Art poems

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First Love

© Giacomo Leopardi

Ah, well can I the day recall, when first
The conflict fierce of love I felt, and said:
If _this_ be love, how hard it is to bear!

'The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 12

© Publius Vergilius Maro

WHEN Turnus saw the Latins leave the field,

Their armies broken, and their courage quelld,

He only said it once-the marble closed-
There was a man enclosed within that image.
There was a force that tried Proportion's rule
And died without a legend or a cue
To bring it back. The shadow-Lees still live.
But the first-person and the singular Lee?

Don Juan: Canto The Third

© George Gordon Byron

The isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace,
Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set.

The Example of Vertu : Cantos VIII.-XIV.

© Stephen Hawes

Capitalum VIII.
Dame Sapyence taryed a lytell whyle
Behynd the other saynge to Dyscrecyon
And began on her to laugh and smyle

The Progress Of A Divine: Satire

© Richard Savage

All priests are not the same, be understood!
Priests are, like other folks, some bad, some good.
What's vice or virtue, sure admits no doubt;
Then, clergy, with church mission, or without;
When good, or bad, annex we to your name,
The greater honour, or the greater shame.

The Little Left Hand - Act I

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Place
A Country Town in England.

On The Day Of Gogol's Death

© Nikolay Alekseyevich Nekrasov

How blessed's the good-natured poet,
With little bile and much emotion:
All lovers of the gentle arts
Send him sincerest greetings;

The Ballad[e] Of Imitation

© Henry Austin Dobson

POSTSCRIPTUM-And you, whom we all so adore,
Dear Critics, whose verdicts are always so new!-
One word in your ear. There were Critics before . . .
And the man who plants cabbages imitates, too!

April

© Charlotte Turner Smith

GREEN o'er the copses spring's soft hues are spreading,
High wave the reeds in the transparent floods,
The oak its sear and sallow foliage shedding,
From their moss'd cradles start its infant buds.

Calling Lucasta From Her Retirement. Ode

© Richard Lovelace

I.
From the dire monument of thy black roome,
Wher now that vestal flame thou dost intombe,
As in the inmost cell of all earths wombe.

Phoebe

© James Russell Lowell

Ere pales in Heaven the morning star,
A bird, the loneliest of its kind,
Hears Dawn's faint footfall from afar
While all its mates are dumb and blind.

Ode to Women

© John Logan

Ye virgins! fond to be admired,
With mighty rage of conquest fired,
And universal sway;
Who heave th' uncover'd bosom high,
And roll a fond, inviting eye,
On all the circle gay!