Francis William Lauderdale Adams

(27 September 1862 – 4 September 1893)

Francis William Lauderdale Adams Poems

1. Holy Russia 4/20/2010
2. Fling Out The Flag 4/20/2010
3. Belgravia By Night 7/10/2012
4. Hagar 4/20/2010
5. Father Abe 4/20/2010
6. Analogy 4/20/2010
7. Farewell To The Children 4/20/2010
8. In The Sea-Gardens 4/20/2010
9. Labour — Capital — Land 4/20/2010
10. To The Christians 4/20/2010
11. To England 4/20/2010
12. To India 4/20/2010
13. Post-Mortem 4/20/2010
14. Song Of The Dispossessed 4/20/2010
15. The New Locksley Hall 4/20/2010
16. Jesus 4/20/2010
17. Gordon's Grave 1/4/2003
18. Something 1/4/2003
19. Proem 4/20/2010
20. New Guinea 4/20/2010
21. In An East End Hovel 4/20/2010
22. Farewell To The Market 4/20/2010
23. To Japan 4/20/2010
24. The Mass Of Christ 4/20/2010
25. To Charles Parnell 4/20/2010
26. Liberty! 4/20/2010
27. To A. L. Gordon 1/4/2003
28. Her Poem 4/20/2010
29. In The Street 4/20/2010
30. Ireland 4/20/2010
31. To An Artist 4/20/2010
32. To An Old Friend In England 4/20/2010
33. Prayer 4/20/2010
34. The Outcasts 4/20/2010
35. Move On! 4/20/2010
36. The Australian Flag 4/20/2010
37. Henry George 4/20/2010
38. In The Edgware Road 4/20/2010
39. In The Pit 4/20/2010
40. Parallels For The Pious 4/20/2010

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Best Poem of Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Art

'YES, let Art go, if it must be
That with it men must starve —
If Music, Painting, Poetry
Spring from the wasted hearth!'
Yes, let Art go, till once again
Through fearless heads and hands
The toil of millions and the pain
Be passed from out the lands:
Till from the few their plunder falls
To those who've toiled and earned
But misery's hopeless intervals
From those who've robbed and spurned.
Yes, let Art go, without a fear,
Like Autumn flowers we burn,
For, with her reawakening year,
Be sure she will return! —
Return, but greater, nobler ...

Read the full of Art

To A. L. Gordon

In night-long days, in aeons
   where all Time's nights are one;
where life and death sing paeans
as of Greeks and Galileans,
   never begun or done;

where fate, the slow swooping condor,
   comes glooming all the sky --
as you have pondered I ponder,

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