Beauty poems
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The Old Farm
© Madison Julius Cawein
Dormered and verandaed, cool,
Locust-girdled, on the hill;
Stained with weather-wear, and dull-
Streak'd with lichens; every sill
Thresholding the beautiful;
Song of the Old Bullock-Driver
© Henry Lawson
Far back in the days when the blacks used to ramble
In long single file neath the evergreen tree,
The Carpenter's Son
© Sara Teasdale
The summer dawn came over-soon,
The earth was like hot iron at noon
In Nazareth;
There fell no rain to ease the heat,
And dusk drew on with tired feet
And stifled breath.
The Botanic Garden (Part VIII)
© Erasmus Darwin
"Sweet ECHO! sleeps thy vocal shell,
"Where this high arch o'erhangs the dell;
"While Tweed with sun-reflecting streams
"Chequers thy rocks with dancing beams?-
For Lillian
© Robert Crawford
She was so dear, so fair. Her memory stays,
Even her dying robs me not of this,
Don Juan: Canto The Fifth
© George Gordon Byron
When amatory poets sing their loves
In liquid lines mellifluously bland,
Castro Alves From Brazil
© Pablo Neruda
Castro Alves from Brazil, for whom did you sing?
Did you sing for the flower? For the water
whose beauty whispered words to the stones?
Did you sing to the eyes, to the torn profile
of the woman you once loved? For the spring?
The Ringlet
© Caroline Norton
Change!--thou wert all life's scenery:
To me, the billowy, bounding wave--
The wide green earth--the far blue sky,
Form but the landscape of thy grave!
A Ballad Of Nursery Rhyme
© Robert Graves
Strawberries that in gardens grow
Are plump and juicy fine,
But sweeter far as wise men know
Spring from the woodland vine.
At The Fall Of An Age
© Robinson Jeffers
(The story of Achilles rising from the dead for love of Helen
is well enough known. That of Polyxo's vengeance may be less
Regret For The Departure Of Friends
© George Moses Horton
As smoke from a volcano soars in the air,
The soul of man discontent mounts from a sigh,
Exhaled as to heaven in mystical prayer,
Invoking that love which forbids him to die.
Sonnet 1
© Richard Barnfield
Sporting at fancie, setting light by loue,
There came a theefe, and stole away my heart
A Parson's Letter To A Young Poet
© Jean Ingelow
They said: "We, rich by him, are rich by more;
One Aeschylus found watchfires on a hill
That lit Old Night's three daughters to their work;
When the forlorn Fate leaned to their red light
And sat a-spinning, to her feet he came
And marked her till she span off all her thread.
There Was A Boy
© William Wordsworth
There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander! many a time,
The Last Tournament
© Alfred Tennyson
To whom the King, `Peace to thine eagle-borne
Dead nestling, and this honour after death,
Following thy will! but, O my Queen, I muse
Why ye not wear on arm, or neck, or zone
Those diamonds that I rescued from the tarn,
And Lancelot won, methought, for thee to wear.'
