Latest quotes | Random quotes | Latest comments | Add quote

Thomas Lovell Beddoes

If there were dreams to sell, what would you buy?

quote by Thomas Lovell BeddoesReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

The Rosy Hour

And in that rosy rosy hour,
When bird sang out and scented flower,
Came words to me from heaven above:
'Awake, young heart, awake and love!'

poem by Thomas Lovell BeddoesReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Song On The Water.

As mad sexton's bell, tolling
For earth's loveliest daughter
Night's dumbness breaks rolling
Ghostily:
So our boat breaks the water
Witchingly.

As her look the dream troubles
Of her tearful-eyed lover,
So our sails in the bubbles
Ghostily
Are mirrored, and hover
Moonily.

poem by Thomas Lovell BeddoesReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Song: Yes, Mary Ann

Yes, Mary Ann, I freely grant,
The charms of Henry's eyes I see;
But while I gaze, I something want,
I want those eyes -- to gaze on me.

And I allow, in Henry's heart
Not Envy's self a fault can see:
Yet still I must one wish impart,
I wish that heart -- to sigh for me.

poem by Thomas Lovell BeddoesReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Resurrection Song.

Thread the nerves through the right holes;
Get out of my bones, you wormy souls.
Shut up my stomach, the ribs are full;
Muscles be steady and ready to pull.
Heart and artery merrily shake,
And eyelid go up, for we're going to wake. -
His eye must be brighter -one more rub!
And pull up the nostrils! his nose was a snub.

poem by Thomas Lovell BeddoesReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

The Swallow Leaves Her Nest

THE swallow leaves her nest,
The soul my weary breast;
But therefore let the rain
On my grave
Fall pure; for why complain?
Since both will come again
O'er the wave.

The wind dead leaves and snow
Doth hurry to and fro;
And, once, a day shall break
O'er the wave,
When a storm of ghosts shall shake
The dead, until they wake
In the grave.

poem by Thomas Lovell BeddoesReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Let Dew The Flowers Fill

LET dew the flowers fill;
No need of fell despair,
Though to the grave you bear
One still of soul-but now too still,
One fair-but now too fair.
For, beneath your feet, the mound,
And the waves, that play around,
Have meaning in their grassy, and their watery, smiles;
And, with a thousand sunny wiles,
Each says, as he reproves,
Death's arrow oft is Love's.

poem by Thomas Lovell BeddoesReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Song from the Waters

Act I, scene iv, lines 259-72

The swallow leaves her nest,
The soul my weary breast;
But therefore let the rain
On my grave
Fall pure; for why complain
Since both will come again
O'er the wave.

The wind dead leaves and snow
Doth hurry to and fro;
And, once, a day shall break
O'er the wave,
When a storm of ghosts shall shake
The dead, until they wake
In the grave.

poem by Thomas Lovell BeddoesReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Song From Torrismond

How many times do I love thee, dear?
Tell me how many thoughts there be
In the atmosphere
Of a new-fall'n year,
Whose white and sable hours appear
The latest flake of Eternity:
So many times do I love thee, dear.

How many times do I love again?
Tell me how many beads there are
In a silver chain
Of evening rain,
Unravelled from the tumbling main,
And threading the eye of a yellow star:
So many times do I love again.

poem by Thomas Lovell BeddoesReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Song From The Second Brother

STREW not earth with empty stars,
Strew it not with roses,
Nor feathers from the crest of Mars,
Nor summer's idle posies.
'Tis not the primrose-sandalled moon,
Nor cold and silent morn,
Nor he that climbs the dusty noon,
Nor mower war with scythe that drops,
Stuck with helmed and turbaned tops
Of enemies new shorn.

Ye cups, ye lyres, ye trumpets know,
Pour your music, let it flow,
'Tis Bacchus' son who walks below.

poem by Thomas Lovell BeddoesReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share
 

<< < Page / 4 > >>

If you know another quote, please submit it.

Search


Recent searches | Top searches