Beauty poems

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On Some Rose Leaves Brought From The Vale Of Cashmere

© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

Faded and pale their beauty, vanished their early bloom,
Their folded leaves emit alone a sweet though faint perfume,
But, oh! than brightest bud or flower to me are they more dear,
They come from that rose-haunted land, the bright Vale of Cashmere.

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The Magic Purse

© Madison Julius Cawein

WHAT is the gold of mortal-kind
To that men find
Deep in the poet's mind! —
That magic purse

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Svanhvit's Colloquy

© Per Daniel Amadeus Atterbom

  What countless paths wind down, from divers points,
  To yonder city gates!--Oh, wilt not thou,
  My star, appear to me on one of them?
  Whate'er I said,--thou art my worshiped sun.
  Then pardon me;--thou art not cold; oh, no!
  Too warm, too glowing warm, art thou for me.

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Laus Virginitatis

© Arthur Symons

The mirror of men's eyes delights me less,
mirror, than the friend I find in thee;
Thou loves!:, as I love, my loveliness,
Thou givest my beauty back to me.

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The Friendly Trees

© Henry Van Dyke

I will sing of the bounty of the big trees,
They are the green tents of the Almighty,
He hath set them up for comfort and for shelter.

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Song. "When you mournfully rivet your tear-laden eyes"

© Frances Anne Kemble

When you mournfully rivet your tear-laden eyes,

  That have seen the last sunset of hope pass away,

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Love's Reveller.

© Robert Crawford

Hard have you won her, and must hold as fast!
She is Love's reveller — those tawny eyes
Are up and down still in warm passion cast,
And woe betide the soul whom they surprise!

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Cadenabbia. Lake Of Como. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fourth)

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

No sound of wheels or hoof-beat breaks
  The silence of the summer day,
As by the loveliest of all lakes
  I while the idle hours away.

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Song #3

© John Clare

I peeled bits of straws and I got switches too

From the grey peeling willow as idlers do,

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In July

© Sir Henry Newbolt

His beauty bore no token,

  No sign our gladness shook;

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A Book of Dreams: Part II

© George MacDonald

A great church in an empty square,
 A place of echoing tones;
Feet pass not oft enough to wear
 The grass between the stones.

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The Angel In The House. Book I. Canto VI.

© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore

IV A Riddle Solved
  Kind souls, you wonder why, love you,
  When you, you wonder why, love none.
  We love, Fool, for the good we do,
  Not that which unto us is done!

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On Love And Beauty: I: To A Promessa Sposa

© Sydney Thompson Dobell

Look on this flower, which, from its little tree

Of bodily stem and branches and leaves green,

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The House Of Dust: Part 02: 05:

© Conrad Aiken

Round white clouds roll slowly above the housetops,
Over the clear red roofs they flow and pass.
A flock of pigeons rises with blue wings flashing,
Rises with whistle of wings, hovers an instant,
And settles slowly again on the tarnished grass.

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Mary Bayfield

© John Clare

How beautiful the summer night

  When birds roost on the mossy tree,

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An Hymne In Honour Of Beautie

© Edmund Spenser

Ah! whither, Love! wilt thou now carry mee?
What wontlesse fury dost thou now inspire
Into my feeble breast, too full of thee?
Whylest seeking to aslake thy raging fyre,

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Jerusalem Delivered - Book 06 - part 08

© Torquato Tasso

XCIX

"Thou must," quoth she, "be mine ambassador,

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Sunflower by Frank Steele: American Life in Poetry #176 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006

© Ted Kooser

Hearts and flowers, that's how some people dismiss poetry, suggesting that's all there is to it, just a bunch of sappy poets weeping over love and beauty. Well, poetry is lots more than that. At times it's a means of honoring the simple things about us. To illustrate the care with which one poet observes a flower, here's Frank Steele, of Kentucky, paying such close attention to a sunflower that he almost gets inside it.

Sunflower

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Elegy XVII: On His Mistress

© John Donne

By our first strange and fatal interview,

By all desires which thereof did ensue,

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Where Are You Poets?

© Sydney Thompson Dobell

Where are you, Poets, that a Hero dies

Unsung? He who, when Duty brought too soon