Joanna Baillie

(1762-1851 / Scotland)

Joanna Baillie Poems

161. The Merry Bachelor 4/15/2010
162. Sunset Meditation, Under The Apprehension Of Approaching Blindness 4/15/2010
163. Sonnet 8 4/15/2010
164. Sir Maurice 4/15/2010
165. On Time 4/15/2010
166. On A Sprig Of Heath 4/15/2010
167. On Burning A Packet Of Letters Received From A Friend At An Early Period Of Life, Whose Correspondence Had Lapsed Into Silence, And Whose Friendship Into Apathy. 4/15/2010
168. Fy, Let Us A’ To The Wedding 4/15/2010
169. Lines On The Death Of William Sotheby, Esq 4/15/2010
170. A Song Written For An Irish Melody 4/15/2010
171. A Sailor’s Song 4/15/2010
172. A Portrait 4/15/2010
173. A Hymn 4/15/2010
174. Hope And Memory 4/15/2010
175. Devotional Song For A Negro Child 4/15/2010
176. To A Child 4/15/2010
177. To The Lark 4/15/2010
178. Lines To A Parrot 4/15/2010
179. Address To A Steam-Vessel 4/15/2010
180. Song #8 4/15/2010
181. William Wallace 4/15/2010
182. Belshazzar’s Feast 4/15/2010
183. The Outlaw's Song 1/4/2003
184. A Character 4/15/2010
185. On Memory 4/15/2010
186. Lines To Agnes Baillie On Her Birthday 4/15/2010
187. London 4/15/2010
188. A Mother To Her Waking Infant 4/15/2010
189. Hay-Making 4/15/2010
190. To The Rainbow 4/15/2010
191. Song, Woo’d And Married And A’ 4/15/2010
192. A Summer Day 4/15/2010
193. A Child To His Sick Grandfather 4/15/2010
194. A Winter Day 4/15/2010
195. Lines To A Teapot 4/15/2010
Best Poem of Joanna Baillie

Lines To A Teapot

ON thy carved sides, where many a vivid dye
In easy progress leads the wandering eye,
A distant nation's manners we behold,
To the quick fancy whimsically told.
The small-eyed beauty with her Mandarin,
Who o'er the rail of garden arbour lean,
In listless ease; and rocks of arid brown,
On whose sharp crags, in gay profusion blown,
The ample loose-leaved rose appears to grace
The skilful culture of the wonderous place;
The little verdant plat, where with his mate
The golden pheasant holds his gorgeous state,
With gaily crested pate and twisted neck,
Turned ...

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A Disappointment

On village green, whose smooth and well worn sod,
Cross-path'd with every gossip's foot is trod;
By cottage door where playful children run,
And cats and curs sit basking in the sun:
Where o'er the earthen seat the thorn is bent,
Cross-arm'd, and back to wall, poor William leant.
His bonnet broad drawn o'er his gather'd brow,
His hanging lip and lengthen'd visage shew
A mind but ill at ease. With motions strange,

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