John William Inchbold

(1830-1888 / England)

John William Inchbold Poems

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

Beauty’s Power

O power of beauty on a woman's brow!
What strength is like to thine for good or ill?
Who dares attempt thine awful throne to fill
When Death's wind scatters all thy blossom'd bough
And strength and sweetness both have passed away?
O what a power has hell with such fair face
When foul ambition goads thee in the race
That drives from God's calm voice and guiding ray!
Do men now give thee hate, or still does love

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