Robert Louis Stevenson

(1850-1894 / Edinburgh / Scotland)

Robert Louis Stevenson Poems

161. System 1/3/2003
162. Tales Of Arabia 12/31/2002
163. Tempest Tossed And Sore Afflicted 12/31/2002
164. The Angler Rose, He Took His Rod 12/31/2002
165. The Bour-Tree Den 12/31/2002
166. The Celestial Surgeon 3/30/2010
167. The Clock's Clear Voice Into The Clearer Air 12/31/2002
168. The Cow 1/3/2003
169. The Dumb Soldier 1/3/2003
170. The Far-Farers 12/31/2002
171. The Feast Of Famine 7/1/2015
172. The Flowers 1/3/2003
173. The Gardener 1/3/2003
174. The Hayloft 1/3/2003
175. The Lamplighter 1/3/2003
176. The Land Of Counterpane 1/3/2003
177. The Land Of Nod 1/3/2003
178. The Land Of Story-Books 1/3/2003
179. The Light Keeper 10/21/2015
180. The Little Land 1/3/2003
181. The Mirror Speaks 4/7/2015
182. The Moon 1/3/2003
183. The Old Chimaeras. Old Recipts 12/31/2002
184. The Piper 12/31/2002
185. The Relic Taken, What Avails The Shrine? 12/31/2002
186. The Sick Child 4/24/2015
187. The Spaewife 3/30/2010
188. The Summer Sun Shone Round Me 12/31/2002
189. The Sun Travels 1/3/2003
190. The Swing 1/3/2003
191. The Unseen Playmate 1/3/2003
192. The Vagabond 1/3/2003
193. The Vanquished Knight 12/31/2002
194. The Wind 1/3/2003
195. The Wind Blew Shrill And Smart 12/31/2002
196. The Wind Is Without There And Howls In The Trees 12/31/2002
197. There Was An Old Man Of The Cape 2/4/2015
198. This Gloomy Northern Day 12/31/2002
199. Thou Strainest Through The Mountain Fern 12/31/2002
200. Though Deep Indifference Should Drowse 12/31/2002
Best Poem of Robert Louis Stevenson

Summer Sun

Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.

The dusty attic spider-clad
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.

Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look ...

Read the full of Summer Sun

In Lupum

BEYOND the gates thou gav'st a field to till;
I have a larger on my window-sill.
A farm, d'ye say? Is this a farm to you,
Where for all woods I spay one tuft of rue,
And that so rusty, and so small a thing,
One shrill cicada hides it with a wing;
Where one cucumber covers all the plain;
And where one serpent rings himself in vain
To enter wholly; and a single snail

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