Archibald Lampman

(17 November 1861 - 10 February 1899 / Morpeth, Ontario)

Archibald Lampman Poems

1. To The Ottawa 1/1/2004
2. Evening 1/1/2004
3. A Sunset At Les Eboulements 1/1/2004
4. Storm 1/1/2004
5. A Ballade Of Waiting 4/8/2010
6. A Forecast 4/8/2010
7. A Re-Assurance 4/8/2010
8. A Song 4/8/2010
9. Alcyone 4/8/2010
10. Amor Vitae 4/8/2010
11. An Old Lesson From The Fields 4/8/2010
12. April 4/8/2010
13. April In The Hills 4/8/2010
14. Aspiration 4/8/2010
15. At The Ferry 4/8/2010
16. Autumn Maples 4/8/2010
17. Ballade Of Summer's Sleep 4/8/2010
18. Before Sleep 4/8/2010
19. Between The Rapids 4/8/2010
20. By An Autumn Stream 4/8/2010
21. Easter Eve 4/8/2010
22. Favorites Of Pan 4/8/2010
23. Forest Moods 4/8/2010
24. Freedom 4/8/2010
25. Gentleness 4/8/2010
26. God-Speed To The Snow 4/8/2010
27. Good Speech 4/8/2010
28. In May 4/8/2010
29. In October 4/8/2010
30. Indian Summer 4/8/2010
31. Inter Vias 4/8/2010
32. June 4/8/2010
33. Knowledge 4/8/2010
34. Cloud-Break 4/8/2010
35. Comfort 4/8/2010
36. Deeds 4/8/2010
37. Despondency 4/8/2010
38. Love-Doubt 4/8/2010
39. Love-Wonder 4/8/2010
40. March 4/8/2010

Comments about Archibald Lampman

  • Paul Reed Paul Reed (12/18/2013 8:26:00 AM)

    Haunting and inspriing poetry

    8 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
Best Poem of Archibald Lampman

Heat

From plains that reel to southward, dim,
The road runs by me white and bare;
Up the steep hill it seems to swim
Beyond, and melt into the glare.
Upward half-way, or it may be
Nearer the summit, slowly steals
A hay-cart, moving dustily
With idly clacking wheels.
By his cart's side the wagoner
Is slouching slowly at his ease,
Half-hidden in the windless blur
Of white dust puffiing to his knees.
This wagon on the height above,
From sky to sky on either hand,
Is the sole thing that seems to move
...

Read the full of Heat

The Growth Of Love Xi

XI
Belovèd, those who moan of love's brief day
Shall find but little grace with me, I guess,
Who know too well this passion's tenderness
To deem that it shall lightly pass away,
A moment's interlude in life's dull play;
Though many loves have lingered to distress,
So shall not ours, sweet Lady, ne'ertheless,
But deepen with us till both heads be grey.

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