Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Letitia Elizabeth Landon (1802-1838 / England)
Biography of Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Letitia Elizabeth Landon Poems
Ay, gaze upon her rose-wreathed hair, And gaze upon her smile; Seem as you drank the very air Her breath perfumed the while:
LIFE has dark secrets; and the hearts are few That treasure not some sorrow from the world-- A sorrow silent, gloomy, and unknown, Yet colouring the future from the past.
The Power Of Words
'Tis a strange mystery, the power of words! Life is in them, and death. A word can send The crimson colour hurrying to the cheek. Hurrying with many meanings; or can turn
The Fairy Of The Fountains
WHY did she love her mother's so? It hath wrought her wondrous wo.
Scenes In London I - Piccadilly
THE sun is on the crowded street, It kindles those old towers; Where England's noblest memories meet, Of old historic hours.
NEVER more, when the day is o'er, Will the lonely vespers sound; No bells are ringing—no monks are singing, When the moonlight falls around.
A Legend Of Tintagel Castle
ALONE in the forest, Sir Lancelot rode O'er the neck of his courser the reins lightly flowed And beside hung his helmet, for bare was his brow
Long Years Have Past Since Last I Stood
LONG years have past since last I stood Alone amid this mountain scene, Unlike the future which I dreamed, How like my future it has been!
Portrait Of A Lady. By Sir Thomas Lawren...
LADY , thy lofty brow is fair, Beauty's sign and seal are there; And thy lip is like the rose Closing round the bee's repose;
GATHER her raven hair in one rich cluster, Let the white champac light it, as a star Gives to the dusky night a sudden lustre,
Cafes In Damascus
LANGUIDLY the night-wind bloweth From the gardens round, Where the clear Barrada floweth With a lulling sound.
WHY doth the maiden turn away From voice so sweet, and words so dear? Why doth the maiden turn away When love and flattery woo her ear?
The Troubadour. Canto 3
LAND of the olive and the vine, The saint and soldier, sword and shrine! How glorious to young RAYMOND'S eye
Juliet After The Masquerade. By Thompson
SHE left the festival, for it seem'd dim Now that her eye no longer dwelt on him, And sought her chamber,--gazed, (then turn'd away),
Cafes In Damascus
LANGUIDLY the night-wind bloweth
From the gardens round,
Where the clear Barrada floweth
With a lulling sound.
Not the lute-note's sweet shiver
Can such music find,
As is on a wandering river,
On a wandering wind.