Robert Seymour Bridges

(1844 - 1930 / England)

Robert Seymour Bridges Poems

1. The Hill Pines Were Sighing 4/17/2010
2. To Joseph Joachim 1/1/2004
3. To The President Of Magdalen College, Oxford 1/1/2004
4. There Is A Hill 4/17/2010
5. To Catullus 4/17/2010
6. The Evening Darkens Over 4/17/2010
7. Elegy 2/11/2015
8. Noel: Christmas Eve 1913 12/15/2014
9. The Affliction Of Richard 4/17/2010
10. To Thos. Floyd 1/1/2004
11. Spring Goeth All In White 4/17/2010
12. When Death To Either Shall Come 1/3/2003
13. Winter Nightfall 1/3/2003
14. While Yet We Wait For Spring 1/3/2003
15. Spirits 1/3/2003
16. Elegy On A Lady, Whom Grief For The Death Of Her Betrothed Killed 4/17/2010
17. Emily Bronte 4/17/2010
18. To The United States Of America 1/3/2003
19. North Wind In October 4/17/2010
20. Lord Kitchner 1/3/2003
21. Eros 4/17/2010
22. Fortunatus Nimium 4/17/2010
23. I Love All Beauteous Things 4/17/2010
24. The Growth Of Love 1/1/2004
25. I Shall Never Love The Snow Again 4/17/2010
26. On A Dead Child 1/3/2003
27. For Beauty Being The Best Of All We Know 4/17/2010
28. Pater Filio 1/3/2003
29. Nimium Fortunatus 1/3/2003
30. Absence 1/3/2003
31. Low Barometer 1/3/2003
32. Melancholia 1/1/2004
33. I Have Loved Flowers That Fade 4/17/2010
34. Nightingales 1/3/2003
35. A Passer-By 1/3/2003
36. In Autumn Moonlight, When The White Air Wan 1/3/2003
37. From 'The Testament Of Beauty' 1/1/2004
38. My Delight And Thy Delight 1/3/2003
39. London Snow 4/17/2010
40. Awake, My Heart 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Robert Seymour Bridges

I Will Not Let Thee Go

I will not let thee go.
Ends all our month-long love in this?
Can it be summed up so,
Quit in a single kiss?
I will not let thee go.

I will not let thee go.
If thy words' breath could scare thy deeds,
As the soft south can blow
And toss the feathered seeds,
Then might I let thee go.

I will not let thee go.
Had not the great sun seen, I might;
Or were he reckoned slow
To bring the false to light,
Then might I let thee go.

I will not let thee go.
The stars that crowd the summer skies
Have watched us so below
With all their million...

Read the full of I Will Not Let Thee Go

A Passer-By

Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding,
Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West,
That fearest nor sea rising, nor sky clouding,
Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest?
Ah! soon, when Winter has all our vales opprest,
When skies are cold and misty, and hail is hurling,
Wilt thoù glìde on the blue Pacific, or rest
In a summer haven asleep, thy white sails furling.

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