Beauty poems
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The Poet Sings To Her Poet
© Alice Meynell
As the full moon shining there
To the sun that lighteth her
Am I unto thee for ever,
O my secret glory-giver!
O my light, I am dark but fair,
Black but fair.
The Quaker Alumni
© John Greenleaf Whittier
From the well-springs of Hudson, the sea-cliffs of Maine,
Grave men, sober matrons, you gather again;
And, with hearts warmer grown as your heads grow more cool,
Play over the old game of going to school.
The Garden Of Dreams
© Madison Julius Cawein
Not while I live may I forget
That garden which my spirit trod!
Where dreams were flowers, wild and wet,
And beautiful as God.
To the Moon [Late Version]
© Charles Harpur
With musing mind I watch thee steal
Above those envious clouds that hid
At Toledo
© Arthur Symons
The little Stones chuckle among the fields:
We are so small: God will not think of us;
The White Road Up Athirt The Hill
© William Barnes
WHEN high hot zuns da strik right down,
An' burn our zweaty fiazen brown,
Shakuntala Act VII (Final Act)
© Kalidasa
ACT VII
King Dushyant with Matali in the chariot of Indra (king of gods in heaven and also god of thunder), supposed to be above the clouds.
King Dushyant: I am sensible, O Matali, that, for having executed the commission which Indra gave me, I deserved not such a profusion of honours.
Imitation Of Lines
© Helen Maria Williams
ADDRESSED BY M. D----, A YOUNG MAN OF TWENTY-
FOUR YEARS OF AGE, THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS
EXECUTION, TO A YOUNG LADY TO WHOM
HE WAS ENGAGED.--1794.
New Water by Sharon Chmielarz: American Life in Poetry #99 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
My maternal grandparents got their drinking water from a well in the yard, and my disabled uncle carried it sloshing to the house, one bucket of hard red water early every morning. I couldn't resist sharing this lovely little poem by Minnesota poet, Sharon Chmielarz.
The Choice
© Katharine Tynan
When skies are blue and days are bright
A kitchen-garden's my delight,
Set round with rows of decent box
And blowsy girls of hollyhocks.
Not Yet
© Katharine Lee Bates
NOT yet hath Nature, lovely colorist,
Bestirred her from creative dream to fling
Humayun To Zobeida (From the Urdu)
© Sarojini Naidu
You flaunt your beauty in the rose, your glory in the dawn,
Your sweetness in the nightingale, your white- ness in the swan.
Giovanni Malatesta At Rimini
© Arthur Symons
Giovanni Malatesta, the lame old man,
Walking one night, as he was used, being old,
An Epistle To A Friend
© Samuel Rogers
When, with a Reaumur's skill, thy curious mind
Has class'd the insect-tribes of human-kind,
Each with its busy hum, or gilded wing,
Its subtle, web-work, or its venom'd sting;
Love: An Elegy
© Mark Akenside
At last the visionary scenes decay,
My eyes, exulting, bless the new-born day,
Whose faithful beams detect the dangerous road
In which my heedless feet securely trod,
And strip the phantoms of their lying charms
That lur'd my soul from Wisdom's peaceful arms.
A Sketch
© Fitz-Greene Halleck
HER Leghorn hat was of the bright gold tint
The setting sunbeams give to autumn clouds;
The ribband that encircled it as blue
As spots of sky upon a moonless night,
I Am Vertical
© Sylvia Plath
But I would rather be horizontal.
I am not a tree with my root in the soil
Alfred. Book V.
© Henry James Pye
As o'er the tented field the squadrons spread,
Stretch'd on the turf the hardy soldier's bed;
While the strong mound, and warder's careful eyes,
Protect the midnight camp from quick surprise,
A voice, in hollow murmurs from the plain,
Attracts the notice of the wakeful train.
Book Fourteenth [conclusion]
© William Wordsworth
In one of those excursions (may they ne'er
Fade from remembrance!) through the Northern tracts
