Beauty poems
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The New Aspasia
© Muriel Stuart
I knew you as I knew these happy things,
Passing, unwept, on wide and tranquil wings
To their own place in nature; below, above
Transient passion with its stains and stings.
For this strange pity that you knew not of
Was neither lust nor love.
My Youth
© Gamaliel Bradford
Oh, my youth was hot and eager,
And my heart was burning, burning,
And the present joy seemed meagre,
Dwarfed by that perpetual yearning.
Botany-Bay Flowers
© Barron Field
GOD of this Planet! for the name best fits
The purblind view, which men of this "dim spot"
Human Life
© Samuel Rogers
An hour like this is worth a thousand passed
In pomp or ease - 'Tis present to the last!
Years glide away untold - 'Tis still the same!
As fresh, as fair as on the day it came!
Sonnet XXXVIII: I Once May See
© Samuel Daniel
I once may see when years shall wreck my wrong,
When golden hairs shall change to silver wire,
A Song In Three Parts
© Jean Ingelow
The white broom flatt'ring her flowers in calm June weather,
'O most sweet wear;
Forty-eight weeks of my life do none desire me,
Four am I fair,'
To The Right Honourable John Earl Of Orrery, At Bath, After The Death Of The Late Earl.
© Mary Barber
'Tis said, for ev'ry common Grief
The Muses can afford Relief:
And, surely, on that heav'nly Train
A Boyle can never call in vain.
To Helen - 1848
© Edgar Allan Poe
I saw thee once &mdash once only &mdash years ago:
I must not say how many &mdash but not many.
It was a July midnight; and from out
A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring,
Written In A Seat At Stoke Park, Near The Vicararage-House, Then Inhabited By The Author, And Comman
© Henry James Pye
Not with more joy from the loud tempest's roar,
The dangerous billow, and more dangerous shore,
Cannibal Street
© Kenneth Slessor
"BUY, who'll buy," the pedlar sings,
"Bones of beggars, loins of kings,
Ribs of murder, haunch of hate,
And Beauty's head on a butcher's plate!"
The English Padlock
© Matthew Prior
Since This has been Authentick Truth,
By Age deliver'd down to Youth;
Tell us, mistaken Husband, tell us,
Why so Mysterious, why so Jealous?
Does the Restraint, the Bolt, the Bar
Make Us less Curious, Her less Fair?
A Lament for the Fairies
© Alaric Alexander Watts
O, ye have lost,
Mountains, and moors, and meads, the radiant throng
Madhushala (The Tavern)
© Harivansh Rai Bachchan
Seeking wine, the drinker leaves home for the tavern.
Perplexed, he asks, "Which path will take me there?"
People show him different ways, but this is what I have to say,
"Pick a path and keep walking. You will find the tavern."
The Old Violon
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
"Going, going!" the voice was loud,
And, rising, silenced the chattering crowd.
Paracelsus: Part IV: Paracelsus Aspires
© Robert Browning
Festus.
So strange
That I must hope, indeed, your messenger
Has mingled his own fancies with the words
Purporting to be yours.
The Flowers Of Helicon
© Richard Monckton Milnes
The solitudes of Helicon
Are rife with gay and scented flowers,
Shining the marble rocks upon,
Or 'mid the valley's oaken bowers;
An Elegy, To an Old Beauty
© Thomas Parnell
In vain, poor Nymph, to please our youthful sight
You sleep in cream and frontlets all the night,
Your face with patches soil, with paint repair,
Dress with gay gowns, and shade with foreign hair.
If truth in spight of manners must be told,
Why, really fifty-five is something old.
