Beauty poems
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The Gatekeeper
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
THE sunlight falls on old Quebec,
A city framed of rose and gold,
Song. The Smile
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
LET others love the pearly tear,
The blushing cheek adorning;
And say, 'tis like the dew-drop clear,
That gems the rose of morning.
Lament Of Mary Queen Of Scots
© William Wordsworth
SMILE of the Moon!--for I so name
That silent greeting from above;
Elijah
© Henry Kendall
INTO that good old Hebrews soul sublime
The spirit of the wilderness had passed;
A Thing Of Beauty
© John Keats
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Don Juan: Canto The Tenth
© George Gordon Byron
When Newton saw an apple fall, he found
In that slight startle from his contemplation--
Spring Has Leapt Into Summer
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Spring has leapt into Summer.
A glory has gone from the green.
The flush of the poplar has sobered out,
The flame in the leaf of the lime is dulled:
But I am thinking of the young men
Whose faces are no more seen.
Book Third [Residence at Cambridge]
© William Wordsworth
IT was a dreary morning when the wheels
Rolled over a wide plain o'erhung with clouds,
And nothing cheered our way till first we saw
The long-roofed chapel of King's College lift
Turrets and pinnacles in answering files,
Extended high above a dusky grove.
Merciles Beaute
© Geoffrey Chaucer
2.
And but your word wol helen hastely
My hertes wounde, whyl that hit is grene,
Your eyen two wol slee me sodenly,
I may the beaute of hem not sustene.
Wordsworth
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Dear friends, who read the world aright,
And in its common forms discern
A beauty and a harmony
The many never learn!
Truth
© William Cowper
Man, on the dubious waves of error toss'd,
His ship half founder'd, and his compass lost,
Afterwards by David Baker: American Life in Poetry #133 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
It may be that we are most alone when attending funerals, at least that's how it seems to me. By alone I mean that even among throngs of mourners we pull back within ourselves and peer out at life as if through a window. David Baker, an Ohio poet, offers us a picture of a funeral that could be anybody's.
Afterwards
A short ride in the van, then the eight of us
there in the heatâwhite shirtsleeves sticking,
the women's gloves offâfanning our faces.
The workers had set up a big blue tent
Metamorphoses: Book The Fifth
© Ovid
The End of the Fifth 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
Pity Me, Loo!
© Henry Clay Work
On the sunset borders of the mountains I stray,
Of a dear home dreaming 'yond the snow peaks far away,
While the bubbling brook beside me goes dancing along,
As it seeks the "Golden Gate" of the ocean blue;
And a lone bird murmurs in the bush-top his song-
"Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!" "Pity me, Loo!"
Cupid And Swallows Flying From Winter. By Dagley
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Where the sunny eyes whose beams
Waken'd me from my soft dreams?--
These are with the swallows gone,--
Beauty's heart is chill'd to stone.
The Complaint Of Ninathoma
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
How long will ye round me be swelling,
O ye blue-tumbling waves of the sea?
Not always in caves was my dwelling,
Nor beneath the cold blast of the tree.
