Music poems
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Astrophel And Stella-Sixth Song
© Sir Philip Sidney
Oh you thathear this voice,
Oh you that see this face,
Say whether of the choice
Deserves the former place:
Fear not to judge this 'bate,
For it is void of hate.
On The Death Of Mr. Viner
© Thomas Parnell
The liquid Harmony, a tuneful Tide,
Now seem'd to rage, anon wou'd gently glide;
By Turns would ebb and flow, would rise and fall,
Be loudly daring, or be softly small:
While all was blended in one common Name,
Wave push'd on Wave, and all compos'd a Stream.
The Grave Of A Poetess
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
I stood beside thy lowly grave;
Spring-odours breath'd around,
And music, in the river-wave,
Pass'd with a lulling sound.
Holiday
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Through Ebblesborne and Broad--Chalke
The narrow river runs,
Dimples with dark November rains,
Flashes in April suns.
Lilith
© Henry Kendall
Father, whose years have been many and weary
Elder, whose life is as lovely as light
Shining in ways that are sterile and dreary
Tell me the name of this beautiful peri,
Flashing on me like the wonderful white
Star, at the meeting of morning and night.
Broken Song
© Rabindranath Tagore
Kasinath asks for a rest and the singing stops for a space.
Pratap Ray smilingly turns his eyes to Baraj Lal.
He puts his mouth to his ear and says, 'Dear ustad,
Give us a song as songs ought to be, this is no song at all.
It's all tricks and games, like a cat hunting a bird.
We used to hear songs in the old days, today they have no idea.'
The Angel In The House. Book II. Canto VIII.
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
III The Kiss
I saw you take his kiss! 'Tis true.
O, modesty! 'Twas strictly kept:
He thought me asleep; at least, I knew
He thought I thought he thought I slept.
Stanzas For Music
© Robert Fuller Murray
I loved a little maiden
In the golden years gone by;
She lived in a mill, as they all do
(There is doubtless a reason why).
Hesperides
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
If thy soul, Herrick, dwelt with me,
This is what my songs would be:
A Tale Of True Love
© Alfred Austin
Not in the mist of legendary ages,
Which in sad moments men call long ago,
And people with bards, heroes, saints, and sages,
And virtues vanished, since we do not know,
But here to-day wherein we all grow old,
But only we, this Tale of True Love will be told.
A Carrion
© Allen Tate
Remember now, my Love, what piteous thing
We saw on a summer's gracious day:
By the roadside a hideous carrion, quivering
On a clean bed of pebbly clay,
Scrub Cattle
© Norma L Davies
Their breath is warm and sweet. It holds the smell
Of wind-brown grass and little fragrant flowers:
Amours De Voyage, Canto II
© Arthur Hugh Clough
P.S.
Mary has seen thus far.-I am really so angry, Louisa,-
Quite out of patience, my dearest! What can the man be intending?
I am quite tired; and Mary, who might bring him to in a moment,
Lets him go on as he likes, and neither will help nor dismiss him.
The Ring And The Book - Chapter I - The Ring And The Book
© Robert Browning
DO you see this Ring?
Tis Rome-work, made to match
The Lady Of La Garaye - Conclusion
© Caroline Norton
PEACE to their ashes! Far away they lie,
Among their poor, beneath the equal sky.
Among their poor, who blessed them ere they went
For all the loving help and calm content.
The Flies. An Eclogue.
© Thomas Parnell
When in the River Cows for Coolness stand,
And Sheep for Breezes seek the lofty Land,
Of Child With Bird At The Bush
© John Bunyan
My little bird, how canst thou sit
And sing amidst so many thorns?
Lament For Zenocrate
© Christopher Marlowe
Black is the beauty of the brightest day,
The golden ball of heaven's eternal fire,
Beaver Brook
© James Russell Lowell
Hushed with broad sunlight lies the hill,
And, minuting the long day's loss,
The cedar's shadow, slow and still,
Creeps o'er its dial of gray moss.
A Treatise On Poetry: IV Natura
© Czeslaw Milosz
The garden of Nature opens.
The grass at the threshold is green.
And an almond tree begins to bloom.
