Fancy

Far in the Further East the skilful craftsman
    Fashioned this fancy for the West's delight.
This rose and azure Dragon, crouching softly
    Upon the satin skin, close-grained and white.

And you lay silent, while his slender needles
    Pricked the intricate pattern on your arm,
Combining deftly Cruelty and Beauty,
    That subtle union, whose child is charm.

Charm irresistible: the lovely something
    We follow in our dreams, but may not reach.
The unattainable Divine Enchantment,
    Hinted in music, never heard in speech.

This from the blue design exhales towards me,
    As incense rises from the Homes of Prayer,
While the unfettered eyes, allured and rested,
    Urge the forbidden lips to stoop and share;

Share in the sweetness of the rose and azure
    Traced in the Dragon's form upon the white
Curve of the arm.    Ah, curb thyself, my fancy,
    Where would'st thou drift in this enchanted flight?

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson

Adela Florence Nicolson, better known by her pen name Laurence Hope, was an English poet who gained popularity in the early 20th century for her verse inspired by Indian themes and settings. She was born on April 9, 1865, in Stoke Bishop, England. Nicolson's work is often associated with themes of love, longing, and the exoticism of the East. She tragically ended her own life on October 4, 1904. Despite her short life, her poetry left a lasting impact and continues to be read and appreciated.

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson

The Bride

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson, Simple Poetry

There is no Breeze to Cool the Heat of Love

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson, Simple Poetry

Dedication to Malcolm Nicolson

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson, Simple Poetry

Song of Faiz Ulla

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Love And Fancy.

            "Whenever, amid bow'rs of myrtle,
                Love, summer-tressed and vernal-eyed,
            At morn or eve is seen to wander,
                A dark-haired girl is at his side."
            De La Hogue.

One morn, just as day in the far east was breaking,
    Young Love, who all night had been roving about,
A charming siesta was quietly taking,
    His strength, by his rambles, completely worn out.

Round his brow a wreath, woven of every flower
    That springs from the hillside, or valley, was bound;
In his hand was a rose he had stol'n from some bower,
    While his bow and his quiver lay near on the ground.

Wild Fancy just came from her kingdom of dreams,
    The breath of the opening day to enjoy,
And to catch the warm kiss ...

George W. Sands

From Behind the Lattice

I see your red-gold hair and know
How white the hidden skin must be,
Though sun-kissed face and fingers show
The fervour of the noon-day glow,
The keenness of the sea.

My longing fancies ebb and flow,
Still circling constant unto this;
My great desire (ah, whisper low)
To plant on thy forbidden snow
The rosebud of a kiss.

The scarlet flower would spread and grow,
Your whiteness change and flush,
Be still, my reckless heart, beat slow,
'T is but a dream that stirs thee so!)
To one transparent blush.

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson

The Temple Dancing Girl

You will be mine; those lightly dancing feet,
    Falling as softly on the careless street
As the wind-loosened petals of a flower,
    Will bring you here, at the Appointed Hour.

And all the Temple's little links and laws
    Will not for long protect your loveliness.
I have a stronger force to aid my cause,
    Nature's great Law, to love and to possess!

Throughout those sleepless watches, when I lay
    Wakeful, desiring what I might not see,
I knew (it helped those hours, from dusk to day),
    In this one thing, Fate would be kind to me.

You will consent, through all my veins like wine
    This prescience flows; your lips meet mine above,
Your clear soft eyes look upward into mine
    Dim in a silent ecstasy of love.

The clustered ...

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson

The Ideal.

Thee have I seen in some waste Arden old,
A white-browed maiden by a foaming stream,
With eyes profound and looks like threaded gold,
And features like a dream.

Upon thy wrist the jessied falcon fleet,
A silver poniard chased with imageries
Hung at a buckled belt, while at thy feet
The gasping heron dies.

Have fancied thee in some quaint ruined keep
A maiden in chaste samite, and her mien
Like that of loved ones visiting our sleep,
Or of a fairy queen.

She, where the cushioned ivy dangling hoar
Disturbs the quiet of her sable hair,
Pores o'er a volume of romantic lore,
Or hums an olden air.

Or a fair Bradamant both brave and just,
Intense with steel, her proud face lit with scorn,
At heathen castles, demons' dens of lust,

Madison Julius Cawein

Wings

Was it worth while to forego our wings
To gain these dextrous hands ?
Truly they fashion us wonderful things
As the fancy of man demands.

But - to fly! to sail through the lucid air
From crest to violet crest
Of these great grey mountains, quartz-veined and bare,
Where the white clouds gather and rest.

Even to flutter from flower to flower, -
To skim the tops of the trees, -
In the roseate light of a sun-setting hour
To drift on a sea-going breeze.

Ay, the hands have marvellous skill
To create us curious things, -
Baubles, playthings, weapons to kill, -
But - I would we had chosen wings!

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson

The Garden by the Bridge

The Desert sands are heated, parched and dreary,
    The tigers rend alive their quivering prey
In the near Jungle; here the kites rise, weary,
    Too gorged with living food to fly away.

All night the hungry jackals howl together
    Over the carrion in the river bed,
Or seize some small soft thing of fur or feather
    Whose dying shrieks on the night air are shed.

I hear from yonder Temple in the distance
    Whose roof with obscene carven Gods is piled,
Reiterated with a sad insistence
    Sobs of, perhaps, some immolated child.

Strange rites here, where the archway's shade is deeper,
    Are consummated in the river bed;
Parias steal the rotten railway sleeper
    To burn the bodies of their cholera dead.

But yet, their lust, thei...

Adela Florence Cory Nicolson