Poems begining by S
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Stanzas to the Rose
© Mary Darby Robinson
SWEET PICTURE of Life's chequer'd hour!
Ah, wherefore droop thy blushing head?
Tell me, oh tell me, hap'less flow'r,
Is it because thy charms are fled?
Come, gentle ROSE, and learn from me
A lesson of Philosophy.
Stanzas to Flora
© Mary Darby Robinson
LET OTHERS wreaths of ROSES twine
With scented leaves of EGLANTINE;
Enamell'd buds and gaudy flow'rs,
The pride of FLORA'S painted bow'rs;
Such common charms shall ne'er be wove
Around the brows of him I LOVE.
Satia te Sanguine
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
IF YOU loved me ever so little,
I could bear the bonds that gall,
I could dream the bonds were brittle;
You do not love me at all.
Stanzas to a Friend
© Mary Darby Robinson
AH! think no more that Life's delusive joys,
Can charm my thoughts from FRIENDSHIP'S dearer claim;
Or wound a heart, that scarce a wish employs,
For age to censure, or discretion blame.
Stanzas Inscribed to Lady William Russell
© Mary Darby Robinson
NATURE, to prove her heav'n-taught pow'r,
That gems the earth, and paints the flow'r;
That bids the soft enchanting note
Steal from the LINNET'S downy throat;
Stanzas
© Mary Darby Robinson
WHEN fragrant gales and summer show'rs
Call'd forth the sweetly scented flow'rs;
When ripen'd sheaves of golden grain,
Strew'd their rich treasures o'er the plain;
Sonnet. Inscribed to Her Grace the Duchess of Devonshire
© Mary Darby Robinson
'TIS NOT thy flowing hair of orient gold,
Nor those bright eyes, like sapphire gems that glow;
Nor cheek of blushing rose, nor breast of snow,
The varying passions of the heart could hold:
Sonnet XXXVIII: Oh Sigh
© Mary Darby Robinson
Oh Sigh! thou steal'st, the herald of the breast,
The lover's fears, the lover's pangs to tell;
Thou bid'st with timid grace the bosom swell,
Cheating the day of joy, the night of rest!
Sonnet 104: "To me, fair friend, you never can be old,..."
© William Shakespeare
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey'd,
Sonnet XXXVII: When, in the Gloomy Mansion
© Mary Darby Robinson
When, in the gloomy mansion of the dead,
This with'ring heart, this faded form shall sleep;
When these fond eyes, at length shall cease to weep,
And earth's cold lap receive this fev'rish head;
Sonnet XXXVI: Lead Me, Sicilian Maids
© Mary Darby Robinson
Lead me, Sicilian Maids, to haunted bow'rs,
While yon pale moon displays her faintest beams
O'er blasted woodlands, and enchanted streams,
Whose banks infect the breeze with pois'nous flow'rs.
Sonnet XXXV: What Means the Mist
© Mary Darby Robinson
What means the mist opaque that veils these eyes;
Why does yon threat'ning tempest shroud the day?
Why does thy altar, Venus, fade away,
And on my breast the dews of horror rise?
Sonnet XXXIX: Prepare Your Wreaths
© Mary Darby Robinson
Prepare your wreaths, Aonian maids divine,
To strew the tranquil bed where I shall sleep;
In tears, the myrtle and the laurel steep,
And let Erato's hand the trophies twine.
Sonnet XXXIV: Venus! To Thee
© Mary Darby Robinson
Venus! to thee, the Lesbian Muse shall sing,
The song, which Myttellenian youths admir'd,
when Echo, am'rous of the strain inspir'd,
Bade the wild rocks with madd'ning plaudits ring!
Sonnet XXXIII: I Wake
© Mary Darby Robinson
I wake! delusive phantoms hence, away!
Tempt not the weakness of a lover's breast;
The softest breeze can shake the halcyon's nest,
And lightest clouds o'ercast the dawning ray!
Sonnet XXXII: Blest As the Gods
© Mary Darby Robinson
Blest as the Gods! Sicilian Maid is he,
The youth whose soul thy yielding graces charm;
Who bound, O! thraldom sweet! by beauty's arm,
In idle dalliance fondly sports with thee!
Sonnet XXXI: Far O'er the Waves
© Mary Darby Robinson
Far o'er the waves my lofty Bark shall glide,
Love's frequent sighs the flutt'ring sails shall swell,
While to my native home I bid farewell,
Hope's snowy hand the burnis'd helm shall guide!
Sounds of grief
© Sappho
Must I remind you, Cleis,
that sounds of grief
are unbecoming in
a poet's household?
Sonnet XXX: O'er the Tall Cliff
© Mary Darby Robinson
O'er the tall cliff that bounds the billowy main
Shad'wing the surge that sweeps the lonely strand,
While the thin vapours break along the sand,
Day's harbinger unfolds the liquid plain.
Sonnet XXVIII: Weak Is the Sophistry
© Mary Darby Robinson
Weak is the sophistry, and vain the art
That whispers patience to the mind's despair!
That bids reflection bathe the wounds of care,
While Hope, with pleasing phantoms, soothes their smart.
