Beauty poems
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The Broken Pitcher
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Accursed be the hour of that sad day
The careless potter put his hand to thee,
And dared to fashion out of common clay
So pure a shape as thou didst seem to me.
Love: To A Little Girl
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
When we all lie still
Where churchyard pines their funeral vigil keep,
from Venus and Adonis
© William Shakespeare
Even as the sunne with purple-colourd face,
Had tane his last leaue of the weeping morne,
Rose-cheekt Adonis hied him to the chace,
Hunting he lou'd, but loue he laught to scorne,
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amaine vnto him,
And like a bold fac'd suter ginnes to woo him.
Sonnet I: From fairest creatures we desire increase
© William Shakespeare
From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty’s rose might never die,
Idea XLIII: Why should your fair eyes with such sovereign grace
© Michael Drayton
Why should your fair eyes with such sovereign grace
Disperse their rays on every vulgar spirit,
Little Nell
© Louisa May Alcott
GLEAMING through the silent church-yard,
Winter sunlight seemed to shed
New England June
© Bliss William Carman
THESE things I remember
Of New England June,
Like a vivid day-dream
In the azure noon,
And Thus In Nineveh
© Ezra Pound
Aye! I am a poet and upon my tomb
Shall maidens scatter rose leaves
And men myrtles, ere the night
Slays day with her dark sword.
Bahaman
© Bliss William Carman
To T. B. M.
IN the crowd that thronged the pierhead, come to see their friends take ship
Switzerland And Italy
© Richard Monckton Milnes
Within the Switzer's varied land,
When Summer chases high the snow,
You'll meet with many a youthful band
Of strangers wandering to and fro:
On the Welsh Language
© Katherine Philips
If honor to an ancient name be due,
Or riches challenge it for one that’s new,
Elegy XVIII
© John Donne
THE heavens rejoice in motion ; why should I
Abjure my so much loved variety,
"A child in nature, as a child in years"
© Robert Laurence Binyon
A child in nature, as a child in years,
If on past hours she turn remembering eyes,
She but beholds sweet joys or gentle tears,
Flower hiding flower in her pure memories.
Indian Summer
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
I HAVE strayed from silent places,
Where the days are dreaming always;
Cold Calls: War Music, Continued
© Christopher Logue
Take Quinamid
The son of a Dardanian astrologer
Who disregarded what his father said
And came to Troy in a taxi.
