Beauty poems
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The Pleasures of Imagination: Book The Second
© Mark Akenside
Till all its orbs and all its worlds of fire
Be loosen'd from their seats; yet still serene,
The unconquer'd mind looks down upon the wreck;
And ever stronger as the storms advance,
Firm through the closing ruin holds his way,
Where nature calls him to the destin'd goal.
The Digging Skeleton
© Charles Baudelaire
I
In the anatomical plates
displayed on the dusty quays
where many a dry book sleeps
An Essay on Criticism: Part 1
© Alexander Pope
But you who seek to give and merit fame,
And justly bear a critic's noble name,
Be sure your self and your own reach to know,
How far your genius, taste, and learning go;
Launch not beyond your depth, but be discreet,
And mark that point where sense and dulness meet.
A Valediction of the Book
© John Donne
I’ll tell thee now (dear Love) what thou shalt do
To anger destiny, as she doth us,
Song #3.
© Robert Crawford
Love's but to be had this way:
Reverent you must be with her,
Letting your heart night and day
Dreamy in her beauty stir.
Forehead of the Rose
© René Char
Despite the open window in the room of long absence, the odor of the rose is still linked with the
breath that was there. Once again we are without previous experience, newcomers, in love. The
rose! The field of its ways would dispel even the effrontery of death. No grating stands in the way.
Desire is alive, an ache in our vaporous foreheads.
The Recluse - Book First
© William Wordsworth
HOME AT GRASMERE
ONCE to the verge of yon steep barrier came
A roving school-boy; what the adventurer's age
Hath now escaped his memory--but the hour,
Proem.
© Robert Crawford
I only knew one poet in my life.
BROWNING.
I have not known a poet but myself,
If I'm indeed one, as I ought to be,
To A Poet Of Quality. Praising The Lady Hinchinbroke
© Matthew Prior
Of thy judicious Muse's sense,
Young Hinchinbroke so very proud is,
That Sacharissa and Hortense
She looks henceforth upon as dowdies.
To Helen
© Edgar Allan Poe
Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicéan barks of yore,
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary, way-worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part IV: Vita Nova: LXXXV
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
THE SAME CONTINUED
These flowers shall be my offering, living flowers
Which here shall die with you in sacrifice,
Flowers from the empty fields which once were yours
The Book Of Paradise - The Seven Sleepers
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
And the sheep-dog will not leave them,--
Scared away, his foot all-mangled,
To his master still he presses,
And he joins the hidden party,
Joins the favorites of slumber.
Haverhill
© John Greenleaf Whittier
O river winding to the sea!
We call the old time back to thee;
From forest paths and water-ways
The century-woven veil we raise.
The Bridal of the Year
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
Yes! the Summer is returning,
Warmer, brighter beams are burning
January 22nd, Missolonghi
© Lord Byron
On this Day I Complete my Thirty-Sixth Year
'Tis time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it hath ceased to move:
Yet though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!
Night Without Sleep
© Robinson Jeffers
The world’s as the world is; the nations rearm and prepare to change; the age of tyrants returns;
The greatest civilization that has ever existed builds itself higher towers on breaking foundations.
Recurrent episodes; they were determined when the ape’s children first ran in packs, chipped flint to an edge.
Sydney Harbour
© Henry Kendall
Where Hornby, like a mighty fallen star,
Burns through the darkness with a splendid ring
Down Stream
© Louise Imogen Guiney
Scarred hemlock roots,
Oaks in mail, and willow-shoots
Spring’s first-knighted;
Clinging aspens grouped between,
Slender, misty-green,
Faintly affrighted:
