Music poems
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A Lament
© Richard Monckton Milnes
I hear them upbraid you,--they mingle your name
With lightness and folly and almost with shame;
And they, who have crouched at the bend of your brow,
With familiar indifference prate of you now.
My Playmate
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The pines were dark on Ramoth hill,
Their song was soft and low;
The blossoms in the sweet May wind
Were falling like the snow.
Lines For Music (III)
© Frances Anne Kemble
Good night! from music's softest spell
Go to thy dreams: and in thy slumbers,
Shadow-of-a-Leaf
© Alfred Noyes
Bird, squirrel, bee, and the thing that was like no other
Played in the woods that day,
Talked in the heart of the woods, as brother to brother,
And prayed as children pray,
Make me a garland, Lady, a garland, Mother,
For this wild rood of may.
My Frost-King - Song II
© Louisa May Alcott
Brighter shone the golden shadows;
On the cool wind softly came
The Vision By The Sea
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
I.
A HAUNTING face! with strange, ethereal eyes,
Deep as unfathomed gulfs of tranquil skies
When o'er their brightness a vague mist is drawn,
A Living Picture
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
No, I'll not say your name. I have said it now,
As you mine, first in childish treble, then
Up through a score and more familiar years
Till baby-voices mock us. Time may come
Sordello: Book the Sixth
© Robert Browning
The thought of Eglamor's least like a thought,
And yet a false one, was, "Man shrinks to nought
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf I. -- The Challenge Of T
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I am the God Thor,
I am the War God,
I am the Thunderer!
Here in my Northland,
My fastness and fortress,
Reign I forever!
The Sweet Murmuring of the Woods
© Theocritus
Sweet is the music, O goat-herd,
Of yon whispering pine to the fountains,
And sweetly, too, is thine, breathed from thy pipe.
Marching Feet
© Katharine Lee Bates
THESE August nights, hushed but for drowsy peep
Of fledglings, tremble with a strange vibration,
The Life-Forest
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
IN springtime of our youth, life's purpling shade,
Foliage and fruit, do hang so thickly round,
We seem glad tenants of enchanted ground,
O'er which for aye dream-whispering winds have played.
The Three-Decker
© Rudyard Kipling
Full thirty foot she towered from waterline to rail.
It cost a watch to steer her, and a week to shorten sail;
But, spite all modern notions, I found her first and best -
The only certain packet for the Islands of the Blest.
An Essay on Man: Epistle 1
© Alexander Pope
To Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke
Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things
To One Who Would Make A Confession
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Oh! leave the past to buy its own dead.
The past is naught to us, the present all.
What need of last year's leaves to strew Love's bed?
What need of ghosts to grace a festival?
