Beauty poems
/ page 128 of 313 /
The Passing Of The Beautiful
© Madison Julius Cawein
On southern winds shot through with amber light,
Breeding soft balm, and clothed in cloudy white,
Sappho I
© Sara Teasdale
MIDNIGHT, and in the darkness not a sound,
So, with hushed breathing, sleeps the autumn night;
Only the white immortal stars shall know,
Here in the house with the low-lintelled door,
A Captain Of The Press Gang
© Bliss William Carman
SHIPMATE, leave the ghostly shadows,
Where thy boon companions throng!
We will put to sea together
Through the twilight with a song.
Autumn
© William Watson
Thou burden of all songs the earth hath sung,
Thou retrospect in Time's reverted eyes,
Her Coming
© George Chapman
See where she issues in her beauty's pomp,
As Flora to salute the morning sun;
The Solitary Lake
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
Ah! still a something strange and rare
O'errules this tranquil earth and air,
Casting o'er both a glamour known
To their enchanted realm alone;
Whence shines, as 'twere a spirit's face,
The sweet coy genius of the place,
The Rush-Bearing At Ambleside
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
SUMMER is come, with her leaves and her flowers
Summer is come, with the sun on her hours;
The lark in the clouds, and the thrush on the bough,
And the dove in the thicket, make melody now.
The noon is abroad, but the shadows are cool
Where the green rushes grow in the dark forest pool.
The Fisherman
© Edgar Albert Guest
Along a stream that raced and ran
Through tangled trees and over stones,
That long had heard the pipes o' Pan
And shared the joys that nature owns,
I met a fellow fisherman,
Who greeted me in cheerful tones.
Hymn VII. Messiah! at thy glad approach
© John Logan
Messiah! at thy glad approach
The howling winds are still!
Thy praises fill the lonely waste,
And breathe from every hill.
Will
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
YOUR face, my boy, when six months old,
We propped you laughing in a chair,
And the sun-artist caught the gold
Which rippled o'er your waving hair!
Westward
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I found my Love among the fern. She slept.
My shadow stole across her, as I stept
More lightly and slowly, seeing her pillowed so
In the short--turfed and shelving green hollow
Description of a Tropical Island
© Charles Harpur
Behold an Indian isle, reposed
Upon the deeps enamoured breast,
To An Old Quill Of Lord Dunsany's
© Francis Ledwidge
Before you leave my hands' abuses
To lie where many odd things meet you,
Neglected darkling of the Muses,
I, the last of singers, greet you.
Wildflowers And Hot-House Plants
© Henrik Johan Ibsen
"GOOD Heavens, man, what a freak of taste!
What blindness to form and feature!
My Winter Rose
© Alfred Austin
Why did you come when the trees were bare?
Why did you come with the wintry air?
When the faint note dies in the robin's throat,
And the gables drip and the white flakes float?
To Octavia, the Infant Daughter of the Late John Larking, esq.
© Alaric Alexander Watts
Full many a gloomy month hath passed,
On flagging wing, regardless by,
