Beauty poems
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Summer Morn in New Hampshire
© Claude McKay
All yesterday it poured, and all night long
I could not sleep; the rain unceasing beat
Upon the shingled roof like a weird song,
Upon the grass like running children's feet.
Song of the Moon
© Claude McKay
There is no magic from your presence here,
Ho, moon, sad moon, tuck up your trailing robe,
Whose silver seems antique and so severe
Against the glow of one electric globe.
Russian Cathedral
© Claude McKay
Bow down my soul and let the wondrous light
Of beauty bathe thee from her lofty throne,
Bow down before the wonder of man's might.
Bow down in worship, humble and alone;
Bow lowly down before the sacred sight
Of man's divinity alive in stone.
The Harps of Heaven
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
On a solemn day
I clomb the shining bulwark of the skies:
The Dancer Of The Daughters Of Herodias
© Arthur Symons
Is it the petals falling from the rose?
For in the silence I can hear a sound
Tinker Jack And The Tidy Wives
© Sylvia Plath
Come lady, bring that pot
Gone black of polish
And whatever pan this mending master
Three Palinodias - 03 Rain And Rainbow
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
DURING a heavy storm it chanced
That from his room a cockney glanced
Dead Horse In Field
© Robert Penn Warren
At evening I watch the buzzards, the crows,
Arise. They swing black in natures flow and perfection,
High in sad carmine of sunset. Forgiveness
Is not indicated. It is superfluous. They are
What they are.
The Improvisatore
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Eliza. Ask our friend, the Improvisatore ; here he comes. Kate has a favour
to ask of you, Sir ; it is that you will repeat the ballad [Believe me if
all those endearing young charms.--EHC's ? note] that Mr. ____ sang so
sweetly.
Italy : 43. The Bag Of Gold
© Samuel Rogers
I dine very often with the good old Cardinal * * and, I
should add, with his cats; for they always sit at his table,
and are much the gravest of the company. His beaming
countenance makes us forget his age; nor did I ever see
In Praise of Mandragora
© Muriel Stuart
O, MANDRAGORA, many sing in praise
Of life, and death, and immortality,-
Of passion, that goes famished all her days,-
Of Faith, or fantasy;
Thou, all unpraised, unsung, I make this rhyme to thee.
Beauty. Part II
© Henry James Pye
Of all that Nature's rural prospects yield,
The chrystal fountain and the flow'ry field,
The Lime-tree Bower my Prison [Addressed to Charles Lamb, o
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Well, they are gone, and here must I remain,
This lime-tree bower my prison! I have lost
Beauties and feelings, such as would have been
Most sweet to my remembrance even when age
Ballad
© Eustache Deschamps
Here is no flower, no violet e'er so sweet,
Nor tree, nor brier, whatever charms they show, Beauty nor worth where all perfections meet,
No man, nor woman, though her fate bestow
Bright locks, fair skin, cheeks that like roses glow,
Or wise or foolish nought by nature made,
Which length of time shall age not, and degrade, But the fierce hunter death shall hold in chase, And which, when old, the world will not upbraid: Old age ends all, in youth alone is grace.
On A Mountain Top
© Alfred Noyes
On this high altar, fringed with ferns
That darken against the sky,
The dawn in lonely beauty burns
And all our evils die.
The Captivity
© Oliver Goldsmith
FIRST PROPHET.
AIR.
Our God is all we boast below,
To him we turn our eyes;
And every added weight of woe
Shall make our homage rise.
Beowulf's Expedition To Heort
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Thus then, much care-worn,
The son of Healfden
