John William Inchbold

(1830-1888 / England)

John William Inchbold Poems

1. At Last 10/13/2010
2. Beauty’s Power 10/13/2010
3. Custom 10/13/2010
4. Dedicatory 10/13/2010
5. Early Spring 10/13/2010
6. Experience 10/13/2010
7. Illusions Of Love 10/13/2010
8. Life’s Glass 10/13/2010
9. Life’s Words 10/13/2010
10. Love 10/13/2010
11. Love Passing 10/13/2010
12. Love Song 10/13/2010
13. Love’s Altar 10/13/2010
14. Love’s Autumn Buds 10/13/2010
15. Love’s Breath 10/13/2010
16. Love’s Fearlessness 10/13/2010
17. Love’s Joy 10/13/2010
18. Love’s Light 10/13/2010
19. Love’s Look 10/13/2010
20. Love’s Return 10/13/2010
21. Love’s Revenge 10/13/2010
22. Love’s Season 10/13/2010
23. Love’s Visions 10/13/2010
24. Love’s Wealth 10/13/2010
25. Love’s Winter 10/13/2010
26. Love’s Wisdom 10/13/2010
27. Love’s Year 10/13/2010
28. Memory 10/13/2010
29. My Love 10/13/2010
30. Nature: 10/13/2010
31. Night: 10/13/2010
32. Of The Tribe Of Judah 10/13/2010
33. One Dead 10/13/2010
34. Passing Brightness 10/13/2010
35. Persecution 10/13/2010
36. Sans Peur 10/13/2010
37. Sin 10/13/2010
38. Stratford-On-Avon 10/13/2010
39. The Abbey 10/13/2010
40. The Afterglow 10/13/2010
Best Poem of John William Inchbold

Art

Mysterious force, as beautiful as strange,
And pure with beauty and with mystery,
Queen of the world in wide extent of range,
Through every motion of the sky and sea,
And the sweet mother of all joy, our Earth
Whether in moment of her snowy rest,
Or autumn eve, or summer noon, or birth
Of spring time o'er an Alpine mountain's crest,
To touch thy robe is life, but to receive
Thy touch of fiery lip, then pierce with eye
Made clear and strong, and afterwards to weave
With all our heart, fair forms that cannot die:—
This bliss supreme being ours, thine own free ...

Read the full of Art

A Question

O wherefore write thy thoughts in careful measure?
It cannot be thine own voice gives thee joy,
In song is there an all-sufficient treasure,
Whose numbers leave no lingering alloy?
Take this my answer, Love, and then I cease;—
I sang that thou might'st read with loving mind,
That images of beauty might increase,
And treasure, still more treasure, haply find;—
But I have done—to thee the sea and sky,

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