William Lisle Bowles

(1762 - 1850 / England)

William Lisle Bowles Poems

1. A Cenotaph, 4/16/2010
2. A Garden-Seat At Home 4/16/2010
3. A Rustic Seat Near The Sea 4/16/2010
4. Abba Thule's Lament For His Son Prince Le Boo 4/16/2010
5. Absence 4/16/2010
6. Age 4/16/2010
7. Approach Of Summer 4/16/2010
8. Art And Nature 4/16/2010
9. Associations 4/16/2010
10. At Dover 4/16/2010
11. At Malvern 4/16/2010
12. At Oxford 4/16/2010
13. At Tynemouth Priory 4/16/2010
14. Avenue In Savernake Forest 4/16/2010
15. Bamborough Castle 4/16/2010
16. Battle Of Corruna 4/16/2010
17. Bereavement 1/1/2004
18. Cadland, Southampton River 4/16/2010
19. Coombe-Ellen 4/16/2010
20. Death Of Captain Cooke, 4/16/2010
21. Dirge Of Nelson 4/16/2010
22. Distant View Of England From The Sea 4/16/2010
23. Dover Cliffs 4/16/2010
24. Elegiac Stanzas 4/16/2010
25. Elegy Written At Hotwells, Bristol 4/16/2010
26. Epitaph On H. Walmsley, Esq., 4/16/2010
27. Evening 4/16/2010
28. Fairy Sketch 4/16/2010
29. Greenwich Hospital 4/16/2010
30. Hope 4/16/2010
31. Hope, An Allegorical Sketch 4/16/2010
32. Hour-Glass And Bible 4/16/2010
33. Hymn To Woden 4/16/2010
34. I. Written At Tinemouth, Northumberland, After A Tempestuous Voyage. 1/1/2004
35. Ii. Written At Bamborough Castle. 1/1/2004
36. Iii. O Thou, Whose Stern Command And Precepts Pure... 1/1/2004
37. In Age 1/1/2004
38. In Horto Rev. J. Still, 4/16/2010
39. In Memoriam 4/16/2010
40. In Youth 1/1/2004

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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

Time And Grief

O TIME! who know'st a lenient hand to lay
Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence
(Lulling to sad repose the weary sense)
The faint pang stealest unperceived away;
On thee I rest my only hope at last,
And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear
That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear,
I may look back on every sorrow past,
And meet life's peaceful evening with a smile:

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