Lady Mary Wortley Montagu


Lady Mary Wortley Montagu Poems

1. The Fourth Ode Of The First Book Of Horace Imitated 1/3/2003
2. Between Your Sheets 8/3/2015
3. To The Same 1/3/2003
4. The Ninth Ode Of The Third Book Of Horace Imitated 1/3/2003
5. To Mr. ------ 1/3/2003
6. Thursday, The Bassette-Table 1/3/2003
7. On Seeing A Portrait Of Sir Robert Walpole 1/3/2003
8. The Politicians 1/3/2003
9. Monday, Roxana, Or The Drawing-Room 1/3/2003
10. Written At Lovere, 1755 1/3/2003
11. Julia To Ovid 1/3/2003
12. Impromptu, To A Young Lady Singing 1/3/2003
13. The Bride In The Country 1/3/2003
14. Melinda's Complaint 1/3/2003
15. Town Eclogues: Monday; Roxana Or The Drawing-Room 1/1/2004
16. On The Death Of Mrs. Bowes 1/3/2003
17. The Fifth Ode Of The First Book Of Horace Imitated 1/3/2003
18. Song -- Rondeau 1/3/2003
19. Town Eclogues: Tuesday; St. James's Coffee-House 1/1/2004
20. Town Eclogues: Wednesday 1/1/2004
21. Fragment To ****** 1/3/2003
22. Town Eclogues: Thursday; The Bassette-Table 1/1/2004
23. John Duke Of Marlborough 1/3/2003
24. Lady Hertford To Lord William Hamilton 1/3/2003
25. The Court Of Dulness 1/3/2003
26. Friday, The Toilette 1/3/2003
27. Epithalamium 1/3/2003
28. Irregular Verses To Truth 1/3/2003
29. To A Friend On His Travels 1/3/2003
30. Farewell To Bath 1/3/2003
31. Wednesday, The Tête À Tête 1/3/2003
32. Town Eclogues: Saturday; The Small-Pox 1/1/2004
33. Lines Written In A Blank Page Of Milton's Paradise Lost 1/3/2003
34. Continuation 1/3/2003
35. A Character 1/3/2003
36. Epistle From Arthur Grey, The Footman, To Mrs. Murray, After His Condemnation For Attempting To Comm 1/1/2004
37. Answer 1/3/2003
38. Answered, For Lord William Hamilton 1/3/2003
39. The Lady's Resolve 1/3/2003
40. Epistle To Lord Hervey On The King's Birthday From The Country 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu

An Answer To A Love-Letter, In Verse

Is it to me this sad lamenting strain?
Are Heaven's choicest gifts bestow'd in vain?
A plenteous fortune and a beauteous bride,
Your love rewarded, and content your pride;
Yet, leaving her, 'tis me that you pursue,
Without one single charm -- but being new.
How vile is man! How I detest the ways
Of covert falsehood and designing praise!
As tasteless, easier happiness you slight,
Ruin your joy, and mischief your delight.
Why should poor pug (the mimic of your kind)
Wear a rough chain, and be to box confin'd?
Some cup, perhaps, he breaks, or tears ...

Read the full of An Answer To A Love-Letter, In Verse

A Hymn To The Moon

Written in July, in an arbour


Thou silver deity of secret night,
Direct my footsteps through the woodland shade;
Thou conscious witness of unknown delight,
The Lover's guardian, and the Muse's aid!
By thy pale beams I solitary rove,
To thee my tender grief confide;

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