Happy poems
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The Danish Boy
© William Wordsworth
I
BETWEEN two sister moorland rills
There is a spot that seems to lie
Sacred to flowerets of the hills,
The Author's Early Life
© Julia A Moore
I will write a sketch of my early life,
It will be of childhood day,
Within and Without: Part V: A Dramatic Poem
© George MacDonald
Julian.
A heart that knows what thou canst never know,
Fair angel, blesseth thee, and saith, farewell.
Sonnet VII
© Caroline Norton
LIKE an enfranchised bird, who wildly springs,
With a keen sparkle in his glancing eye
And a strong effort in his quivering wings,
Up to the blue vault of the happy sky,--
Don Juan: Canto The Third
© George Gordon Byron
The isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace,
Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set.
English Eclogues IV - The Sailor's Mother
© Robert Southey
WOMAN.
Sir for the love of God some small relief
To a poor woman!
Ode To The Spirit Of The Earth In Autumn
© George Meredith
The crimson-footed nymph is panting up the glade,
With the wine-jar at her arm-pit, and the drunken ivy-braid
Round her forehead, breasts, and thighs: starts a Satyr, and they
speed:
Hear the crushing of the leaves: hear the cracking of the bough!
And the whistling of the bramble, the piping of the weed!
Upon the Kings happy return from Scotland
© Henry King
So breaks the day when the returning Sun
Hath newly through his Winter Tropick run,
As You (Great Sir!) in this regress come forth
From the remoter Climate of the North.
Bid McCrae
© Alice Guerin Crist
The church was wrapped in darkness save for the alter-light,
And save where near the marble rail six tapers glimmered bright
Oer waxen heavy-scented flowers and coffin plated deep,
Where the good wife, Mary Halloran lay in her last long sleep.
Perdita
© Jean Ingelow
I go beyond the commandment.'
So be it. Then mine be the blame,
The loss, the lack, the yearning, till life's last sand be run,-
I go beyond the commandment, yet honour stands fast with her claim,
And what I have rued I shall rue; for what I have done-I have done.
Sonnet LVII: Like As the Lute
© Samuel Daniel
Like as the lute that joys or else dislikes
As in his art that plays upon the same,
Disenchantment Of Death
© Madison Julius Cawein
Hush! She is dead! Tread gently as the light
Foots dim the weary room. Thou shalt behold.
Look:--In death's ermine pomp of awful white,
Pale passion of pulseless slumber virgin cold:
Bold, beautiful youth proud as heroic Might--
Death! and how death hath made it vastly old.
