Music poems
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Glad
© Edgar Albert Guest
Theres a battered old drum on the floor,
And a Teddy bear sleeps in my chair,
Remembered
© Madison Julius Cawein
Here in the dusk I see her face again
As then I knew it, ere she fell asleep;
Renunciation glorifying pain
Of her soul's inmost deep.
A Love Song From The North
© Sarojini Naidu
Tell me no more of thy love, papeeha,
Wouldst thou recall to my heart, papeeha,
Dreams of delight that are gone,
When swift to my side came the feet of my lover
Epilogue: Songs Before Sunrise
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
Between the wave-ridge and the strand
I let you forth in sight of land,
Her Vision In The Wood
© William Butler Yeats
Dry timber under that rich foliage,
At wine-dark midnight in the sacred wood,
To The Reverend Mr. Mabell, Of Cambridge
© Mary Barber
From Noise, and Nonsense, and vain Laughte free,
I steal a thoughtful Hour, and give to thee;
To thee, Conductor of my heedless Youth,
Who taught me first to rev'rence Sense, and Truth;
Virtue to praise; and boldly Vice deride,
With all the Pomp of Fashion on her Side.
The Countess
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Over the wooded northern ridge,
Between its houses brown,
To the dark tunnel of the bridge
The street comes straggling down.
The shiv'ring piano, foaming at the mouth
© Boris Pasternak
The shiv'ring piano, foaming at the mouth,
Will wrench you by its ravings, discompose you.
"My darling," you will murmur. "No!" I'll shout.
"To music?!" Yet can two be ever closer
Non Sum Qualis eram Bonae Sub Regno Cynarae
© Ernest Christopher Dowson
Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
Sonnet Of Motherhood VIII
© Zora Bernice May Cross
Make me the melody of meeting palms,
The roundelay of little running feet.
Storm-Music
© Henry Van Dyke
Now an interval of quiet
For a moment holds the air
In the breathless hush
Of a silent prayer.
No Bobolinkreverse His Singing
© Emily Dickinson
No Bobolinkreverse His Singing
When the only Tree
Ever He minded occupying
By the Farmer be
The World-Soul
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
Still, still the secret presses,
The nearing clouds draw down,
The crimson morning flames into
The fopperies of the town.
Within, without, the idle earth
Stars weave eternal rings,
The Travellers In Haste;
© Helen Maria Williams
ADDRESSED TO
THOMAS CLARKSON, ESQ.
IN 1814,
WHEN MANY ENGLISH ARRIVED AT PARIS, BUT
REMAINED A VERY SHORT TIME.
The Lady Of La Garaye - Part II
© Caroline Norton
A FIRST walk after sickness: the sweet breeze
That murmurs welcome in the bending trees,
When the cold shadowy foe of life departs,
And the warm blood flows freely through our hearts:
Memory's River
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
In Nature's bright blossoms not always reposes
That strange subtle essence more rare than their bloom,
