Beauty poems
/ page 188 of 313 /
Corona Inutilis
© James Lister Cuthbertson
I TWINED a wreath of heather white
To bind my ladys hair,
When Sue Wears Red
© Langston Hughes
When Susanna Jones wears red
her face is like an ancient cameo
Turned brown by the ages.
Come with a blast of trumphets, Jesus!
Lucy
© Robert Bloomfield
Thy favourite Bird is soaring still:
My Lucy, haste thee o'er the dale;
The Stream's let loose, and from the Mill
All silent comes the balmy gale;
Yet, so lightly on its way,
Seems to whisper 'Holiday.'
Cleopatra.
© Robert Crawford
The asp, her baby, on her breast,
She falls asleep,
Ever, like Antony, to rest
While Nile shall keep
A Supplement of an Imperfect Copy of Verses of Mr. William Shakespear’s, by the Author
© Sir John Suckling
One of her hands one of her cheeks lay under,
Cosening the pillow of a lawful kiss,
Which therefore swell’d, and seem’d to part asunder,
As angry to be robb’d of such a bliss!
The one look’d pale and for revenge did long,
While t’other blush’d, ’cause it had done the wrong.
Outlook
© Archibald Lampman
Not to be conquered by these headlong days,
But to stand free: to keep the mind at brood
On life's deep meaning, nature's altitude
Of loveliness, and time's mysterious ways;
Poems - Written On The Deaths Of Three Lovely Children
© Jean Ingelow
Yellow leaves, how fast they flutter-woodland hollows thickly strewing,
Where the wan October sunbeams scantly in the mid-day win,
While the dim gray clouds are drifting, and in saddened hues imbuing
All without and all within!
Chicago Poem
© Lew Welch
I lived here nearly 5 years before I could
meet the middle western day with anything approaching
London Snow
© John Hall Wheelock
When men were all asleep the snow came flying,
In large white flakes falling on the city brown,
Sonnet 132: "Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,..."
© William Shakespeare
Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,
Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain,
Sir Gawaine And The Green Knight
© Yvor Winters
Reptilian green the wrinkled throat,
Green as a bough of yew the beard;
He bent his head, and so I smote;
Then for a thought my vision cleared.
Fie, Pleasure, Fie!
© George Gascoigne
Fie pleasure, fie! thou cloyest me with delight,
Thou fill’st my mouth with sweetmeats overmuch;
I wallow still in joy both day and night:
I deem, I dream, I do, I taste, I touch,
No thing but all that smells of perfect bliss;
Fie pleasure, fie! I cannot like of this.
Ormuzd And Ahriman. Part II
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
Fear not, for ye shall live if ye receive
The life divine, obedient to the law
Of truth and good. So shall there be no frown
Upon his face who wills the good of all.
The Real and True and Sure
© Robert Browning
Marriage on earth seems such a counterfeit,
Mere imitation of the inimitable:
The Intellectual
© Ishmael Reed
What should the wars do with these jigging fools?
The man behind the book may not be man,
His own man or the book’s or yet the time’s,
But still be whole, deciding what he can
In praise of politics or German rimes;
The Bridge of Change
© John Logan
The bridge barely curved that connects the terrible with the tender.
—Rilke
