A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)
The tropic day’s redundant charms
Cool twilight soothes away,
The sun slips down behind the palms
And leaves the landscape grey.
I want to take you in my arms
And kiss your lips away!
I wake with sunshine in my eyes
And find the morning blue,
A night of dreams behind me lies
And all were dreams of you!
Ah, how I wish the while I rise,
That what I dream were true.
The weary day’s laborious pace,
I hasten and beguile
By fancies, which I backwards trace
To things I loved erstwhile;
The weary sweetness of your face,
Your faint, illusive smile.
The silken softness of your hair
Where faint bronze shadows are,
Your strangely slight and youthful air,
No passions seem to mar,–
Oh, why, since Fate has made you fair,
Must Fortune keep you far?
Thus spent, the day so long and bright
Less hot and brilliant seems,
Till in a final flare of light
The sun withdraws his beams.
Then, in the coolness of the night,
I meet you in my dreams!
Second Song
How much I loved that way you had
Of smiling most, when very sad,
A smile which carried tender hints
Of delicate tints
And warbling birds,
Of sun and spring,
And yet, more than all other thing,
Of Weariness beyond all Words!
None other ever smiled that way,
None that I know,–
The essence of all Gaiety lay,
Of all mad mirth that men may know,
In that sad smile, serene and slow,
That on your lips was wont to play.
It needed many delicate lines
And subtle curves and roseate tints
To make that weary radiant smile;
It flickered, as beneath the vines
The sunshine through green shadow glints
On the pale path that lies below,
Flickered and flashed, and died away,
But the strange thoughts it woke meanwhile
Were wont to stay.
Thoughts of Strange Things you used to know
In dim, dead lives, lived long ago,
Some madly mirthful Merriment
Whose lingering light is yet unspent,–
Some unimaginable Woe,–
Your strange, sad smile forgets these not,
Though you, yourself, long since, forgot!
Third Song, written during Fever
To-night the clouds hang very low,
They take the Hill-tops to their breast,
And lay their arms about the fields.
The wind that fans me lying low,
Restless with great desire for rest,
No cooling touch of freshness yields.
I, sleepless through the stifling heat,
Watch the pale Lightning’s constant glow
Between the wide set open doors.
I lie and long amidst the heat,–
The fever that my senses know,
For that cool slenderness of yours.
So delicate and cool you are!
A roseleaf that has lain in snow,
A snowflake tinged with sunset fire.
You do not know, so young you are,
How Fever fans the senses’ glow
To uncontrollable desire!
And fills the spaces of the night
With furious and frantic thought,
One would not dare to think by day.
Ah, if you came to me to-night
These visions would be turned to naught,
These hateful dreams be held at bay!
But you are far, and Loneliness
My only lover through the night;
And not for any word or prayer
Would you console my loneliness
Or lend yourself, serene and slight,
And the cool clusters of your hair.
All through the night I long for you,
As shipwrecked men in tropics yearn
For the fresh flow of streams and springs.
My fevered fancies follow you
As dying men in deserts turn
Their thoughts to clear and chilly things.
Such dreams are mine, and such my thirst,
Unceasing and unsatisfied,
Until the night is burnt away
Among these dreams and fevered thirst,
And, through the open doorways, glide
The white feet of the coming day.
A few random poems:
- Владимир Маяковский – Чудеса
- Владимир Маяковский – Слушай, шахтер!.. (РОСТА №843)
- Robert Burns: Jamie, Come Try Me:
- Олег Григорьев – Цель жизни
- Джон Донн – О черная душа, Недуг напал
- Constantia039s Song
- The Rape of the Lock: Canto 3 poem – Alexander Pope
- Finisterre by Sylvia Plath
- Orlando Furioso Canto 4 by Ludovico Ariosto
- Юргис Балтрушайтис – Метель
- The Soldiers Grave
- The Alchemist’s Petition by Vachel Lindsay
- Praying Drunk poem – Andrew Hudgins poems | Poems and Poetry
- Poem on Sensibility by Robert Burns
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: To A Louse: On Seeing One On A Lady’s Bonnet, At Church
- Robert Burns: To Mr. M’Adam, Of Craigen-Gillan: In answer to an obliging Letter he sent in the commencement of my poetic career.
- Robert Burns: To John Kennedy, Dumfries House:
- Robert Burns: The Inventory: In answer to a mandate by the Surveyor of the Taxes
- Robert Burns: Address To The Unco Guid, Or The Rigidly Righteous:
- Robert Burns: Here’s His Health In Water :
- Robert Burns: The Rantin’ Dog, The Daddie O’t:
- Robert Burns: The Vision:
- Robert Burns: Epistle To James Smith:
- Robert Burns: The Ordination : For sense they little owe to frugal Heav’n- To please the mob, they hide the little giv’n.
- Robert Burns: The Author’s Earnest Cry And Prayer: To the Right Honourable and Honourable Scotch Representatives in the House of Commons.
- Robert Burns: The Twa Dogs: A Tale
- Robert Burns: The Auld Farmer’s New-Year-Morning Salutation To His Auld Mare, Maggie: On giving her the accustomed ripp of corn to hansel in the New Year.
- Robert Burns: Scotch Drink :
- Robert Burns: Address To The Deil:
- Robert Burns: The Cotter’s Saturday Night: Inscribed to R. Aiken, Esq., of Ayr.
- Robert Burns: Merry Hae I Been Teethin A Heckle:
- Robert Burns: For A’ That:
- Robert Burns: The Jolly Beggars: A Cantata:
- Robert Burns: Adam Armour’s Prayer:
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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.