Poems begining by B

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Books And Seasons

© Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Because the sky is blue; because blithe May

Masks in the wren's note and the lilac's hue;

Beauty And The Beast

© Charles Lamb

"My Lord, I swear upon my knees,
"I did not mean to harm your trees;
"But a lov'd Daughter, fair as spring,
"Intreated me a Rose to bring;
"O didst thou know, my lord, the Maid!"-

With buoyant heart he left his home for that bright wondrous land
Where gold ore gleams in countless mines, and gold dust strews the sand;
And youths dear ties were riven all, for as wild, as vain, a dream
As the meteor false that leads astray the traveller with its gleam.

Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church, Rome, The

© Robert Browning

Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity!

Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back?

Bonduca

© Beaumont and Fletcher

{Bonduca the British queen, taking occasion from a defeat of the Romans to impeach their valor, is rebuked by Caratac.}

Queen Bonduca, I do not grieve your fortune.

Bushland

© Arthur Patchett Martin

Not sweeter to the storm-tossed mariner

Is glimpse of home, where wife and children wait

Baby's Age

© Henry Timrod

She came with April blooms and showers;

We count her little life by flowers.

Bessie's Song To Her Doll

© Lewis Carroll

Matilda Jane, you never look
At any toy or picture-book.
I show you pretty things in vain
You must be blind, Matilda Jane!

Bellona

© Adam Lindsay Gordon

Thou art moulded in marble impassive,
False goddess, fair statue of strife,
Yet standest on pedestal massive,
A symbol and token of life.

Beauty And Terror

© Lesbia Harford

Beauty does not walk through lovely days.
Beauty walks with horror in her hair.
Down long centuries of pleasant ways
Men have found the terrible most fair.

Buscando a Cristo

© Gregorio de Matos Guerra

Avós correndo vou, braços sagrados,
Nessa cruz sacrossanta descobertos,
Que, para receber-me, estais abertos,
E, por não castigar-me, estais cravados.

Birds Of Passage (From The Swedish)

So hot shines the sun upon Niles yellow stream,
That the palm-trees can save us no more from his beam;
Now comes the desire for home, in full force,
And Northward our phalanx bends swiftly its course.

Being Treated. To Ellinda

For cherries plenty, and for corans
Enough for fifty, were there more on's;
For elles of beere, flutes of canary,
That well did wash downe pasties-Mary;

Ballad of Reading Gaol - I

© Oscar Wilde

He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.