Beauty poems

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Prais'd be Diana's Fair and Harmless Light

© Ralegh Sir Walter

Prais'd be Diana's fair and harmless light;Prais'd be the dews wherewith she moists the ground;Prais'd be her beams, the glory of the night;Prais'd be her power by which all powers abound.

To A Lady, She Refusing to Continue a Dispute with me, and Leaving me in the Argument: An Ode

© Matthew Prior

Spare, gen'rous victor, spare the slave, Who did unequal war pursue;That more than triumph he might have, In being overcome by you.

Transfigured

© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan

Almost afraid they led her in: (A dwarf more piteous none could find);Withered as some weird leaf, and thin, The woman was .- and wan and blind.

The Coming of Eve

© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan

God gave the world to Man in the Beginning. Alone in Eden there and lord of allHe mused: "There may be one thing worth the winning. (All else is mine.) When will that Apple fall?

The Black Princess

© Piatt Sarah Morgan Bryan

I knew a Princess: she was old, Crisp-haired, flat-featured, with a lookSuch as no dainty pen of gold Would write of in a fairy book.

From low and abject themes the grov'ling museNow mounts aërial, to sing of armsTriumphant, and emblaze the martial actsOf Britain's hero; may the verse not sinkBeneath his merits, but detain a whileThy ear, O Harley, (though thy country's wealDepends on thee, though mighty Anne requiresThy hourly counsels) since with ev'ry artThy self adorn'd, the mean essays of youthThou wilt not damp, but guide, wherever found,The willing genius to the muses' seat:Therefore thee first, and last, the muse shall sing

Quia Multum Amavit

© John Payne

Just a drowned woman, with death-draggled hair And wan eyes, all a-stare;The weary limbs composed in ghastly rest, The hands together prest,Tight holding something that the flood has spared, Nor even the rough workhouse folk have dared To separate from her wholly, but untiedGently the knotted hands and laid it by her side

Rondeau Redoublé (and Scarcely Worth the Trouble, at That)

© Dorothy Parker

The same to me are sombre days and gay. Though joyous dawns the rosy morn, and bright,Because my dearest love is gone away Within my heart is melancholy night.

Living

© O'Reilly John Boyle

To toil all day and lie worn-out at night;To rise for all the years to slave and sleep,And breed new broods to do no other thingIn toiling, bearing, breeding -- life is thisTo myriad men, too base for man or brute

Darwin

© Robert Norwood

Eternal night and solitude of space;Breath as of vapour crimsoning to flame;Far constellations moving in the sameInvariable order and the paceThat times the sun, or earth's elliptic raceAmong the planets: Life--dumb, blind and lame--Creeping from form to form, until her shameBlends with the beauty of a human face!

Death can not claim what Life so hardly wonOut of her ancient warfare with the Void--O Man! whose day is only now begun,Go forth with her and do what she hath done;Till thy last enemy--Death--be destroyed,And earth outshine the splendour of the sun

The Empty Places

© Nicholls Marjory

A wind is sighing wistfullyDown the valley quiet and lonely,No green leaves to stir and quicken,Blowing over gray grass only.

Depression

© Nicholls Marjory

My mind is like a wretched room, So bare, so drear;Dull with a heavy, ugly gloom, No light, no cheer.

Native Woman

Her hair back from the wide round faceflows, almost a girl's, so thick,caught back in combs, racingand curling through them with blackestvigor, although it is pure white

Town Eclogues: Wednesday; The Tête à Tête

DANCINDA. " NO, fair DANCINDA, no ; you strive in vain" To calm my care and mitigate my pain ;" If all my sighs, my cares, can fail to move," Ah ! sooth me not with fruitless vows of love."

The Dean’s Provocation for Writing the Dressing-Room

The Doctor, in a clean starch'd band,His golden snuff box in his hand,With care his diamond ring displays,And artful shows its various Rays;While grave he stalks down -- StreetHis dearest -- to meet

The Virgin

© Harold Monro

Arms that have never held me; lips of himWho should have been for me; hair most beloved,I would have smoothed so gently; steadfast eyes,Half-closed, yet gazing at me through the dusk;And hands

Paradise Regain'd: Book II (1671)

© John Milton

MEan while the new-baptiz'd, who yet remain'dAt Jordan with the Baptist, and had seenHim whom they heard so late expresly call'dJesus Messiah Son of God declar'd,And on that high Authority had believ'd,And with him talkt, and with him lodg'd, I meanAndrew and Simon, famous after knownWith others though in Holy Writ not nam'd,Now missing him thir joy so lately found,So lately found, and so abruptly gone,Began to doubt, and doubted many days,And as the days increas'd, increas'd thir doubt:Sometimes they thought he might be only shewn,And for a time caught up to God, as onceMoses was in the Mount, and missing long;And the great Thisbite who on fiery wheelsRode up to Heaven, yet once again to come