Beauty poems
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"I Have Loved Flowers That Fade"
© Robert Seymour Bridges
I have loved flowers that fade,
Within whose magic tents
The Unattainable
© Madison Julius Cawein
Mark thou! a shadow crowned with fire of hell.
Man holds her in his heart as night doth hold
The moonlight memories of day's dead gold;
Or as a winter-withered asphodel
In its dead loveliness holds scents of old.
And looking on her, lo, he thinks 'tis well.
Touches
© Madison Julius Cawein
In heavens of rivered blue, that sunset dyes
With glaucous flame, deep in the west the Day
HMS Pinafore: Act II
© William Schwenck Gilbert
Same Scene. Night. Awning removed. Moonlight. Captain
discovered singing on poop deck, and accompanying himself on
a mandolin. Little Buttercup seated on quarterdeck, gazing
sentimentally at him.
The Travellers In Haste;
© Helen Maria Williams
ADDRESSED TO
THOMAS CLARKSON, ESQ.
IN 1814,
WHEN MANY ENGLISH ARRIVED AT PARIS, BUT
REMAINED A VERY SHORT TIME.
The Wonder-Working Magician - Act I
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
TO THE MEMORY OF
SHELLEY,
WHOSE ADMIRATION FOR
"THE LIGHT AND ODOUR OF THE FLOWERY AND STARRY AUTOS"
IS THE HIGHEST TRIBUTE TO THE BEAUTY OF
CALDERON'S POETRY,
The Lady Of La Garaye - Part II
© Caroline Norton
A FIRST walk after sickness: the sweet breeze
That murmurs welcome in the bending trees,
When the cold shadowy foe of life departs,
And the warm blood flows freely through our hearts:
Memory's River
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
In Nature's bright blossoms not always reposes
That strange subtle essence more rare than their bloom,
My Friend
© Khalil Gibran
My friend, I am not what I seem. Seeming is but a garment I wear--a
care-woven garment that protects me from thy questionings and thee
from my negligence.
Courage
© Peter McArthur
THE dead are buried facing to the sun,
In foolish epitaphs their faith is told,
To his unconstant Friend
© Henry King
But say thou very woman, why to me
This fit of weakness and inconstancie?
What forfeit have I made of word or vow,
That I am rack't on thy displeasure now?
Fallen In The Night!
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Pelting, undermining, loosening, came the rain;
Through its topmost branches roared the hurricane;
Oft it strained and shivered till the night wore past;
But in dusky daylight there the tree stood fast,
Though its birds had left it, and its leaves were dead,
And its blossoms faded, and its fruit all shed.
Metamorphoses: Book The Ninth
© Ovid
The End of the Ninth Book.
Translated into English verse under the direction of
Sir Samuel Garth by John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,
William Congreve and other eminent hands
A Pastoral Dialogue
© Jonathan Swift
My love to Sheelah is more firmly fixt,
Than strongest weeds that grow those stones betwixt;
My spud these nettles from the stones can part;
No knife so keen to weed thee from my heart.
Peinture. A Panegyrick To The best Picture Of Friendship, M
© Richard Lovelace
If Pliny, Lord High Treasurer of al
Natures exchequer shuffled in this our ball,
Peinture her richer rival did admire,
And cry'd she wrought with more almighty fire,
Sir Guy the Crusader
© William Schwenck Gilbert
Sir GUY was a doughty crusader,
A muscular knight,
Ever ready to fight,
A very determined invader,
And DICKEY DE LION'S delight.
The Grave By The Lake
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Where the Great Lake's sunny smiles
Dimple round its hundred isles,
And the mountain's granite ledge
Cleaves the water like a wedge,
Ringed about with smooth, gray stones,
Rest the giant's mighty bones.
The Ring And The Book - Chapter IV - Tertium Quid
© Robert Browning
Is so far clear? You know Violante now,
Compute her capability of crime
By this authentic instance? Black hard cold
Crime like a stone you kick up with your foot
I the middle of a field?
