Beauty poems
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Love Sonnets
© Charles Harpur
How beautiful doth the morning rise
Oer the hills, as from her bower a bride
Comes brightenedblushing with the shame-faced pride
Of love that now consummated supplies
Take Them Away! They'll Drive Me Crazy
© Henry Clay Work
Riding in the Park, or down town shopping
At the Matinee, or singing in the choir
Everywhere a dazzling blaze of beauty
Blinds my eyes and sets my soul afire
The Beauty Places
© Edgar Albert Guest
Here she walked and romped about,
And here beneath this apple tree
Where all the grass is trampled out
The swing she loved so used to be.
This path is but a path to you,
Because my child you never knew.
The Farewell To The Dead
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Come near!-ere yet the dust
Soil the bright paleness of the settled brow,
Look on your brother, and embrace him now,
In still and solemn trust!
Come near!-once more let kindred lips be press'd
On his cold cheek; then bear him to his rest!
The Past
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
I fling the past behind me, like a robe
Worn threadbare at the seams, and out of date.
Ode - On the Death of a Young Lady
© John Logan
The peace of Heaven attend thy shade,
My early friend, my favourite maid!
When life was new, companions gay,
We hail'd the morning of our day.
Sonnet LXXVII: Soul's Beauty
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Under the arch of Life, where love and death,
Terror and mystery, guard her shrine, I saw
Glucose Self-Monitoring by Katy Giebenhain: American Life in Poetry #33 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laurea
© Ted Kooser
Katy Giebenhain, an American living in Berlin, Germany, depicts a ritual that many diabetics undergo several times per day: testing one’s blood sugar. The poet shows us new ways of looking at what can be an uncomfortable chore by comparing it to other things: tapping trees for syrup, checking oil levels in a car, milking a cow.
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXVI
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Youth is all valiant. He and I together,
Conscious of strength, and unreproved of wrong,
Strained at the world's conventions as a tether
Too weak to bind us, and burst forth in song.
Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XXI
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
If I have since done evil in my life,
I was not born for evil. This I know.
My soul was a thing pure from sensual strife.
No vice of the blood foredoomed me to this woe.
An Ode - In Imitation of Horace, Book III. Ode II.
© Matthew Prior
How long, deluded Albion, wilt thou lie
In the lethargic sleep, the sad repose
Poems Of Joys
© Walt Whitman
O to make the most jubilant poem!
Even to set off these, and merge with these, the carols of Death.
O full of music! full of manhood, womanhood, infancy!
Full of common employments! full of grain and trees.
Beauty And Art
© Madison Julius Cawein
The gods are dead; but still for me
Lives on in wildwood brook and tree
Each myth, each old divinity.
A Dream, Written After the Author's Recovery from Illness
© Alaric Alexander Watts
O! it is pleasant, with a heart at ease,
Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies,
To make the shifting clouds be what you please. ~ COLERIDGE.
Memorials of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 I. Departure From The Vale Of Grasmere, August 1803
© William Wordsworth
THE gentlest Shade that walked Elysian plains
Might sometimes covet dissoluble chains;
Even for the tenants of the zone that lies
Beyond the stars, celestial Paradise,
Laodamia
© William Wordsworth
O terror! what hath she perceived?-O joy!
What doth she look on?-whom doth she behold?
Her Hero slain upon the beach of Troy?
His vital presence? his corporeal mould?
It is-if sense deceive her not-'tis He!
And a God leads him, wingèd Mercury!
A Later Alexandrian
© George Meredith
An inspiration caught from dubious hues
Filled him, and mystic wrynesses he chased;
The Invocation
© William Blake
Daughters of Beulah! Muses who inspire the Poet's Song,
Record the journey of immortal Milton thro' your realms
Of terror and mild moony lustre, in soft Sexual delusions
Of varièd beauty, to delight the wanderer, and repose
The Bride Of The Nile - Act III
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
(Enter Barix and Boïlas conversing.)
Barix. I always said it, Boïlas, it must come at last,
The day of annexation. Things have moved on fast,
Faster than we quite thought a week or two ago.
The mills of Rome grind slowly--quite absurdly slow.
It comes to the same thing.
