Music poems
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Ryton Firs
© Lascelles Abercrombie
All round the knoll, on days of quietest air,
Secrets are being told; and if the trees
Speak out let them make uproar loud as drums
'Tis secrets still, shouted instead of whisper'd.
Return
© Frances Anne Kemble
When the bright sun back on his yearly road
Comes towards us, his great glory seems to me,
A Divine Pastorall
© Thomas Parnell
I know I cannot speak his mercy's through,
Yet what I can, of what I ought Ile do,
Mean as they are, my notes to him belong,
Mean as it is, he will reward my song.
Go on, my Muse go on, & gratefully express
The Creatures thanks, in the Creators praise.
Don Juan: Canto The Fourteenth
© George Gordon Byron
If from great nature's or our own abyss
Of thought we could but snatch a certainty,
The Visionary Boy
© William Lisle Bowles
Oh! lend that lute, sweet Archimage, to me!
Enough of care and heaviness
Hush!
© Julia Caroline (Ripley) Dorr
Oh, hush thee, Earth! Fold thou thy weary palms!
The sunset glory fadeth in the west;
The Hamadryad.
© Robert Crawford
Last night I was like one who prayed
Beneath a mystic tree
Whose windless leaves a murmur made,
As if it there might be
Winter
© Madison Julius Cawein
The flute, whence Autumn's misty finger-tips
Drew music--ripening the pinched kernels in
When a Merry Maiden Marries
© William Schwenck Gilbert
When a merry maiden marries,
Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries;
The Pleasures of Memory - Part I.
© Samuel Rogers
Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green,
With magic tints to harmonize the scene.
Still'd is the hum that thro' the hamlet broke,
When round the ruins of their antient oak
The Pennsylvania Pilgrim
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The Pennsylvania Pilgrim
Never in tenderer quiet lapsed the day
From Pennsylvania's vales of spring away,
Where, forest-walled, the scattered hamlets lay
Love's History
© George MacDonald
Love, the baby,
Crept abroad to pluck a flower:
One said, Yes, sir; one said, Maybe;
One said, Wait the hour.
A Sicilian Idyll
© Thomas Sturge Moore
Cydilla
Thanks, Damon; now, by Zeus, thou art so brisk,
It shames me that to stoop should try my bones.
John Pegram
© William Gordon McCabe
What shall we say now of our knight,
Or how express the measure of our woe
For him who rode the foremost in the fight,
Whose good blade flashed so far amid the foe?
An Old Tune
© Gerard de Nerval
THERE is an air for which I would disown
Mozart's, Rossini's, Weber's melodies, -
A sweet sad air that languishes and sighs,
And keeps its secret charm for me alone.
Douro
© Robert Laurence Binyon
The dripping of the boughs in silence heard
Softly; the low note of some lingering bird
Amid the weeping vapour; the chill fall
Of solitary evening upon all
Spring
© Celia Thaxter
The alder by the river
Shakes out her powdery curls;
The willow buds in silver
For little boys and girls.
By The Camp Fire
© Ada Cambridge
Ah, 'twas but now I saw the sun flush pink on yonder placid tide;
The purple hill-tops, one by one, were strangely lit and glorified;
And yet how sweet the night has grown, with palest starlights dimly sown!
The Venetian Serenade
© Richard Monckton Milnes
When along the light ripple the far serenade
Has accosted the ear of each passionate maid,
She may open the window that looks on the stream,--
She may smile on her pillow and blend it in dream;
