Beauty poems
/ page 251 of 313 /
Parables
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
WE clutch our joys as children do their flowers;
We look at them, but scarce believe them ours,
Till our hot palms have smirched their colors rare
And crushed their dewy beauty unaware.
Metamorphoses: Book The Fourth
© Ovid
The End of the Fourth 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
Natalias Resurrection: Sonnet XXV
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Oh, miracle of love! That death, which seems
So hard a master when he holds his prize,
Whom no cajoleries, nor stratagems
Of beauty's power, nor wisdom's sophistries,
Songs of the Night Watches (complete)
© Jean Ingelow
Come out and hear the waters shoot, the owlet hoot, the owlet hoot;
Yon crescent moon, a golden boat, hangs dim behind the tree, O!
The dropping thorn makes white the grass, O sweetest lass, and sweetest
lass;
Come out and smell the ricks of hay adown the croft with me, O!”
A Poem On The Last Day - Book III
© Edward Young
Each gesture mourns, each look is black with care,
And every groan is loaden with despair.
Reader, if guilty, spare the Muse, and find
A truer image pictured in thy mind.
Juana
© Alfred de Musset
Again I see you, ah my queen,
Of all my old loves that have been,
The first love, and the tenderest;
Do you remember or forget -
Ah me, for I remember yet -
How the last summer days were blest?
Falerina
© Madison Julius Cawein
The night is hung above us, love,
With heavy stars that love us, love,
With clouds that curl in purple and pearl,
And winds that whisper of us, love:
On burly hills and valleys, that lie dimmer,
The amber foot-falls of the moon-sylphs glimmer.
The Botanic Garden( Part III)
© Erasmus Darwin
-HERE her sad Consort, stealing through the gloom
Of
Hangs in mute anguish o'er the scutcheon'd hearse,
Or graves with trembling style the votive verse.
Delilah
© Rudyard Kipling
Delilah Aberyswith was a lady -- not too young --
With a perfect taste in dresses and a badly-bitted tongue,
With a thirst for information, and a greater thirst for praise,
And a little house in Simla in the Prehistoric Days.
Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XLVII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Sublime discussions! Let who will be wise!
These are the things that touch us and transcend.
The logic of all beauty is surprise,
The reason of all love the unseen end.
The Letter L
© Jean Ingelow
We sat on grassy slopes that meet
With sudden dip the level strand;
The trees hung overhead—our feet
Were on the sand.
Jerusalem Delivered - Book 04 - part 03
© Torquato Tasso
XXXIII
Thus passed she, praised, wished, and wondered at,
Impromptu
© Alfred Austin
Tell me your race, your name,
O Lady limned as dead, yet as when living fair!
To Miss --,
© Samuel Johnson
{On her playing upon the harpsichord in
a room hung with flower-pieces of her own painting}.
Harpalus. An Ancient English Pastoral
© Henry Howard
Phylida was a faire mayde,
As fresh as any flowre;
Whom Harpalus the herdman prayde
To be his paramour.
Sonnett - XVI
© James Russell Lowell
THE SAME CONTINUED
The love of all things springs from love of one;
At the Gym
© Mark Doty
This salt-stain spot
marks the place where men
lay down their heads,
back to the bench,
Field Thistle
© Judith Skillman
A raucous noise,
the dawn of great beauty
and he with his tripod
matting the grasses as he walked.
The Meeting
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Faces of blank decorum, and bald heads
And the drone of a voice saying what none denies;
Words like cobwebs, scarcely stirred by a breath,
Loosely hanging, gray in an unswept corner;
The Charm.
© Robert Crawford
O touch her with thy heavenly beams,
Bright Moon! that she may know
Within his paradise of dreams
Love died not long ago.
