Beauty poems
/ page 88 of 313 /
The Author to the Reader
© Francis Beaumont
I sing the fortune of a luckless pair,
Whose spotless souls now in one body be;
Sunset On The Bearcamp
© John Greenleaf Whittier
A gold fringe on the purpling hem
Of hills the river runs,
As down its long, green valley falls
The last of summer's suns.
Phantasies
© Emma Lazarus
Rest, beauty, stillness: not a waif of a cloud
From gray-blue east sheer to the yellow west-
No film of mist the utmost slopes to shroud.
From "The Court Of Fancy"
© Thomas Godfrey
'T was sultry noon; impatient of the heat
I sought the covert of a close retreat:
The Dark Angel
© Lionel Pigot Johnson
DARK Angel, with thine aching lust
To rid the world of penitence:
Malicious Angel, who still dost
My soul such subtile violence!
To A Baby Born Without Limbs
© Kingsley Amis
This is just to show you whose boss around here.
Itll keep you on your toes, so to speak,
Make you put your best foot forward, so to speak,
And give you something to turn your hand to, so to speak.
Sonnet 60: :Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore..."
© William Shakespeare
Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Sonnet X
© Caroline Norton
TO TAGLIONI.
SPIRIT of Grace, whose airy footsteps fall
So lightly! sure the looker-on must be
Most dull of fancy who doth not recall
Babette's Love
© William Schwenck Gilbert
BABETTE she was a fisher gal,
With jupon striped and cap in crimps.
She passed her days inside the Halle,
Or catching little nimble shrimps.
Yet she was sweet as flowers in May,
With no professional bouquet.
'Ah, Koelue . . .'
© Isaac Rosenberg
Ah, Koelue!
Had you embalmed your beauty, so
It could not backward go,
Or change in any way,
The Dream
© Giacomo Leopardi
It was the morning; through the shutters closed,
Along the balcony, the earliest rays
In An Illuminated Missal
© Charles Kingsley
I would have loved: there are no mates in heaven;
I would be great: there is no pride in heaven;
Fragments
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
THE wounded hart and the dying swan
Were side by side
Where the rushes coil with the turn of the tide
The hart and the swan.
Roses
© Edgar Albert Guest
When God first viewed the rose He'd made
He smiled, and thought it passing fair;
The Disciple
© Oscar Wilde
When Narcissus died the pool of his pleasure changed from a cup of
sweet waters into a cup of salt tears, and the Oreads came weeping
through the woodland that they might sing to the pool and give it
comfort.
Ruth
© Henry Lawson
Are the fields of my fancy less fair through a window thats narrowed and barred?
Are the morning stars dimmed by the glare of the gas-light that flares in the yard?
No! And what does it matter to me if to-morrow I sail from the land?
I am free, as I never was free! I exult in my loneliness grand!
