William Lisle Bowles

(1762 - 1850 / England)

William Lisle Bowles Poems

1. Xi. Written At Ostend 1/1/2004
2. Vii. At A Village In Scotland.... 1/1/2004
3. Xiv. On A Distant View Of England. 1/1/2004
4. On Hearing 1/1/2004
5. Xii. Written At A Convent. 1/1/2004
6. Ii. Written At Bamborough Castle. 1/1/2004
7. Languid, And Sad, And Slow, From Day To Day 1/1/2004
8. Vi. Evening, As Slow Thy Placid Shades Descend... 1/1/2004
9. X. On Dover Cliffs. 1/1/2004
10. In Age 1/1/2004
11. On The Funeral Of Charles The First 1/1/2004
12. In Youth 1/1/2004
13. V. To The River Tweed. 1/1/2004
14. Bereavement 1/1/2004
15. I. Written At Tinemouth, Northumberland, After A Tempestuous Voyage. 1/1/2004
16. Sonnet: At Ostend, July 22nd 1787 1/13/2003
17. Sonnet: July 18th 1787 1/13/2003
18. Sonnet: O Poverty! Though From Thy Haggard Eye 1/13/2003
19. Iv. To The River Wenbeck 1/1/2004
20. A Cenotaph, 4/16/2010
21. A Garden-Seat At Home 4/16/2010
22. Abba Thule's Lament For His Son Prince Le Boo 4/16/2010
23. Age 4/16/2010
24. Approach Of Summer 4/16/2010
25. Associations 4/16/2010
26. At Malvern 4/16/2010
27. At Oxford 4/16/2010
28. Avenue In Savernake Forest 4/16/2010
29. Bamborough Castle 4/16/2010
30. Elegy Written At Hotwells, Bristol 4/16/2010
31. Epitaph On H. Walmsley, Esq., 4/16/2010
32. Evening 4/16/2010
33. Fairy Sketch 4/16/2010
34. Greenwich Hospital 4/16/2010
35. Hope 4/16/2010
36. Hope, An Allegorical Sketch 4/16/2010
37. Cadland, Southampton River 4/16/2010
38. Coombe-Ellen 4/16/2010
39. Death Of Captain Cooke, 4/16/2010
40. Distant View Of England From The Sea 4/16/2010
Best Poem of William Lisle Bowles

On A Beautiful Landscape

Beautiful landscape! I could look on thee
For hours,--unmindful of the storm and strife,
And mingled murmurs of tumultuous life.
Here, all is still as fair--the stream, the tree,
The wood, the sunshine on the bank: no tear
No thought of time's swift wing, or closing night
Which comes to steal away the long sweet light,
No sighs of sad humanity are here.

Here is no tint of mortal change--the day
Beneath whose light the dog and peasant-boy
Gambol with look, and almost bark, of joy--
Still seems, though centuries have passed, to stay.
Then gaze ...

Read the full of On A Beautiful Landscape

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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