All Poems

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3210

April

© Andrew Lang

April, pride of woodland ways, Of glad days,April, bringing hope of prime,To the young flowers that beneath Their bud sheathAre guarded in their tender time;

Here, where precipitate Spring with one light boundInto hot Summer's lusty arms expires;And where go forth at morn, at eve, at night,Soft airs, that want the lute to play with them,And softer sighs, that know not what they want;Under a wall, beneath an orange-treeWhose tallest flowers could tell the lowlier onesOf sights in Fiesole right up above,While I was gazing a few paces offAt what they seemed to show me with their nods,Their frequent whispers and their pointing shoots,A gentle maid came down the garden-stepsAnd gathered the pure treasure in her lap

Acon and Rhodope; or, Inconstancy

© Walter Savage Landor

The Year's twelve daughters had in turn gone by,Of measured pace tho' varying mien all twelve,Some froward, some sedater, some adorn'dFor festival, some reckless of attire

To My Grandmother

© Frederick Locker Lampson

(Suggested by a Picture by Mr. Romney)

Rotten Row

© Frederick Locker Lampson

I hope I'm fond of much that's good, As well as much that's gay;I'd like the country if I could; I love the Park in May:And when I ride in Rotten Row,I wonder why they call'd it so.

Our Photographs

© Frederick Locker Lampson

She play'd me false, but that's not whyI haven't quite forgiven Di, Although I've tried:This curl was hers, so brown, so bright,She gave it me one blissful night, And -- more beside!

Morning on the Lièvre

© Archibald Lampman

Far above us where a jayScreams his matins to the day,Capped with gold and amethyst,Like a vapor from the forgeOf a giant somewhere hid,Out of hearing of the clangOf his hammer, skirts of mistSlowly up the woody gorgeLift and hang