Music poems
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Twilight
© James Montgomery
I love thee, Twilight! as thy shadows roll,
The calm of evening steals upon my soul,
Death and Night
© James Benjamin Kenyon
The bearded grass waves in the summer breeze;
The sunlight sleeps along the distant hills;
L'archet
© Charles Cros
Elle avait de beaux cheveux, blonds
Comme une moisson daoût, si longs
Quils lui tombaient jusquaux talons.
LInconnue
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Is thy name Mary, maiden fair?
Such should, methinks, its music be;
The sweetest name that mortals bear
Were best befitting thee;
And she to whom it once was given,
Was half of earth and half of heaven.
The Forsaken
© Caroline Norton
IT is the music of her native land,--
The airs she used to love in happier days;
The lute is struck by some young gentle hand,
To soothe her spirit with remember'd lays.
II.
The Wind Speaks
© Alfred Austin
``In the depth of Night, on the heights of Day,
Would you know where I rest or roam?
In vain will you search, for I nowhere stay,
And the Universe is my home.
To my mother
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
LIKE streamlets to a silent sea,
These songs with varied motion
Flow from bright fancy's uplands free,
To Lethe's clouded ocean;
The Muses Threnodie: Sixth Muse
© Henry Adamson
From thence we passing by the Windy Gowle,
Did make the hollow rocks with echoes yowle,
And all alongst the mountains of Kinnoull,
Where did we shoot at many fox and fowl.
The Army of the Rear
© Henry Lawson
I LISTENED through the music and the sounds of revelry,
And all the hollow noises of that year of Jubilee;
A Dream
© Matthew Arnold
Was it a dream? We sail'd, I thought we sail'd,
Martin and I, down the green Alpine stream,
The Hired Man And Floretty
© James Whitcomb Riley
The Hired Man's supper, which he sat before,
In near reach of the wood-box, the stove-door
And one leaf of the kitchen-table, was
Somewhat belated, and in lifted pause
His dextrous knife was balancing a bit
Of fried mush near the port awaiting it.
The Hidden Room
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
I marvel if my heart,
Hath any room apart,
Built secretly its mystic walls within;
With subtly warded key.
Ne'er yielded unto me--
Where even I have surely never been.
The Old Pine Tree
© William Henry Drummond
"Listen my child," said the old pine
tree, to the little one nestling near,
Hebe
© James Russell Lowell
I saw the twinkle of white feet,
I saw the flush of robes descending;
Before her ran an influence fleet,
That bowed my heart like barley bending.
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Poet's Tale; The Birds of Killingworth
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
It was the season, when through all the land
The merle and mavis build, and building sing
