Whilst what I write I do not see,
I dare thus, ev’n to you, write poetry.
Ah, foolish Muse! which dost so high aspire,
And know’st her judgment well,
How much it does thy power excel,
Yet dar’st be read by, thy just doom, the fire.
Alas! thou think’st thyself secure,
Because thy form is innocent and pure:
Like hypocrites, which seem unspotted here;
But, when they sadly come to die,
And the last fire their truth must try,
Scrawled o’er like thee, and blotted, they appear.
Go then, but reverently go,
And, since thou needs must sin, confess it too:
Confess ‘t, and with humility clothe thy shame;
For thou, who else must burned be
An heretick, if she pardon thee,
Mayst like a martyr then enjoy the flame.
But, if her wisdom grow severe,
And suffer not her goodness to be there;
If her large mercies cruelly it restrain;
Be not discourag’d, but require
A more gentle ordeal fire,
And bid her by love’s flames read it again.
Strange power of heat! thou yet dost show
Like winter-earth, naked, or cloth’d with snow:
But as, the quickening sun approaching near,
The plants arise up by degrees;
A sudden paint adorns the trees,
And all kind Nature’s characters appear.
So, nothing yet in thee is seen;
But, when a genial heat warms thee within,
A new-born wood of various lines there grows;
Here buds an A, and there a B,
Here sprouts a V, and there a T,
And all the flourishing letters stand in rows.
Still, silly paper! thou wilt think
That all this might as well be writ with ink:
Oh, no; there’s sense in this, and mystery-
Thou now mayst change thy author’s name,
And to her hand lay noble claim;
For, as she reads, she makes, the words in thee.
Yet – if thine own unworthiness
Will still that thou art mine, not hers confess-
Consume thy self with fire before her eyes,
And so her grace or pity move:
The gods, though beasts they do not love,
Yet like them when they ‘re burnt in sacrifice.
A few random poems:
- The Grandmother poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- Нина Воронель – Попытка отчаяния
- The Solitary by Sara Teasdale
- Федор Сологуб – Слепой судьбе противореча
- Only Thee by Rabindranath Tagore
- The Shepherd, Looking Eastward, Softly Said by William Wordsworth
- Robin Hood poem – John Keats poems
- Sonet 32 by William Alexander
- To a Pupil. by Walt Whitman
- Омар Хайям – Любя тебя, сношу я все упрёки
- Aspirations by SAAJIDA GORA
- The Admirers Of The Little Box by Vasko Popa
- Владимир Высоцкий – Я был слесарь шестого разряда
- The Novelist by W H Auden
- Sonnet CVII: Not Mine Own Fears, Nor the Prophetic Soul by William Shakespeare
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
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: The Prelude poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H. Obiit MDCCCXXXIII: 3. O Sorrow, cruel poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: Is it, then, regret for buried time poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 131. O living will that shalt endure poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 99. Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 95. By night we linger’d on the lawn poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 83. Dip down upon the northern shore poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 82. I wage not any feud with death poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 7. Dark house, by which once more I s poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 78. Again at Christmas did we weave poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 5. Sometimes I Hold it half a Sin poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 55. The wish, that of the living whol poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 54. Oh, yet we Trust that somehow Goo poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 45. The baby new to earth and sky poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 39. Old warder of these buried bones poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 2. Old Yew, which graspest at the sto poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 22. The path by which we twain did go poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 16. I Envy not in any Moods poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 15. To-night the winds begin to rise poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
- In Memoriam A. H. H.: 126. Love is and was my Lord and King poem – Lord Alfred Tennyson poems
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
Abraham Cowley (1618 – 1667), the Royalist Poet.Poet and essayist Abraham Cowley was born in London, England, in 1618. He displayed early talent as a poet, publishing his first collection of poetry, Poetical Blossoms (1633), at the age of 15. Cowley studied at Cambridge University but was stripped of his Cambridge fellowship during the English Civil War and expelled for refusing to sign the Solemn League and Covenant of 1644. In turn, he accompanied Queen Henrietta Maria to France, where he spent 12 years in exile, serving as her secretary. During this time, Cowley completed The Mistress (1647). Arguably his most famous work, the collection exemplifies Cowley’s metaphysical style of love poetry. After the Restoration, Cowley returned to England, where he was reinstated as a Cambridge fellow and earned his MD before finally retiring to the English countryside. He is buried at Westminster Abbey alongside Geoffrey Chaucer and Edmund Spenser. Cowley is a wonderful poet and an outstanding representative of the English baroque.