Beauty poems
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The Three Urns
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
LIST to an Arab parable, wherein
The beauty of the Orient fancy shrines
A star-like truth, the iconoclastic West
Is blind to see, its shrewd material vision
Bent over on the foulest soils of earth,
If only gold may gild them! Hear and learn!
To the Memory of the Brave Americans
© Philip Morin Freneau
AT Eutaw Springs the valiant died;
Their limbs with dust are covered o'er--
Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide;
How many heroes are no more!
In Time of Pestilence
© Thomas Nashe
Adieu, farewell earth's bliss,
This world uncertain is;
Fond are life's lustful joys,
Death proves them all but toys,
Sudden Fine Weather
© James Henry Leigh Hunt
Reader! what soul that laoves a verse can see
The spring return, nor glow like you and me?
Hear the quick birds, and see the landscape fill,
Nor long to utter his melodious will?
The Spring In Ireland: 1916
© James Brunton Stephens
In other lands they may,
With public joy or dole along the way,
With pomp and pageantry and loud lament
Of drums and trumpets, and with merriment
Of grateful hearts, lead into rest and sted
The nation's dead.
Lollingdon Downs VIII
© John Masefield
THE Kings go by with jewled crowns;
Their horses gleam, their banners shake, their spears are many.
The sack of many-peopled towns
Is all their dream:
The Passing Strange
© John Masefield
Out of the earth to rest or range
Perpetual in perpetual change,
The unknown passing through the strange.
C.l.m.
© John Masefield
IN the dark womb where I began
My mother's life made me a man.
Through all the months of human birth
Her beauty fed my common earth.
I cannot see, nor breathe, nor stir,
But through the death of some of her.
The Happiest Girl in the World
© Augusta Davies Webster
A week ago; only a little week:
it seems so much much longer, though that day
is every morning still my yesterday;
as all my life 'twill be my yesterday,
for all my life is morrow to my love.
Oh fortunate morrow! Oh sweet happy love!
The Wanderer
© John Masefield
ALL day they loitered by the resting ships,
Telling their beauties over, taking stock;
At night the verdict left my messmate's lips,
"The Wanderer is the finest ship in dock."
The Everlasting Mercy
© John Masefield
Thy place is biggyd above the sterrys cleer,
Noon erthely paleys wrouhte in so statly wyse,
Com on my freend, my brothir moost enteer,
For the I offryd my blood in sacrifise.
John Lydgate.
Roadways
© John Masefield
ONE road leads to London,
One road leads to Wales,
My road leads me seawards
To the white dipping sails.
On Growing Old
© John Masefield
Be with me, Beauty, for the fire is dying;
My dog and I are old, too old for roving.
Man, whose young passion sets the spindrift flying,
Is soon too lame to march, too cold for loving.
A Footnote to a Famous Lyric
© Louise Imogen Guiney
TRUE loves own talisman, which here
Shakespeare and Sidney failed to teach,
A steel-and-velvet Cavalier
Gave to our Saxon speech:
Exchange
© Vlanes (Vladislav Nekliaev)
Today your things depart. Your faience cup
fell off the table at sunrise and cracked.
Your old grey dog did not come up
the stairs. I went to look for him, he had died
in the long grass, near your library,
under your favourite mango-tree.
Jerusalem Delivered - Book 04 - part 02
© Torquato Tasso
XVII
"Among the knights and worthies of their train,
A Poet to...
© Charles Harpur
Thinewhen I saw thee first thou seemdst to me
A being known, yet beautifully new!
As when, to crown some sages theory,
Amid heavens sisterhoods, into shining view
Comes the conjectured star!his lucky name
To halo thenceforth with its virgin flame.
Sonnet 101: Stella Is Sick
© Sir Philip Sidney
Stella is sick, and in that sickbed lies
Sweetness, which breathes and pants as oft as she:
And Grace, sick too, such fine conclusions tries
That Sickness brags itself best grac'd to be.
Ode (From The Gaelic)
© George Borrow
Is luaimnach mo chodal an nochd.
Oh restless, to night, are my slumbers;
Satyr IX. The State Of Love Imitated Fm An Elegy Of Mons:r Desportes
© Thomas Parnell
Hence lett us hence with Just abhorrence go
for ill their happyness these mortalls know
Who slight the mighty favours I bestow
