Beauty poems

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The Song Of Courtesy

© George Meredith

I

When Sir Gawain was led to his bridal-bed,

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Twenty Days

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Twenty days are barely gone,
I was merry all the day.
Folly was my butt of scorn.
Now the fool myself I play.

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Vies Manquees

© Edith Nesbit

A YEAR ago we walked the wood--
  A year ago to-day;
A blackbird fluttered round her brood
  Deep in the white-flowered may.

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Common-Wealth

© Virna Sheard

Give thanks, my soul, for the things that are free!
The blue of the sky, the shade of a tree,
And the unowned leagues of the shining sea.

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Sonnet 71: Who Will in Fairest Book

© Sir Philip Sidney

Who will in fairest book of nature know

  How virtue may best lodg'd in beauty be,

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Beauty

© Jones Very

I gazed upon thy face--and beating life,

Once stilled its sleepless pulses in my breast

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The Fairy Of The Fountains

© Letitia Elizabeth Landon

And a youthful warrior stands
Gazing not upon those bands,
Not upon the lovely scene,
But upon its lovelier queen,
Who with gentle word and smile
Courteous prays his stay awhile.

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With A Seashell

© James Russell Lowell

Shell, whose lips, than mine more cold,

Might with Dian's ear make bold,

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The Clear Vision

© John Greenleaf Whittier

I did but dream. I never knew

What charms our sternest season wore.

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Thoughts On Death (From The Swedish Of C. Lohman)

© George Borrow

Perhaps ‘t is folly, but still I feel
My heart-strings quiver, my senses reel,
Thinking how like a fast stream we range
Nearer and nearer to yon dread change,
When soul and spirit filter away,
And leave nothing better than senseless clay.

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A Lament

© Charles Harpur

Ah! what can be flowers in their gladness to me,
Or the voices that people the green forest tree,
Or the full joy of streams—since my soul sighs, ah me!
 O’er the grave of my Mary.

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Upon a Visit to a Lady of Quality

© William Shenstone

On fair Asteria's blissful plains,
Where ever-blooming fancy reigns,
How pleased we pass the winter's day,
And charm the dull-eyed Spleen away!

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The Shadow And The Light

© John Greenleaf Whittier

The fourteen centuries fall away
Between us and the Afric saint,
And at his side we urge, to-day,
The immemorial quest and old complaint.

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The Brave Old Ship, the Orient

© Robert Traill Spence Lowell

Woe for the brave ship Orient!
Woe for the old ship Orient!
For in broad, broad light, and with land in sight,
Where the waters bubbled white,
One great sharp shriek! One shudder of affright!—  
And—down went the brave old ship, the Orient!

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Names Upon a Stone: (Inscribed to G. L. Fagan, Esq.)

© Henry Kendall

ACROSS bleak widths of broken sea

  A fierce north-easter breaks,

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A Judgment In Heaven

© Francis Thompson

Athwart the sod which is treading for God * the poet paced with his
splendid eyes;
Paradise-verdure he stately passes * to win to the Father of
Paradise,
Through the conscious and palpitant grasses * of inter-tangled
relucent dyes.

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The City Dead-House

© Walt Whitman

BY the City Dead-House, by the gate,

As idly sauntering, wending my way from the clangor,

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Dance Of The Seasons

© Harriet Monroe

I—Spring

Allegro

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Green Symphony

© John Gould Fletcher

I

The glittering leaves of the rhododendrons

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Sunny New South Wales

© Anonymous

We often hear men boast about the land which gave them birth,

And each one thinks his native land the fairest spot on earth;