Music poems
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The Task: Book V. -- The Winter Morning Walk
© William Cowper
Tis morning; and the sun, with ruddy orb
Ascending, fires the horizon; while the clouds,
Ode, Written in a Visit to the Country in Autumn
© John Logan
'Tis past! no more the Summer blooms!
Ascending in the rear,
The Trembling Tree
© Robert Laurence Binyon
On greenest grass the lace of lights
Beneath the shadowing tree
Trembles, as when eyes more than lips
Are smiling silently.
"The Rock" In El Ghor
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Dead Petra in her hill-tomb sleeps,
Her stones of emptiness remain;
Around her sculptured mystery sweeps
The lonely waste of Edom's plain.
Before a Painting
© James Weldon Johnson
And over me the sense of beauty fell,
As music over a raptured listener to
The deep-voiced organ breathing out a hymn;
Or as on one who kneels, his beads to tell,
There falls the aureate glory filtered through
The windows in some old cathedral dim.
Aurora Leigh: Book Three
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
"To-day thou girdest up thy loins thyself
And goest where thou wouldest: presently
Others shall gird thee," said the Lord, "to go
Where thou wouldst not." He spoke to Peter thus,
To signify the death which he should die
When crucified head downward.
On The Manner Of Addressing Clouds
© Wallace Stevens
Gloomy grammarians in golden gowns,
Meekly you keep the mortal rendezvous,
Hiram H. Benner
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WHEN the war-drums beat and the trumpets blare,
When banners flaunt in the stormy air,
When at thought of the deeds that must soon be done,
The hearts of a thousand leap up as one,
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. Prelude; The Wayside Inn
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
One Autumn night, in Sudbury town,
Across the meadows bare and brown,
The windows of the wayside inn
Gleamed red with fire-light through the leaves
Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves
Their crimson curtains rent and thin.
Beautiful-Bosomed, O Night
© Madison Julius Cawein
Who whisper in leaves and glimmer in blossoms and hover
In color and fragrance and loveliness, breathed from the deep
World-soul of the mother,
Nature; who over and over,-
Both sweetheart and lover,-
Goes singing her songs from one sweet month to the other.
Don Juan: Canto The Fourth
© George Gordon Byron
Nothing so difficult as a beginning
In poesy, unless perhaps the end;
How To Not Settle It
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
I LIKE, at times, to hear the steeples' chimes
With sober thoughts impressively that mingle;
But sometimes, too, I rather like--don't you?--
To hear the music of the sleigh bells' jingle.
Fragment: Supposed To Be An Epithalamium Of Francis Ravaillac And Charlotte Corday
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
'Tis midnight now--athwart the murky air,
Dank lurid meteors shoot a livid gleam;
From the dark storm-clouds flashes a fearful glare,
It shows the bending oak, the roaring stream.
Arabella Stuart
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
And is not love in vain,
Torture enough without a living tomb?
Byron
Under The Pine
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
The same majestic pine is lifted high
Against the twilight sky,
The same low, melancholy music grieves
Amid the topmost leaves,
As when I watched, and mused, and dreamed with him,
Beneath these shadows dim.
Whom should I choose for my Judge? (fragment)
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
What is the meed of thy Song? 'Tis the ceaseless, the thousandfold Echo
Which from the welcoming Hearts of the Pure repeats and prolongs it,
Each with a different Tone, compleat or in musical fragments.
Sonnet XXXIII: Yes, Call Me by My Pet-Name!
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear
The name I used to run at, when a child,
From innocent play, and leave the cowslips piled,
To glance up in some face that proved me dear
Piscataqua River
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Thou singest by the gleaming isles,
By woods, and fields of corn,
Thou singest, and the sunlight smiles
Upon my birthday morn.
