Alfred Noyes

(16 September 1880 – 25 June 1958 / Wolverhamton)

Alfred Noyes Poems

81. The Barrel-Organ 1/3/2003
82. Kilmeny (A Song Of The Trawlers) 1/3/2003
83. Shakespeare's Kingdom 1/3/2003
84. An Open Boat 4/6/2010
85. Sherwood 1/3/2003
86. Song 1/3/2003
87. Art 1/3/2003
88. Resurrection 1/3/2003
89. A Song Of Sherwood 1/3/2003
90. The Admiral's Ghost 12/9/2003
91. A Loom Of Years 1/1/2004
92. A Prayer In Time Of War 1/3/2003
93. Daddy Fell Into The Pond. 1/1/2004
94. The Highwayman 1/3/2003

Comments about Alfred Noyes

  • PAUL H. WALL AGE 94 (4/17/2018 7:36:00 PM)

    MY FAVORITE POET. I NEVER KNEW THAT HE WROTE SO MANY POEMS. HE WAS A WHOLE HEARTED OPTIMIST. HE HEARS AN ORGAN-GRINDER IN THE STREETS OF LONDON: HIS HEART BEATS FASTER FOR THE HEARING, AS HAVE MILL

    1 person liked.
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  • fetus_eater_666 (3/14/2018 10:57:00 AM)

    Sofia is next, ill eat ur fetus

  • fetus water (3/14/2018 10:56:00 AM)

    make sure to rub amniotic fluids on your face

  • happy jesus (3/14/2018 10:55:00 AM)

    sofia is a bully dont lt her on this site

  • wee abo (3/14/2018 10:54:00 AM)

    myfhghtffumergfnjhjsxGFExhyjawskszxfduslu

  • ROLAND (2/12/2018 9:31:00 PM)

    I was introduced to this as a song by Loreena McKennitt. Beautiful poem, beautiful song. PANDORA

  • Margaret Mackenzie (11/21/2007 9:57:00 AM)

    One of my favouite lyric poets, but can't find a copy of his ' cradle song of the madonna'(also seen titled 'the Madonnas' lullaby') on line..Can anyone help?

Best Poem of Alfred Noyes

The Highwayman

PART ONE

I

THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

II

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A ...

Read the full of The Highwayman

The Elfin Artist

In a glade of an elfin forest
When Sussex was Eden-new,
I came on an elvish painter
And watched as his picture grew,
A harebell nodded beside him.
He dipt his brush in the dew.

And it might be the wild thyme round him
That shone in the dark strange ring;

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