Andrew Lang

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

Andrew Lang Poems

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

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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

Scythe Song

MOWERS, weary and brown, and blithe,
What is the word methinks ye know,
Endless over-word that the Scythe
Sings to the blades of the grass below?
Scythes that swing in the grass and clover,
Something, still, they say as they pass;
What is the word that, over and over,
Sings the Scythe to the flowers and grass?

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