Ballad poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best ballad poems ever written. Read all poems about ballad.
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
The ring is on my hand,
And the wreath is on my brow;
Satin and jewels grand
Are all at my command,
translated by Will Kirkland
The moon came into the forge
in her bustle of flowering nard.
He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.
I hid my heart in a nest of roses,
Out of the sun's way, hidden apart;
In a softer bed than the soft white snow's is,
Under the roses I hid my heart.
Oh mother, mother, where is happiness?
They took my lover's tallness off to war,
Left me lamenting. Now I cannot guess
What I can use an empty heart-cup for.
Rudolph Reed was oaken.
His wife was oaken too.
And his two good girls and his good little man
Oakened as they grew.
I speak of love that comes to mind:
The moon is faithful, although blind;
She moves in thought she cannot speak.
Perfect care has made her bleak.
From the first it had been like a
Ballad. It had the beat inevitable. It had the blood.
A wildness cut up, and tied in little bunches,
Like the four-line stanzas of the ballads she had never quite
Two knights rode forth at early dawn
A-seeking maids to wed,
Said one, "My lady must be fair,
With gold hair on her head."
Kneel down, fair Love, and fill thyself with tears,
Girdle thyself with sighing for a girth
Upon the sides of mirth,
Cover thy lips and eyelids, let thine ears
My roof has sprung a leak.
Don't you 'member I told you about it
Way last week?
TO get betimes in Boston town, I rose this morning early;
Here's a good place at the corner--I must stand and see the show.
The firste stock-father of gentleness,
What man desireth gentle for to be,
Must follow his trace, and all his wittes dress,
Virtue to love, and vices for to flee;
If down here I chance to die,
Solemnly I beg you take
All that is left of "I"
To the Hills for old sake's sake,
The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sere-
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
The bows glided down, and the coast
Blackened with birds took a last look
At his thrashing hair and whale-blue eye;
The trodden town rang its cobbles for luck.
Into the woods my Master went,
Clean forspent, forspent.
Into the woods my Master came,
Forspent with love and shame.
The haunting music drove my tears to drift
Remembering us in Venice
As we listened to the gondolier sing a ballad of love
Yr arms were wrapped around me
The solid concrete
Mediashape to the love
I'd know I get scared
A crude whistle
A ballad on the Normandy Invasion
-Gayathri B. Seetharam
I write a ballad for all those brave soldiers
Who landed on Normandy Beach
If you're partial to a pun, o my lad
Here is one you'll admit's pretty bad
Know what's sitting in a salad
While indulging in a ballad?
Love is my wonder woman
Love sounds like the ballad to which my heart waltzes
Love looks like the guardian flying into my avid arms
Love feels like soft texture of the pillow on I dream sweet dreams
You are made equally of Reality
and Non-Reality. Sometimes I grasp
your meaning only in the whisper-speech
of dreams. Other times, in the clear light
THE BALLAD OF A LOVER
On the pathless path of desires, while wandering
I saw the lovers of world sad without reason
Fanatics weaving paradise for their own sects
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