Music poems
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf X. -- Raud The Strong
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
"All the old gods are dead,
All the wild warlocks fled;
From The Woods
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WHY should I, with a mournful, morbid spleen,
Lament that here, in this half-desert scene,
My lot is placed?
At least the poet-winds are bold and loud,--
The Angelus
© Francis Bret Harte
Bells of the Past, whose long-forgotten music
Still fills the wide expanse,
A Christmas Eve Choral
© Bliss William Carman
Halleluja!
What sound is this across the dark
While all the earth is sleeping? Hark!
Halleluja! Halleluja! Halleluja!
Monody On The Death Of The Right Hon. R. B. Sheridan
© George Gordon Byron
When the last sunshine of expiring day
In summer's twilight weeps itself away,
The Fairy Rade
© Madison Julius Cawein
Ai me! why stood I on the bent
When Summer wept o'er dying June!
I saw the Fairy Folk ride faint
Aneath the moon.
Slow Dancing on the Highway:the Trip North by Elizabeth Hobbs: American Life in Poetry #112 Ted Koos
© Ted Kooser
Not only do we have road rage, but it seems we have road love, too. Here Elizabeth Hobbs of Maine offers us a two-car courtship. Be careful with whom you choose to try this little dance.
Slow Dancing on the Highway:
the Trip North
You follow close behind me,
for a thousand miles responsive to my movements.
I signal, you signal back. We will meet at the next exit.
Love's Empery
© Charles Mair
O Love, if those clear faithful eyes of thine
Were ever turned away there then should be
William Bede Dalley
© Henry Kendall
The clear, bright atmosphere through which he looks
Is one by no dim, close horizon bound;
The power shed as flame from noble books
Hath made for him a larger world around.
To Ellen Terry
© Alfred Austin
Nay, bring forth none but daughters: daughters young,
The doubles of yourself; with face as fair,
Magpie
© James Phillip McAuley
The magpie's mood is never surly
every morning, wakening early,
he gargles music in his throat,
the liquid squabble of his throat.
Book Seventh [Residence in London]
© William Wordsworth
Returned from that excursion, soon I bade
Farewell for ever to the sheltered seats
Of gowned students, quitted hall and bower,
And every comfort of that privileged ground,
Well pleased to pitch a vagrant tent among
The unfenced regions of society.
Indian Woman's Death-Song
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Non, je ne puis vivre avec un coeur brisé® Il faut que je retrouve la joie, et que je m'unisse aux esprits libres de l'air.
Bride of Messina,
Madame De Stael
Let not my child be a girl, for very sad is the life of a woman.
The Prairie.
Antwerp And Bruges
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
I climbed the stair in Antwerp church,
What time the circling thews of sound
The Sermon in the Stocking
© Anonymous
The supper is over, the hearth is swept,
And in the wood-fire's glow
The children cluster to hear a tale
Of that time so long ago,
The Poets
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
When this young Land has reached its wrinkled prime,
And we are gone and all our songs are done,
Noey Bixler
© James Whitcomb Riley
Another hero of those youthful years
Returns, as Noey Bixler's name appears.
Songs Set To Music: 21. Set By Mr. De Fesch
© Matthew Prior
Touch the lyre, touch every string;
Touch it, Orpheus; I will sing
