Frances Anne Kemble

(27 November 1809 - 15 January 1893 / London, England)

Frances Anne Kemble Poems

1. A Farewell 9/6/2010
2. A German Legend 9/6/2010
3. A Lament For The Wissahiccon 9/6/2010
4. A Lover To His Mistress 9/6/2010
5. A Noonday Vision 9/6/2010
6. A Petition 9/6/2010
7. A Picture 9/6/2010
8. A Promise. 9/6/2010
9. A Rejected Lover To His Mistress (I) 9/6/2010
10. A Rejected Lover To His Mistress (Ii) 9/6/2010
11. A Retrospect 9/6/2010
12. A Room In The Villa Taverna 9/6/2010
13. A Spirit’s Voice 9/6/2010
14. A Summons 9/6/2010
15. A Vision Of The Vatican 9/6/2010
16. A Wish (I) 9/6/2010
17. A Wish (Ii) 9/6/2010
18. A Wish (Iii) 9/6/2010
19. Absence 9/6/2010
20. An Answer 9/6/2010
21. An Apology 9/6/2010
22. An Entreaty 9/6/2010
23. An Evening Song 9/6/2010
24. An Invitation 9/6/2010
25. An Invocation 9/6/2010
26. Are They Indeed The Bitterest Tears We Shed 9/6/2010
27. Arrival In Rome 9/6/2010
28. Art Thou Already Weary Of The Way? 9/6/2010
29. Autumn 9/6/2010
30. Autumn Song 9/6/2010
31. Away, Away! Bear Me Away, Away, 9/6/2010
32. Ballad 9/6/2010
33. Beside A Well-Reap'D Field At Eventide 9/6/2010
34. Blaspheme Not Thou Thy Sacred Life, Nor Turn 9/6/2010
35. But To Be Still! Oh, But To Cease Awhile 9/6/2010
36. Close Of Our Summer At Frascati 9/6/2010
37. Departing 9/6/2010
38. Dream-Land (I) 9/6/2010
39. Dream-Land (Ii) 9/6/2010
40. Eastern Sunset 9/6/2010

Comments about Frances Anne Kemble

  • Grantley Kemble (8/8/2013 8:31:00 AM)

    I have been fascinated with this woman, who is one of my forebears and the Niece [? ] of John Philip Kemble whose somewhat diminutive earthly form is commemorated in a statue in Westminster Abbey, for many years. I came across the volume of memeoirs of a geaorgian plantation in a university library when I was an undergrad there. Her poetry - to me is haunting and conveys a link of loneliness of spirit across the years that I almost fell I could reach out and kiss her on the cheek to make it better.

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Best Poem of Frances Anne Kemble

Parting

The golden hinges of the year have turned—
Spring, and the summer, and the harvest time
Have come, and gone; and on the threshold stands
The withered Winter, stretching forth his hands
To take my rose from me;—which he will wear
On his bleak bosom, all the bitter months
While the earth and I remain disconsolate.
My rose!—with the soft vesture of her leaves,
Gathered all round the secrets of her heart
In crimson fragrant folds,—within her bower
Of fair fresh green, guarded with maiden thorns.
O withered Winter! keep my blossom safe!
Thou shalt not kiss her ...

Read the full of Parting

A German Legend

Round thy steep castle walls,
Who seeks thy love must ride,
Who from their dizzy summit falls,
Must death abide.
O Lady proud and fair,
'Tis not too much;
Gladly that death I dare
Thy lovely lips to touch.
Tears in thy blue eyes springing,

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