Sad Poems: The Bad Season Makes The Poet Sad - Poem by Robert Herrick

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The Bad Season Makes The Poet Sad - Poem by Robert Herrick

Dull to myself, and almost dead to these,
My many fresh and fragrant mistresses;
Lost to all music now, since every thing
Puts on the semblance here of sorrowing.
Sick is the land to th' heart; and doth endure
More dangerous faintings by her desperate cure.
But if that golden age would come again,
And Charles here rule, as he before did reign;
If smooth and unperplex'd the seasons were,
As when the sweet Maria lived here;
I should delight to have my curls half drown'd
In Tyrian dews, and head with roses crown'd:
And once more yet, ere I am laid out dead,
Knock at a star with my exalted head.

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Sad Poems
  1. 1. A Sad Child
    Margaret Atwood
  2. 2. A Fairly Sad Tale
    Dorothy Parker
  3. 3. ‘and Ask Ye Why These Sad Tears Stream?’
    Alfred Lord Tennyson
  4. 4. The Sad Mother
    Gabriela Mistral
  5. 5. Be Not Sad
    James Joyce
  6. 6. A Sad State Of Freedom
    Nazim Hikmet
  7. 7. Sad In Blue (A Lyric)
    Peter S. Quinn
  8. 8. Sad
    Cristina Geanta
  9. 9. My Sad Captains
    Thom Gunn
  10. 10. For A Sad Lady
    Dorothy Parker
  11. 11. To A Sad Daughter
    Michael Ondaatje
  12. 12. Sit Down, Sad Soul
    Barry Cornwall
  13. 13. In My Own Shire, If I Was Sad
    Alfred Edward Housman
  14. 14. Sad Green Eyes
    Linda Ori
  15. 15. Baseball's Sad Lexicon
    Franklin Pierce Adams
  16. 16. Sad-Eyed And Soft And Grey
    William Morris
  17. 17. With How Sad Steps, O Moon, Thou Climb's..
    William Wordsworth
  18. 18. Close Those Sad Sad Eyes
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  19. 19. To The Sad Moon
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  20. 20. Bored And Sad
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  21. 21. Sad Is Stupid
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  22. 22. The Journey Of A Poem Compared To All Th..
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  23. 23. Weep You No More, Sad Fountains
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  24. 24. Phantasmagoria Canto Vii ( Sad Souvenaun..
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  25. 25. Peacock Story 8 - A Sad Poem
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  26. 26. The Bad Season Makes The Poet Sad
    Robert Herrick
  27. 27. Sad Song
    Rahel Bluwstein
  28. 28. The Lacking Sense Scene.--A Sad-Coloured..
    Thomas Hardy
  29. 29. Sonnet Xxxi: With How Sad Steps, O Moon
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  30. 30. Sad Sad Day
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  31. 31. I Sing A Sad Song
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  32. 32. ! To A God-Daughter On Her Sad Poem
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  33. 33. To A Sad Girl
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  34. 34. Sonnet Iii: With How Sad Steps
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  35. 35. A Sad Sad Story
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  36. 36. .sad Girl
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  40. 40. ! ! A Sad Tale Of Consumerism
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  41. 41. ! The Sad Story Of Happiness
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  42. 42. Sad
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  43. 43. ’tis A Sad, Mad World!
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  44. 44. The Sad Shepherd
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  45. 45. Sad And Lonely
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  46. 46. Mad And Sad
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  47. 47. The Sad Bastards Club
    Francesca Johnson
  48. 48. Happy & Sad
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  49. 49. Sad Eyes
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Sad Poems

  1. A Sad Child

    You're sad because you're sad. It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical. Go see a shrink or take a pill, or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll you need to sleep. Well, all children are sad but some get over it. Count your blessings. Better than that, buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet. Take up dancing to forget. Forget what? Your sadness, your shadow, whatever it was that was done to you the day of the lawn party when you came inside flushed with the sun, your mouth sulky with sugar, in your new dress with the ribbon and the ice-cream smear, and said to yourself in the bathroom, I am not the favorite child. My darling, when it comes right down to it and the light fails and the fog rolls in and you're trapped in your overturned body under a blanket or burning car, and the red flame is seeping out of you and igniting the tarmac beside your head or else the floor, or else the pillow, none of us is; or else we all are.

  2. Be Not Sad

    Be not sad because all men Prefer a lying clamour before you: Sweetheart, be at peace again -- - Can they dishonour you? They are sadder than all tears; Their lives ascend as a continual sigh. Proudly answer to their tears: As they deny, deny.

  3. A Fairly Sad Tale

    I think that I shall never know Why I am thus, and I am so. Around me, other girls inspire In men the rush and roar of fire, The sweet transparency of glass, The tenderness of April grass, The durability of granite; But me- I don't know how to plan it. The lads I've met in Cupid's deadlock Were- shall we say?- born out of wedlock. They broke my heart, they stilled my song, And said they had to run along, Explaining, so to sop my tears, First came their parents or careers. But ever does experience Deny me wisdom, calm, and sense! Though she's a fool who seeks to capture The twenty-first fine, careless rapture, I must go on, till ends my rope, Who from my birth was cursed with hope. A heart in half is chaste, archaic; But mine resembles a mosaic- The thing's become ridiculous! Why am I so? Why am I thus?

  4. The Sad Mother

    Sleep, sleep, my beloved, without worry, without fear, although my soul does not sleep, although I do not rest. Sleep, sleep, and in the night may your whispers be softer than a leaf of grass, or the silken fleece of lambs. May my flesh slumber in you, my worry, my trembling. In you, may my eyes close and my heart sleep.

  5. ‘and Ask Ye Why These Sad Tears Stream?’

    'And ask ye why these sad tears stream?' ‘Te somnia nostra reducunt.’ OVID. And ask ye why these sad tears stream? Why these wan eyes are dim with weeping? I had a dream–a lovely dream, Of her that in the grave is sleeping. I saw her as ’twas yesterday, The bloom upon her cheek still glowing; And round her play’d a golden ray, And on her brows were gay flowers blowing. With angel-hand she swept a lyre, A garland red with roses bound it; Its strings were wreath’d with lambent fire And amaranth was woven round it. I saw her mid the realms of light, In everlasting radiance gleaming; Co-equal with the seraphs bright, Mid thousand thousand angels beaming. I strove to reach her, when, behold, Those fairy forms of bliss Elysian, And all that rich scene wrapt in gold, Faded in air–a lovely vision! And I awoke, but oh! to me That waking hour was doubly weary; And yet I could not envy thee, Although so blest, and I so dreary.