Robert Seymour Bridges

(1844 - 1930 / England)

Robert Seymour Bridges Poems

1. The Hill Pines Were Sighing 4/17/2010
2. To Joseph Joachim 1/1/2004
3. To The President Of Magdalen College, Oxford 1/1/2004
4. There Is A Hill 4/17/2010
5. To Catullus 4/17/2010
6. Elegy 2/11/2015
7. The Evening Darkens Over 4/17/2010
8. Noel: Christmas Eve 1913 12/15/2014
9. The Affliction Of Richard 4/17/2010
10. To Thos. Floyd 1/1/2004
11. Spring Goeth All In White 4/17/2010
12. When Death To Either Shall Come 1/3/2003
13. Winter Nightfall 1/3/2003
14. Spirits 1/3/2003
15. Elegy On A Lady, Whom Grief For The Death Of Her Betrothed Killed 4/17/2010
16. Emily Bronte 4/17/2010
17. To The United States Of America 1/3/2003
18. North Wind In October 4/17/2010
19. Fortunatus Nimium 4/17/2010
20. Eros 4/17/2010
21. The Growth Of Love 1/1/2004
22. For Beauty Being The Best Of All We Know 4/17/2010
23. Pater Filio 1/3/2003
24. On A Dead Child 1/3/2003
25. Nimium Fortunatus 1/3/2003
26. Lord Kitchner 1/3/2003
27. Low Barometer 1/3/2003
28. While Yet We Wait For Spring 1/3/2003
29. Absence 1/3/2003
30. I Have Loved Flowers That Fade 4/17/2010
31. I Love All Beauteous Things 4/17/2010
32. A Passer-By 1/3/2003
33. I Shall Never Love The Snow Again 4/17/2010
34. Nightingales 1/3/2003
35. Melancholia 1/1/2004
36. In Autumn Moonlight, When The White Air Wan 1/3/2003
37. Awake, My Heart 1/3/2003
38. From 'The Testament Of Beauty' 1/1/2004
39. My Delight And Thy Delight 1/3/2003
40. So Sweet Love Seemed That April Morn 1/3/2003

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Best Poem of Robert Seymour Bridges

London Snow

When men were all asleep the snow came flying, In large white flakes falling on the city brown,
Stealthily and perpetually settling and loosely lying,
Hushing the latest traffic of the drowsy town;
Deadening, muffling, stifling its murmurs failing;
Lazily and incessantly floating down and down:
Silently sifting and veiling road, roof and railing;
Hiding difference, making unevenness even,
Into angles and crevices softly drifting and sailing.
All night it fell, and when full inches seven
It lay in the depth of its uncompacted lightness,
The clouds blew off from ...

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The Growth Of Love

They that in play can do the thing they would,
Having an instinct throned in reason's place,
--And every perfect action hath the grace
Of indolence or thoughtless hardihood--
These are the best: yet be there workmen good
Who lose in earnestness control of face,
Or reckon means, and rapt in effort base
Reach to their end by steps well understood.

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