William Lisle Bowles

(1762 - 1850 / England)

William Lisle Bowles Poems

81. On William Sommers Of Bremhill 4/16/2010
82. Vi. Evening, As Slow Thy Placid Shades Descend... 1/1/2004
83. Netley Abbey 1/1/2004
84. The Convent 4/16/2010
85. The Missionary - Canto Fifth 4/16/2010
86. The Battle Of The Nile 4/16/2010
87. Southampton Water 4/16/2010
88. V. To The River Tweed. 1/1/2004
89. Fairy Sketch 4/16/2010
90. The Grave Of Howard 4/16/2010
91. The Tweed Visited 4/16/2010
92. Sonnet: O Poverty! Though From Thy Haggard Eye 1/13/2003
93. Monody, Written At Matlock 4/16/2010
94. Epitaph On H. Walmsley, Esq., 4/16/2010
95. Distant View Of England From The Sea 4/16/2010
96. To Sir Walter Scott 4/16/2010
97. Water-Party On The Beaulieu River, In The New Forest 4/16/2010
98. Lacock Nunnery 4/16/2010
99. The Dying Slave 4/16/2010
100. The Spirit Of Discovery By Sea - Book The Fifth 4/16/2010
101. Vii. At A Village In Scotland.... 4/16/2010
102. On The Death Of Rev. William Benwell, M.A. 4/16/2010
103. On Mr. Howard's Account Of Lazarettos 4/16/2010
104. On Entering Switzerland 4/16/2010
105. Sonnet: At Dover Cliffs, July 20th 1787 1/13/2003
106. In Memoriam 4/16/2010
107. Xiii. O Time! Who Know'st A Lenient Hand To Lay... 1/1/2004
108. Translation Of A Latin Poem 4/16/2010
109. The Winds 4/16/2010
110. The Right Honourable Edmund Burke 4/16/2010
111. Bamborough Castle 4/16/2010
112. A Garden-Seat At Home 4/16/2010
113. Coombe-Ellen 4/16/2010
114. On Accidentally Meeting A Lady Now No More 4/16/2010
115. To A Friend 1/1/2004
116. Death Of Captain Cooke, 4/16/2010
117. A Cenotaph, 4/16/2010
118. Bereavement 1/1/2004
119. Elegy Written At Hotwells, Bristol 4/16/2010
120. At Oxford 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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