Felicia Dorothea Hemans

(25 September 1793 – 16 May 1835 / Liverpool, England)

Felicia Dorothea Hemans Poems

121. The Landing Of The Pilgrim Fathers In New England 1/1/2004
122. The Laplander To His Rein-Deer 4/8/2010
123. The Last Banquet Of Antony And Cleopatra 4/8/2010
124. The Last Song Of Sappho 3/26/2012
125. The Last Wish 4/8/2010
126. The Lilies Of The Field 4/8/2010
127. The Memorial Pillar 4/8/2010
128. The Messenger-Bird 4/8/2010
129. The Mourner For The Barmecides 4/8/2010
130. The Nightingale 4/8/2010
131. The Northern Spring 4/8/2010
132. The Ocean 4/8/2010
133. The Palm-Tree 4/8/2010
134. The Parting Song 4/8/2010
135. The Peasant Girl Of The Rhone 4/8/2010
136. The Penitent's Return 4/8/2010
137. The Pilgrim Fathers 4/8/2010
138. The Queen Of Prussia's Tomb 4/8/2010
139. The Rainbow 4/8/2010
140. The Restoration Of The Works Of Art In Italy 4/8/2010
141. The Revellers 4/8/2010
142. The Rivers 4/8/2010
143. The Rock Of Cader Idris 4/8/2010
144. The Rock Of Cader Idris 3/26/2012
145. The Ruin And Its Flowers 4/8/2010
146. The Shade Of Theseus - Ancient Greek Tradition 4/8/2010
147. The Sicilian Captive 4/8/2010
148. The Silver Locks 4/8/2010
149. The Sky-Lark 4/8/2010
150. The Spanish Chapel 4/8/2010
151. The Spells Of Home 4/8/2010
152. The Stars 4/8/2010
153. The Statue Of The Dying Gladiator 4/8/2010
154. The Storm 4/8/2010
155. The Stranger In Louisiana 4/8/2010
156. The Suliote Mother 4/8/2010
157. The Sun 4/8/2010
158. The Sunbeam 4/8/2010
159. The Switzer's Wife 4/8/2010
160. The Sword Of The Tomb : A Northern Legend 4/8/2010
Best Poem of Felicia Dorothea Hemans

Casabianca

The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, though childlike form.

The flames roll'd on...he would not go
Without his father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.

He call'd aloud..."Say, father,say
If yet my task is done!"
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

"Speak, father!" once ...

Read the full of Casabianca

Flight Of The Spirit

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Whither, oh! whither wilt thou wing thy way?
What solemn region first upon thy sight
Shall break, unveiled for terror or delight?
What hosts, magnificent in dread array,
My spirit! when thy prison-house of clay

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