Archibald Lampman

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

Archibald Lampman Poems

41. September 4/8/2010
42. The Poets 4/8/2010
43. The Moon-Path 4/8/2010
44. By An Autumn Stream 4/8/2010
45. In May 4/8/2010
46. Indian Summer 4/8/2010
47. White Pansies 4/8/2010
48. Why Do Ye Call The Poet Lonely 4/8/2010
49. The Mystery Of A Year 4/8/2010
50. The Little Handmaiden 4/8/2010
51. The Meadow 4/8/2010
52. Unrest 4/8/2010
53. To The Cricket 4/8/2010
54. The Clearer Self 4/8/2010
55. The Dog 4/8/2010
56. Sunset 4/8/2010
57. Song 4/8/2010
58. Sapphics 4/8/2010
59. Peccavi, Domine 4/8/2010
60. To My Wife 4/8/2010
61. The Martyrs 4/8/2010
62. Knowledge 4/8/2010
63. Forest Moods 4/8/2010
64. Ballade Of Summer's Sleep 4/8/2010
65. To My Daughter 4/8/2010
66. To My Mother 4/8/2010
67. Song Of The Stream-Drops 4/8/2010
68. The Better Day 4/8/2010
69. On Lake Temiscamingue 4/8/2010
70. Aspiration 4/8/2010
71. Storm 1/1/2004
72. April Night 4/8/2010
73. Cloud-Break 4/8/2010
74. To The Ottawa 1/1/2004
75. Three Flower Petals 4/8/2010
76. The Song Sparrow 4/8/2010
77. Comfort Of The Fields 1/1/2004
78. April In The Hills 4/8/2010
79. To The Prophetic Soul 4/8/2010
80. On The Companionship With Nature 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

A Thunderstorm

A moment the wild swallows like a flight
Of withered gust-caught leaves, serenely high,
Toss in the windrack up the muttering sky.
The leaves hang still. Above the weird twilight,
The hurrying centres of the storm unite
And spreading with huge trunk and rolling fringe,
Each wheeled upon its own tremendous hinge,
Tower darkening on. And now from heaven's height,
With the long roar of elm-trees swept and swayed,
And pelted waters, on the vanished plain
Plunges the blast. Behind the wild white flash
That splits abroad the pealing ...

Read the full of A Thunderstorm

Morning On The Lièvre

Far above us where a jay
Screams his matins to the day,
Capped with gold and amethyst,
Like a vapor from the forge
Of a giant somewhere hid,
Out of hearing of the clang
Of his hammer, skirts of mist
Slowly up the woody gorge
Lift and hang.

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