Andrew Lang

(31 March 1844 - 20 July 1912 / Selkirk, Scotland)

Andrew Lang Poems

81. Ballades Iii - Of Blue China 1/1/2004
82. Ballade Of Cleopatra's Needle 4/20/2010
83. Ballade Against The Jesuits 4/20/2010
84. Ballade Of Roulette 4/20/2010
85. Ballade Of Dead Ladies 4/20/2010
86. Ballade Of Blind Love 4/20/2010
87. The Moon's Minion 4/20/2010
88. Ballade Of His Books 4/20/2010
89. Ballade Of The Royal Game Of Golf 4/20/2010
90. Ballade Of Queen Anne 4/20/2010
91. Ballades Ii - Of The Book-Hunter 4/20/2010
92. Ballade Of The Muse 4/20/2010
93. Alison Gross 4/20/2010
94. Annan Water 4/20/2010
95. Ballade Of Sleep 4/20/2010
96. Ballades I - To Theocritus, In Winter 1/1/2004
97. Ballade Of Amoureuse 4/20/2010
98. Ballade Of The Dead Cities 4/20/2010
99. Ballade Of Aucassin 4/20/2010
100. A Scot To Jeanne D’arc 1/1/2004
101. Ballade Of The Bookworm 4/20/2010
102. Ballade Of The Midnight Forest 4/20/2010
103. Ballade Of Autumn 4/20/2010
104. Romance 1/1/2004
105. A Highly Valuable Chain Of Thoughts 1/1/2004
106. The Odyssey 1/4/2003
107. Ballade Of The Dream 4/20/2010
108. Aesop 1/1/2004
109. Ballade Of Worldly Wealth 4/20/2010

Comments about Andrew Lang

There is no comment submitted by members..
Best Poem of Andrew Lang

Ballade Of Worldly Wealth

Money taketh town and wall,
Fort and ramp without a blow;
Money moves the merchants all,
While the tides shall ebb and flow;
Money maketh Evil show
Like the Good, and Truth like lies:
These alone can ne'er bestow
Youth, and health, and Paradise.

Money maketh festival,
Wine she buys, and beds can strow;
Round the necks of captains tall,
Money wins them chains to throw,
Marches soldiers to and fro,
Gaineth ladies with sweet eyes:
These alone can ne'er bestow
Youth, and health, and Paradise.

Money wins the priest his stall;
Money mitres ...

Read the full of Ballade Of Worldly Wealth

San Terenzo

MID April seemed like some November day,
When through the glassy waters, dull as lead,
Our boat, like shadowy barques that bear the dead,
Slipped down the long shores of the Spezian bay,
Rounded a point,—and San Terenzo lay
Before us, that gay village, yellow and red,
The roof that covered Shelley’s homeless head,—
His house, a place deserted, bleak and gray.
The waves broke on the doorstep; fishermen

[Report Error]