Felicia Dorothea Hemans

(25 September 1793 – 16 May 1835 / Liverpool, England)

Felicia Dorothea Hemans Poems

81. To One Of The Author's Children 4/8/2010
82. The Conqueror's Sleep 4/8/2010
83. The Birds 4/8/2010
84. There Is An Hour, A Pensive Hour 4/8/2010
85. To The Memory Of Heber 4/8/2010
86. To My Younger Brother, On His Return From Spain, After The Fatal Retreat Under Sir John Moore, And The Battle Of Corunna. 4/8/2010
87. Lines To The Memory Of A Very Amiable Young Lady, Who Died At The Age Of Eighteen 4/8/2010
88. Mozart's Requiem 4/8/2010
89. The Treasures Of The Deep 4/8/2010
90. The Stars 4/8/2010
91. The Messenger-Bird 4/8/2010
92. The Pilgrim Fathers 4/8/2010
93. Night-Scene In Genoa 4/8/2010
94. On My Mother's Birthday 4/8/2010
95. Pauline 4/8/2010
96. To Resignation 4/8/2010
97. Lines, Written In The Memory Of Elizabeth Smith 4/8/2010
98. Sea-Piece 4/8/2010
99. To The New-Born 4/8/2010
100. The Widow Of Crescentius : Part Ii. 4/8/2010
101. The Bended Bow 4/8/2010
102. The Coronation Of Inez De Castro 4/8/2010
103. The Death Of Conradin 4/8/2010
104. The Death-Day Of Korner 4/8/2010
105. The Departed 4/8/2010
106. The Storm 4/8/2010
107. The Sky-Lark 4/8/2010
108. The Shade Of Theseus - Ancient Greek Tradition 4/8/2010
109. The Sun 4/8/2010
110. To The Eye 4/8/2010
111. Valkyriur Song 4/8/2010
112. The Queen Of Prussia's Tomb 4/8/2010
113. Sonnet To Italy 4/8/2010
114. The Bards, To The Soldiers Of Caractacus 4/8/2010
115. The Rivers 4/8/2010
116. The Stranger In Louisiana 4/8/2010
117. The Cavern Of The Three Tells 4/8/2010
118. The Chamois Hunter's Love 4/8/2010
119. The Illuminated City 4/8/2010
120. The Home Of The Spirit 4/8/2010
Best Poem of Felicia Dorothea Hemans

Casabianca

The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, though childlike form.

The flames roll'd on...he would not go
Without his father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.

He call'd aloud..."Say, father,say
If yet my task is done!"
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

"Speak, father!" once ...

Read the full of Casabianca

Sabbath Sonnet

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How many blessed groups this hour are bending,
Through England's primrose meadow-paths, their way
Towards spire and tower, 'midst shadowy elms ascending,
Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day!

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