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

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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

On Hearing

O stay, harmonious and sweet sounds, that die
In the long vaultings of this ancient fane!
Stay, for I may not hear on earth again
Those pious airs--that glorious harmony;
Lifting the soul to brighter orbs on high,
Worlds without sin or sorrow! Ah, the strain
Has died--even the last sounds that lingeringly
Hung on the roof ere they expired!
And I

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