Archibald Lampman

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

Archibald Lampman Poems

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

    7 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

A January Morning

The glittering roofs are still with frost; each worn
Black chimney builds into the quiet sky
Its curling pile to crumble silently.
Far out to westward on the edge of morn,
The slender misty city towers up-borne
Glimmer faint rose against the pallid blue;
And yonder on those northern hills, the hue
Of amethyst, hang fleeces dull as horn.
And here behind me come the woodmen's sleighs

[Report Error]