Beauty poems
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To a Musquito
© William Cullen Bryant
Fair insect! that, with threadlike legs spread out,
And blood-extracting bill and filmy wing,
Does murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about,
In pitiless ears full many a plaintive thing,
And tell how little our large veins should bleed,
Would we but yield them to thy bitter need.
Songs Of The Imprisoned Naiad
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
"WOE! woe is me! the centuries pass away,
The mortal seasons run their ceaseless rounds,
While here I wither for the sunbright day,
Its genial sights and sounds.
Woe! woe is me!
Belitung
© Sukasah Syahdan
Majestic rocks from millions of years ancient
Bystanders of earthly silent evolution
Are in themselves untold stories
Of an ever-lasting beauty that is this beach
That the hands of time would only caress
And praises from our lips would never cease
An Ode To The Hills
© Archibald Lampman
AEons ago ye were,
Before the struggling changeful race of man
Eyes
© Sukasah Syahdan
I used to believe that comprehension began right there;
that what eyes failed to make sense of, was insensibility. Every time a picture offers a thousand words,
they claim the first to know; and if it were not through them, how would we fall for the beauty of a look?
Earlier Poems : The Spirit Of Poetry
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
There is a quiet spirit in these woods,
That dwells where'er the gentle south-wind blows;
Flowers And Stars
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Beloved! thourt gazing with thoughtful look
On those flowers of brilliant hue,
Sappho To Her Girlfriends
© Sappho
This is my song of maidens dear to me.
Eranna, a slight girl I counted thee,
Reticence
© Peter McArthur
WE may not babble unto alien ears
The truth revealed, nor show to heedless eyes
Sonnet I: Love Song
© Sukasah Syahdan
Shalt Cupid be blamed thou doth dominate
Dwelling in days and nights with dignity?
With this self as my only best comrade,
I treasure thy fancy as whate'er means beauty.
The Homeless Ghost
© George MacDonald
Still flowed the music, flowed the wine.
The youth in silence went;
Through naked streets, in cold moonshine,
His homeward way he bent,
Where, on the city's seaward line,
His lattice seaward leant.
To O.E.A.
© Claude McKay
Your voice is the color of a robin's breast,
And there's a sweet sob in it like rain-still rain in the night.
The Grauballe Man
© Seamus Justin Heaney
As if he had been poured
in tar, he lies
on a pillow of turf
and seems to weep
Strange Fruit
© Seamus Justin Heaney
Here is the girl's head like an exhumed gourd.
Oval-faced, prune-skinned, prune-stones for teeth.They unswaddled the wet fern of her hair
And made an exhibition of its coil,
Let the air at her leathery beauty.
How I Consulted The Oracle Of The Goldfishes
© James Russell Lowell
What know we of the world immense
Beyond the narrow ring of sense?
The Heremite Toad
© Madison Julius Cawein
A human skull in a church-yard lay;
For the church was a wreck, and the tombstones old
On the graves of their dead were rotting away
To the like of their long-watched mould.
Grandmothers Teaching
© Alfred Austin
``Grandmother dear, you do not know; you have lived the old-world life,
Under the twittering eaves of home, sheltered from storm and strife;
Rocking cradles, and covering jams, knitting socks for baby feet,
Or piecing together lavender bags for keeping the linen sweet:
Daughter, wife, and mother in turn, and each with a blameless breast,
Then saying your prayers when the nightfall came, and quietly dropping to rest.
This Beautiful Black Marriage
© Diane Wakoski
Photograph negative
her black arm: a diving porpoise,
sprawled across the ice-banked pillow.
Head: a sheet of falling water.
Her legs: icicle branches breaking into light.
