robert Burns: The Song Of Death: Scene-A Field of Battle. Time of the day-evening. The wounded and dying of the victorious army are supposed to join in the following song.
- Robert Burns: Second Epistle To Robert Graham, ESQ., Of Fintry:
- Robert Burns: Epistle To John Maxwell, ESQ., Of Terraughty : On His Birthday.
- Robert Burns: O Kenmure’s On And Awa, Willie:
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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.