William Lisle Bowles

(1762 - 1850 / England)

William Lisle Bowles Poems

1. The Butterfly and the Bee 7/22/2015
2. The Harp, And Despair, Of Cowper 4/16/2010
3. The Last Song Of Camoens 4/16/2010
4. On Landing At Ostend 4/16/2010
5. The Missionary - Canto Fourth 4/16/2010
6. Winter Evening At Home 4/16/2010
7. Woodspring Abbey 4/16/2010
8. Hymn To Woden 4/16/2010
9. In Horto Rev. J. Still, 4/16/2010
10. Hope, An Allegorical Sketch 4/16/2010
11. On A Beautiful Spring, 4/16/2010
12. In Youth 1/1/2004
13. I. Written At Tinemouth, Northumberland, After A Tempestuous Voyage. 1/1/2004
14. The Spirit Of Discovery By Sea - Book The Fourth 4/16/2010
15. The Sylph Of Summer 4/16/2010
16. The Missionary - Canto Third 4/16/2010
17. The Visionary Boy 4/16/2010
18. Hour-Glass And Bible 4/16/2010
19. Xii. Written At A Convent. 1/1/2004
20. On Leaving Winchester School 4/16/2010
21. The Spirit Of Discovery By Sea - Book The First 4/16/2010
22. Music 4/16/2010
23. Influence Of Time On Grief 4/16/2010
24. Monody On Henry Headley 4/16/2010
25. Iv. To The River Wenbeck 1/1/2004
26. On A Landscape Bt Rubens 4/16/2010
27. The Missionary - Canto Seventh 4/16/2010
28. The Spirit Of Discovery By Sea - Book The Third 4/16/2010
29. Iii. O Thou, Whose Stern Command And Precepts Pure... 1/1/2004
30. The Spirit Of Discovery By Sea - Book The Second 4/16/2010
31. The Philanthropic Society 4/16/2010
32. On Resigning A Scholarship Of Trinity College, Oxford 4/16/2010
33. Picture Of An Old Man 4/16/2010
34. Pole-Vellum, Cornwall 4/16/2010
35. Pictures From Theocritus 4/16/2010
36. Sonnet I. Written At Tinemouth, Northumberland, After A Tempestuous Voyage. 4/16/2010
37. Sketches In The Exhibition 4/16/2010
38. The Harp Of Hoel 4/16/2010
39. The Rhine 4/16/2010
40. The Missionary - Canto Second 4/16/2010
Best Poem of William Lisle Bowles

At Dover

Thou, whose stern spirit loves the storm,
That, borne on Terror's desolating wings,
Shakes the high forest, or remorseless flings
The shivered surge; when rising griefs deform
Thy peaceful breast, hie to yon steep, and think,--
When thou dost mark the melancholy tide
Beneath thee, and the storm careering wide,--
Tossed on the surge of life how many sink!
And if thy cheek with one kind tear be wet,
And if thy heart be smitten, when the cry
Of danger and of death is heard more nigh,
Oh, learn thy private sorrows to forget;
Intent, when hardest beats the storm,...

Read the full of At Dover

Netley Abbey

Fallen pile! I ask not what has been thy fate;
But when the winds, slow wafted from the main,
Through each rent arch, like spirits that complain,
Come hollow to my ear, I meditate
On this world's passing pageant, and the lot
Of those who once majestic in their prime
Stood smiling at decay, till bowed by time
Or injury, their early boast forgot,
They may have fallen like thee! Pale and forlorn,

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