Beauty poems
/ page 137 of 313 /
The Hermit
© James Beattie
At the close of day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
Surrender
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Pale was the early day,
Fog--white the winter air,
When up a hill--side bare,
Roughened with rimy grass,
I took my thoughtless way.
Margrave
© Robinson Jeffers
But who is our judge? It is likely the enormous
Beauty of the world requires for completion our ghostly increment,
It has to dream, and dream badly, a moment of its night.
The Princess (part 1)
© Alfred Tennyson
A prince I was, blue-eyed, and fair in face,
Of temper amorous, as the first of May,
With lengths of yellow ringlet, like a girl,
For on my cradle shone the Northern star.
The Old Player
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
THE curtain rose; in thunders long and loud
The galleries rung; the veteran actor bowed.
The Profession. A Sketch
© Alaric Alexander Watts
On Santa Croce's golden-pillared shrine,
A thousand tapers pour their blended rays
Elegy V. Anno Aet. 20. On The Approach Of Spring (Translated From Milton)
© William Cowper
Time, never wand'ring from his annual round,
Bids Zephyr breathe the Spring, and thaw the ground;
Sydney-Side
© Henry Lawson
Oh, there never dawned a morning, in the long and lonely days,
But I thought I saw the ferries streaming out across the bays
And as fresh and fair in fancy did the picture rise again
As the sunrise flushed the city from Woollahra to Balmain:
A Wreath Of Sonnets (10/14)
© France Preseren
Frail growth these blossoms had, so sad and few:
As when on some warm February day
An early rose unfolds her petals gay,
Enjoying for a space the sun anew,
Dorchester Amphitheatre .
© John Kenyon
By Rome's old amphitheatre I stood,
Still pretty perfect, on the Weymouth road,
Beautiful Rose
© Henry Clay Work
Beautiful Rose! lovely Rose!
Pride of the prairie bower!
Everybody loves her-everybody knows
She is the fairest flower.
Circe
© Augusta Davies Webster
Ah me! these love a day and laugh again,
and loving, laughing, find a full content;
but I know nought of peace, and have not loved.
The White Doe Of Rylstone, Or, The Fate Of The Nortons - Canto Third
© William Wordsworth
NOW joy for you who from the towers
Of Brancepeth look in doubt and fear,
Telling melancholy hours!
Proclaim it, let your Masters hear
A Rebus
© Phillis Wheatley
A bird delicious to the taste,
On which an army once did feast,
Sent by an hand unseen;
A creature of the horned race,
Which Britain's royal standards grace;
A gem of vivid green;
Polonius and the Ballad Singers
© Padraic Colum
A gaunt built woman and her son-in-law
A broad-faced fellow, with such flesh as shows
Saint Monica
© Charlotte Turner Smith
AMONG deep woods is the dismantled scite
Of an old Abbey, where the chaunted rite,
Imperfection
© Madison Julius Cawein
Not as the eye hath seen, shall we behold
Romance and beauty, when we've passed away;
