Sad poems

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The Pleasures of Melancholy

© Thomas Warton

Mother of musings, Contemplation sage,
Whose grotto stands upon the topmost rock
Of Teneriffe; 'mid the tempestuous night,
On which, in calmest meditation held,

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Ode To Sleep

© Thomas Warton

On this my pensive pillow, gentle Sleep!
Descend, in all thy downy plumage drest:
Wipe with thy wing these eyes that wake to weep,
And place thy crown of poppies on my breast.

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The Changeling ( From The Tent on the Beach )

© John Greenleaf Whittier

FOR the fairest maid in Hampton
They needed not to search,
Who saw young Anna favor
Come walking into church,--

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Snowbound, a Winter Idyl

© John Greenleaf Whittier

To the Memory of the Household It DescribesThis Poem is Dedicated by the Author"As the Spirit of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good Spirits, which be Angels of Light, are augmented not only by the Divine light of the Sun, but also by our common Wood Fire: and as the Celestial Fire drives away dark spirits, so also this our fire of Wood doth the same."
Cor. Agrippa, Occult Philosophy, Book I, ch. v.
"Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,

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Randolph Of Roanoke

© John Greenleaf Whittier

O Mother Earth! upon thy lap
Thy weary ones receiving,
And o'er them, silent as a dream,
Thy grassy mantle weaving,

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Maud Muller

© John Greenleaf Whittier

Maud Muller on a summer's day
Raked the meadow sweet with hay. Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
Of simple beauty and rustic health. Singing, she wrought, and her merry gleee
The mock-bird echoed from his tree. But when she glanced to the far-off town

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Massachusetts To Virginia

© John Greenleaf Whittier

The blast from Freedom's Northern hills, upon its Southern way,
Bears greeting to Virginia from Massachusetts Bay:
No word of haughty challenging, nor battle bugle's peal,
Nor steady tread of marching files, nor clang of horsemen's steel,

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Kallundborg Church ( From The Tent on the Beach)

© John Greenleaf Whittier

"Tie stille, barn min!
Imorgen kommer Fin,
Fa'er din,
Og gi'er dich Esbern Snares öine og hjerte at lege med!"
Zealand Rhyme.

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Ichabod

© John Greenleaf Whittier

So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn
Which once he wore!
The glory from his gray hairs gone
Forevermore!

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From "Snow-Bound," 11:1-40, 116-154

© John Greenleaf Whittier

The sun that brief December day
Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.

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Barclay Of Ury

© John Greenleaf Whittier

Up the streets of Aberdeen,
By the kirk and college green,
Rode the Laird of Ury;
Close behind him, close beside,
Foul of mouth and evil-eyed,
Pressed the mob in fury.

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Barbara Frietchie

© John Greenleaf Whittier

Up from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,The clustered spires of Frederick stand
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple and peach tree fruited deep,Fair as the garden of the Lord

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An Autograph

© John Greenleaf Whittier

I write my name as one,
On sands by waves o'errun
Or winter's frosted pane,
Traces a record vain.

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Jubilate Agno: Fragment D

© Christopher Smart

Let Dew, house of Dew rejoice with Xanthenes a precious stone of an amber colour.

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The Wanderer: A Vision: Canto I

© Richard Savage


The solar fires now faint and wat'ry burn,
Just where with ice Aquarius frets his urn!
If thaw'd, forth issue, from its mouth severe,
Raw clouds, that sadden all th' inverted year.

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Night Is On The Downland

© John Masefield

Night is on the downland, on the lonely moorland,
On the hills where the wind goes over sheep-bitten turf,
Where the bent grass beats upon the unplowed poorland
And the pine-woods roar like the surf.

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"Cease smilng, Dear! a little while be sad "

© Ernest Christopher Dowson

Cease smiling, Dear! a little while be sad,
  Here in the silence, under the wan moon;
  Sweet are thine eyes, but how can I be glad,
  Knowing they change so soon?

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The Voices

© John Greenleaf Whittier

"WHY urge the long, unequal fight,
Since Truth has fallen in the street,
Or lift anew the trampled light,
Quenched by the heedless million's feet?

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The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 04

© William Langland

" Cesseth!' seide the Kyng, " I suffre yow no lenger.

Ye shul saughtne, forsothe, and serve me bothe.

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Book Sixth [Cambridge and the Alps]

© William Wordsworth

  A passing word erewhile did lightly touch
On wanderings of my own, that now embraced 
With livelier hope a region wider far.