Archibald Lampman

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

Archibald Lampman Poems

121. A Sunset At Les Eboulements 1/1/2004
122. Among The Timothy 4/8/2010
123. An Impression 4/8/2010
124. Snowbirds 4/8/2010
125. The Truth 4/8/2010
126. Midnight 1/1/2004
127. Alcyone 4/8/2010
128. An October Sunset 4/8/2010
129. An Ode To The Hills 4/8/2010
130. Temagami 1/1/2004
131. A Ballade Of Waiting 4/8/2010
132. The Growth Of Love Xi 1/1/2004
133. An Athenian Reverie 4/8/2010
134. After Rain 4/8/2010
135. Among The Millet 4/8/2010
136. In November (2) 1/1/2004
137. Among The Orchards 4/8/2010
138. Winter Break 4/8/2010
139. Solitude 4/8/2010
140. Abu Midjan 4/8/2010
141. An Autumn Landscape 4/8/2010
142. Morning On The Lièvre 1/1/2004
143. A Prayer 4/8/2010
144. The City At The End Of Things 1/1/2004
145. A Niagara Landscape 1/1/2004
146. In November (1) 1/1/2004
147. In October 4/8/2010
148. Winter Uplands 1/1/2004
149. Winter-Solitude 1/1/2004
150. A January Morning 1/1/2004
151. Heat 1/1/2004
152. A Vision Of Twilight 4/8/2010
153. Winter Evening 1/1/2004
154. Voices Of Earth 1/1/2004
155. To A Millionaire 1/1/2004
156. A Night Of Storm 4/8/2010
157. A Thunderstorm 1/1/2004

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.

[Report Error]