A poem by Alexander Pope (1688-1744) , the greatest English poet of “Augustan” or Georgian period
Lycidas.
Thyrsis, the music of that murm’ring spring,
Is not so mournful as the strains you sing.
Nor rivers winding thro’ the vales below,
So sweetly warble, or so smoothly flow.
Now sleeping flocks on their soft fleeces lie,
The moon, serene in glory, mounts the sky,
Wile silent birds forget their tuneful lays,
Oh sing of Daphne’s fate, and Daphne’s praise!
Thyrsis.
Behold the groves that shine with silver frost,
Their beauty wither’d, and their verdure lost.
Here shall I try the sweet Alexis’ strain,
That call’d the list’ning Dryads to the plain?
Thames heard the numbers as he flow’d along,
And bade his willows learn the moving song.
Lycidas.
So may kind rains their vital moisture yield,
And swell the future harvest of the field.
Begin; this charge the dying Daphne gave,
And said; “Ye shepherds, sing around my grave!
Sing, while beside the shaded tomb I mourn,
And with fresh bays her rural shrine adorn.”
Thyrsis.
Ye gentle Muses, leave your crystal spring,
Let Nymphs and Sylvans cypress garlands bring;
Ye weeping Loves, the stream with myrtles hide,
And break your vows, as when Adonis died;
And with your golden darts, now useless grown,
Inscribe a verse on this relenting stone:
“Let nature change, let heav’n and earth deplore,
Fair Daphne’s dead, and love is now no more!”
‘Tis done, and nature’s various charms decay,
See gloomy clouds obscure the cheerful day!
Now hung with pearls the dropping trees appear,
Their faded honours scatter’d on her bier.
See, where on earth the flow’ry glories lie,
With her they flourish’d, and with her they die.
Ah what avail the beauties nature wore?
Fair Daphne’s dead, and beauty is no more!
For her the flocks refuse their verdant food,
Nor thirsty heifers seek the gliding flood.
The silver swans her hapless fate bemoan,
In notes more sad than when they sing their own;
In hollow caves sweet Echo silent lies,
Silent, or only to her name replies;
Her name with pleasure once she taught the shore,
Now Daphne’s dead, and pleasure is no more!
No grateful dews descend from ev’ning skies,
Nor morning odours from the flow’rs arise;
No rich perfumes refresh the fruitful field,
Nor fragrant herbs their native incense yield.
The balmy Zephyrs, silent since her death,
Lament the ceasing of a sweeter breath;
Th’ industrious bees neglect their golden store;
Fair Daphne’s dead, and sweetness is no more!
No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings,
Shall list’ning in mid air suspend their wings;
No more the birds shall imitate her lays,
Or hush’d with wonder, hearken from the sprays;
No more the streams their murmur shall forbear,
A sweeter music than their own to hear,
But tell the reeds, and tell the vocal shore,
Fair Daphne’s dead, and music is no more!
Her fate is whisper’d by the gentle breeze,
And told in sighs to all the trembling trees;
The trembling trees, in ev’ry plain and wood,
Her fate remurmur to the silver flood;
The silver flood, so lately calm, appears
Swell’d with new passion, and o’erflows with tears;
The winds and trees and floods her death deplore,
Daphne, our grief! our glory now no more!
But see! where Daphne wond’ring mounts on high
Above the clouds, above the starry sky!
Eternal beauties grace the shining scene,
Fields ever fresh, and groves for ever green!
There while you rest in Amaranthine bow’rs,
Or from those meads select unfading flow’rs,
Behold us kindly, who your name implore,
Daphne, our Goddess, and our grief no more!
Lycidas.
How all things listen, while thy Muse complains!
Such silence waits on Philomela’s strains,
In some still ev’ning, when the whisp’ring breeze
Pants on the leaves, and dies upon the trees.
To thee, bright goddess, oft a lamb shall bleed,
If teeming ewes increase my fleecy breed.
While plants their shade, or flow’rs their odours give,
Thy name, thy honour, and thy praise shall live!
Thyrsis.
But see, Orion sheds unwholesome dews,
Arise, the pines a noxious shade diffuse;
Sharp Boreas blows, and Nature feels decay,
Time conquers all, and we must Time obey.
Adieu, ye vales, ye mountains, streams and groves,
Adieu, ye shepherd’s rural lays and loves;
Adieu, my flocks, farewell ye sylvan crew,
Daphne, farewell, and all the world adieu!
A few random poems:
- Ellipsis by Shaunna Harper
- Владимир Луговской – Береза Карелии
- On The High Price Of Fish by William Cowper
- A Choka Is A Littoral Drift
- On the Idle Hill of Summer by A. E. Housman
- Sonnet 96: Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness by William Shakespeare
- Омар Хайям – Неправ, кто думает, что бог неумолим
- Олег Чупров – Он впадает в смятенье
- He’s on the porch by Yosa Buson
- A Roxbury Garden poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- Валерий Брюсов – Февраль
- Jerusalem Delivered – Book 03 – part 05 by Torquato Tasso
- Алексей Ржевский – Как я стал знать взор твой
- Asleep! O Sleep A Little While, White Pearl! poem – John Keats poems
- Paradise Lost: Book 11 poem – John Milton poems
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 Маяковский – Дела вузные, хорошие и конфузные
- Владимир Маяковский – Декрет о взаимопомощи инвентарем (Главполитпросвет № 101)
- Владимир Маяковский – Декрет о натуральном налоге на хлеб, картофель и масличные семена
- Владимир Маяковский – Давайте и получите (РОСТА №495)
- Владимир Маяковский – Даешь тухлые яйца
- Владимир Маяковский – Даешь материальную базу
- Владимир Маяковский – Даешь автомобиль
- Владимир Маяковский – Дачный случай
- Владимир Маяковский – Да здравствуют недели помощи по всей республике (Главполитпросвет №353)
- Владимир Маяковский – Да здравствует неделя ремонта! (РОСТА № 294)
- Владимир Маяковский – Да здравствует III интернационал! (РОСТА № 140)
- Владимир Маяковский – Да здравствует 5-й год советской власти, утвердившейся в октябре! (Главполитпросвет №397)
- Владимир Маяковский – Да или нет
- Владимир Маяковский – Чугунные штаны
- Владимир Маяковский – Чудеса
- Владимир Маяковский – Чтоб жизнь трудовую наладить заново
- Владимир Маяковский – Чтоб с голодом справиться и с разрухой-дурой (Главполитпросвет)
- Владимир Маяковский – Чтоб нас не заела разруха зубами голодных годов… (Главполитпросвет №7)
- Владимир Маяковский – Чтоб из недели “Заботы о достоянии” толку выйти, вот так, товарищи, агитацию ведите (Главполитпросвет №374)
- Владимир Маяковский – Чтоб голод нас не передушил к лету… (Главполитпросвет №160)
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
Alexander Pope (1688 – 1744) was a a post-Restoration English poet and satirist. He is a poet of the (British) Augustan period and one of its greatest artistic exponents.