Sad poems
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The Lost Range
© Henry Herbert Knibbs
Only a few of us understood his ways and his outfit queer,
His saddle horse and his pack-horse, as lean as a winter steer,
The Troubadour. Canto 2
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
THE first, the very first; oh! none
Can feel again as they have done;
In love, in war, in pride, in all
The planets of life's coronal,
However beautiful or bright,--
What can be like their first sweet light?
Iris, Her Book
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
I PRAY thee by the soul of her that bore thee,
By thine own sister's spirit I implore thee,
Deal gently with the leaves that lie before thee!
Beast, Book, Body
© Erica Jong
The white bed
in the green garden--
I looked forward
to sleeping alone
the way some long
for a lover.
Costanza
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
She knelt in prayer. A stream of sunset fell
Thro' the stain'd window of her lonely cell,
And with its rich, deep, melancholy glow
Flushing her cheek and pale Madonna brow,
The Light Wraps You
© Pablo Neruda
The light wraps you in its mortal flame.
Abstracted pale mourner, standing that way
against the old propellers of the twighlight
that revolves around you.
A Song Of Despair
© Pablo Neruda
The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.Deserted like the dwarves at dawn.
It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one!Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.
Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.In you the wars and the flights accumulated.
Tonight I Can Write
© Pablo Neruda
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.Write, for example, 'The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.'The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
Saddest Poem
© Pablo Neruda
Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.
I. Written at Tinemouth, Northumberland, after a Tempestuous Voyage
© William Lisle Bowles
AS slow I climb the cliff's ascending side,
Much musing on the track of terror past
When o'er the dark wave rode the howling blast
Pleas'd I look back, and view the tranquil tide,
Castles In Spain. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fifth)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
How much of my young heart, O Spain,
Went out to thee in days of yore!
What dreams romantic filled my brain,
And summoned back to life again
The Paladins of Charlemagne,
The Cid Campeador!
XII. Written at a Convent.
© William Lisle Bowles
IF chance some pensive stranger, hither led,
His bosom glowing from majestic views,
The gorgeous dome, or the proud landscape's hues,
Should ask who sleeps beneath this lowly bed --
Sonnet: O Poverty! Though From Thy Haggard Eye
© William Lisle Bowles
O, Poverty! though from thy haggard eye,
Thy cheerless mien, of every charm bereft,
Thy brow that Hope's last traces long have left,
Vain Fortune's feeble sons with terror fly;
Approach Of Summer
© William Lisle Bowles
How shall I meet thee, Summer, wont to fill
My heart with gladness, when thy pleasant tide
The Missionary - Canto Third
© William Lisle Bowles
Come,--for the sun yet hangs above the bay,--
And whilst our time may brook a brief delay
The Husband Of To-Day
© Edith Nesbit
EYES caught by beauty, fancy by eyes caught;
Sweet possibilities, question, and wonder--
Death, that struck when I was most confiding
© Emily Jane Brontë
Death! that struck when I was most confiding.
In my certain faith of joy to be-
Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing
From the fresh root of Eternity!
The Seasons: Winter
© James Thomson
OH! bear me then to high, embowering, Shades;
To twilight Groves, and visionary Vales;
To weeping Grottos, and to hoary Caves;
Where Angel-Forms are seen, and Voices heard,
Sigh'd in low Whispers, that abstract the Soul,
From outward Sense, far into Worlds remote.
