Mary Darby Robinson

(1758 - 1800 / England)

Mary Darby Robinson Poems

1. Ode To Della Crusca 1/3/2003
2. Ode To Valour 1/3/2003
3. Sonnet Xxxiii: I Wake 1/3/2003
4. Sonnet -- The Tear 1/3/2003
5. Monody To The Memory Of Chatterton 1/3/2003
6. Ode To Health 1/3/2003
7. Sonnet Xxiii: To Aetna's Scorching Sands 1/3/2003
8. Sonnet Ii: High On A Rock 1/3/2003
9. To Rinaldo 1/3/2003
10. Ode To The Muse 1/3/2003
11. Oberon To The Queen Of The Fairies 1/3/2003
12. Sonnet Viii: Why, Through Each Aching Vein 1/3/2003
13. Ode To Melancholy 1/3/2003
14. Sonnet Xxxvii: When, In The Gloomy Mansion 1/3/2003
15. Sonnet V: O! How Can Love 1/3/2003
16. Sonnet -- The Peasant 1/3/2003
17. Sonnet Xxxii: Blest As The Gods 1/3/2003
18. Sonnet To Amicus 1/3/2003
19. Sonnet Xxxi: Far O'Er The Waves 1/3/2003
20. Sonnet 1/3/2003
21. Sonnet Xxxiv: Venus! To Thee 1/3/2003
22. Sonnet -- The Mariner 1/3/2003
23. Second Ode To The Nightingale 1/3/2003
24. Sonnet Xxxvi: Lead Me, Sicilian Maids 1/3/2003
25. Sonnet Xi: O! Reason! 1/3/2003
26. Sonnet X: Dang'Rous To Hear 1/3/2003
27. Sonnet Xxiv: O Thou! Meek Orb 1/3/2003
28. Sonnet Xxxix: Prepare Your Wreaths 1/3/2003
29. Sonnet Xii: Now, O'Er The Tesselated Pavement 1/3/2003
30. Sonnet Xiii: Bring, Brick To Deck My Brow 1/3/2003
31. Poor Marguerite 1/3/2003
32. To The Myrtle 1/3/2003
33. Sonnet To Ingratitude 1/3/2003
34. To The Muse Of Poetry 1/3/2003
35. Sonnet Iii: Turn To Yon Vale Beneath 1/3/2003
36. Sonnet Xviii: Why Art Thou Chang'D? 1/3/2003
37. Ode To Reflection 1/3/2003
38. Ode To Meditation 1/3/2003
39. The Fortune-Teller, A Gypsy Tale 1/3/2003
40. Sonnet Xxxv: What Means The Mist 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Mary Darby Robinson


"What is this world?­thy school, O misery!
"Our only lesson is to learn to suffer."


LOVE, thou sportive fickle boy,
Source of anguish, child of joy,
Ever wounding­ever smiling,
Soothing still, and still beguiling;
What are all thy boasted treasures,
Tender sorrows, transient pleasures?
Anxious hopes, and jealous fears,

What is FRIENDSHIP'S soothing name?
But a shad'wy, vap'rish flame;
Fancy's balm for ev'ry wound,
Ever sought, but rarely found;
What is BEAUTY ? but a flow'r, ...

Read the full of Life

The Poor Singing Dame

Beneath an old wall, that went round an old Castle,
For many a year, with brown ivy o'erspread;
A neat little Hovel, its lowly roof raising,
Defied the wild winds that howl'd over its shed:
The turrets, that frown'd on the poor simple dwelling,
Were rock'd to and fro, when the Tempest would roar,
And the river, that down the rich valley was swelling,
Flow'd swiftly beside the green step of its door.

[Hata Bildir]