Music poems
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Sonnet XI: And Therefore If to Love
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
And therefore if to love can be desert,
I am not all unworthy. Cheeks as pale
Why Do I Love?
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Why do I love?
Is it for men to choose
The hour of the hushed night when crowned with dews
From its sea grave the morning star shall wake?
A Parental Ode to My Son, Aged 3 Years and 5 months
© Thomas Hood
Thou happy, happy elf!
(But stop,first let me kiss away that tear)
Thou tiny image of myself!
(My love, he's poking peas into his ear!)
Flower of Love
© Oscar Wilde
Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common
clay
I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the
larger day.
On a Baby Buried by the Hawkesbury
© Henry Kendall
A grace that was lent for a very few hours,
By the bountiful Spirit above us;
Lights Along the Mile
© Alfred Thomas Chandler
THE NIGHT descends in glory, and adown the purple west
The young moon, like a crescent skiff, upon some fairy quest,
Primavera Mia
© Sara Teasdale
As kings, seeing their lives about to pass,
Take off the heavy ermine and the crown,
A Miltonic Exercise
© Henry Austin Dobson
What need of votive Verse
To strew thy _Laureat Herse_
With that mix'd _Flora_ of th' _Aonian Hill_?
Or _Mincian_ vocall Reed,
That _Cam_ and _Isis_ breed,
When thine own Words are burning in us still?
Sonnet To Henry Cowper, Esq.
© William Cowper
Cowper, whose silver voice, tasked sometimes hard,
Legends prolix delivers in the ears
(Attentive when thou read'st) of England's peers,
Let verse at length yield thee thy just reward.
The First Mocking-Bird In Spring
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WINGED poet of vernal ethers!
Ah! where hast thou lingered long?
I have missed thy passionate, skyward flights
And the trills of thy changeful song.
Home, Sweet Home
© Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
"It shall be a royal mansion,
A fair and beautiful thing,
It will be the presence-chamber
Of thy Saviour, Lord and King.
Ode On Venice
© George Gordon Byron
I.
Oh Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls
Are level with the waters, there shall be
A cry of nations o'er thy sunken halls,
A loud lament along the sweeping sea!
If I, a northern wanderer, weep for thee,
If My Hands Could Defoliate translated from Si Mis Manos Pudieran Deshojar
© Federico Garcia Lorca
I pronounce your name,
in this dark night,
and your name sounds
more distant than ever.
More distant that all stars
and more doleful than a calm rain.
On Returning To England
© Alfred Austin
There! once again I stand on home,
Though round me still there swirls the foam,
Decius Brutus, On The Coast Of Portugal
© Richard Monckton Milnes
Never did Day, her heat and trouble o'er,
Proclaim herself more blest,
Than when, beside that Lusitanian shore,
She wooed herself to rest:
Peace-Hymn Of The Republic
© Henry Van Dyke
O Lord our God, Thy mighty hand
Hath made our country free;
Praise For The Incarnation
© John Newton
Sweeter sounds than music knows
Charm me in Immanuel's name;
All her hopes my spirit owes
To his birth, and cross, and shame.
