Music poems
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Laurance - [Part 2]
© Jean Ingelow
Then looking hard upon her, came to him
The power to feel and to perceive. Her teeth
Chattered, and all her limbs with shuddering failed,
And in her threadbare shawl was wrapped a child
That looked on him with wondering, wistful eyes.
To Lady Beaumont
© William Wordsworth
LADY! the songs of Spring were in the grove
While I was shaping beds for winter flowers;
Cicely
© Francis Bret Harte
Cicely says you're a poet; maybe,--I ain't much on rhyme:
I reckon you'd give me a hundred, and beat me every time.
Poetry!--that's the way some chaps puts up an idee,
But I takes mine "straight without sugar," and that's what's the matter with me.
Ye Wearie Wayfarer [A Dedication to the author of Holmby House"
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
Fytte I
By Wood and Wold
[A Preamble]
Untitled 8
© Owen Suffolk
Thou sinless and sweet one - thy voice is a strain
Which yields solace to sadness, and balm to my pain,
Italy : 34. The Roman Pontiffs
© Samuel Rogers
Those ancient men, what were they, who achieved
A sway beyond the greatest conquerors;
Setting their feet upon the necks of kings,
And, through the world, subduing, chaining down
At Cape Schanck
© James Lister Cuthbertson
Down to the lighthouse pillar
The rolling woodland comes,
The Damsel Of Peru
© William Cullen Bryant
Where olive leaves were twinkling in every wind that blew,
There sat beneath the pleasant shade a damsel of Peru.
Betwixt the slender boughs, as they opened to the air,
Came glimpses of her ivory neck and of her glossy hair;
And sweetly rang her silver voice, within that shady nook,
As from the shrubby glen is heard the sound of hidden brook.
The Garden Of Boccaccio
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Still in thy garden let me watch their pranks,
…
With that sly satyr peeping through the leaves !
The Progress of Error
© William Cowper
Sing, muse (if such a theme, so dark, so long
May find a muse to grace it with a song),
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf IX. -- Thangbrand The Pr
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Short of stature, large of limb,
Burly face and russet beard,
The Rainbow
© James Thomson
Moist, bright, and green, the landscape laughs around.
Full swell the woods; their every music wakes,
Mix'd in wild concert, with the warbling brooks
Increased, the distant bleatings of the hills,
In The Month When Sings The Cuckoo
© Alfred Austin
But if now I slept, I should sleep to wake
To the sleepless pang and the dreamless ache,
To the wild babe blossom within my heart,
To the darkening terror and swelling smart,
To the searching look and the words apart,
And the hint of the tell-tale cuckoo.
Bagpipe Music
© Louis MacNeice
It's no go the merrygoround, it's no go the rickshaw,
All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow.
Their knickers are made of crepe-de-chine, their shoes are made of python,
Their halls are lined with tiger rugs and their walls with head of bison.
Life
© Madison Julius Cawein
There is never a thing we dream or do
But was dreamed and done in the ages gone;
Everything's old; there is nothing that's new,
And so it will be while the world goes on.
Ode To Liberty
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Yet, Freedom, yet, thy banner, torn but flying,
Streams like a thunder-storm against the wind.--BYRON.
I.
A glorious people vibrated again
Rose Mary
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Of her two fights with the Beryl-stone
Lost the first, but the second won.
The Death Of Adam
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Cedars, that high upon the untrodden slopes
Of Lebanon stretch out their stubborn arms,
Through all the tempests of seven hundred years
Fast in their ancient place, where they look down
