Robert Louis Stevenson Poems

  • 101.  
    Youth now flees on feathered foot
    Faint and fainter sounds the flute, Rarer songs of gods; and still
  • 102.  
    GO(D) knows, my Martial, if we two could be
    To enjoy our days set wholly free; To the true life together bend our mind,
  • 103.  
    THE wind may blaw the lee-gang way
    And aye the lift be mirk an' gray, An deep the moss and steigh the brae
  • 104.  
    MY first gift and my last, to you
    I dedicate this fascicle of songs - The only wealth I have:
  • 105.  
    When I was sick and lay a-bed,
    I had two pillows at my head, And all my toys beside me lay,
  • 106.  
    LOVE - what is love? A great and aching heart;
    Wrung hands; and silence; and a long despair. Life - what is life? Upon a moorland bare
  • 107.  
    KNOW you the river near to Grez,
    A river deep and clear? Among the lilies all the way,
  • 108.  
    The strong man's hand, the snow-cool head of age,
    The certain-footed sympathies of youth - These, and that lofty passion after truth,
  • 109.  
    When I was down beside the sea
    A wooden spade they gave to me To dig the sandy shore.
  • 110.  
    LIGHT as the linnet on my way I start,
    For all my pack I bear a chartered heart. Forth on the world without a guide or chart,
  • 111.  
    WHAT is the face, the fairest face, till Care,
    Till Care the graver - Care with cunning hand, Etches content thereon and makes it fair,
  • 112.  
    From the bonny bells of heather
    They brewed a drink long-syne, Was sweeter far than honey,
  • 113.  
    SINCE years ago for evermore
    My cedar ship I drew to shore; And to the road and riverbed
  • 114.  
    FAIR Isle at Sea - thy lovely name
    Soft in my ear like music came. That sea I loved, and once or twice
  • 115.  
    The rain is raining all around,
    It falls on field and tree, It rains on the umbrellas here,
  • 116.  
    Smooth it glides upon its travel,
    Here a wimple, there a gleam-- O the clean gravel!
  • 117.  
    Through all the pleasant meadow-side
    The grass grew shoulder-high, Till the shining scythes went far and wide
  • 118.  
    GO, little book - the ancient phrase
    And still the daintiest - go your ways, My Otto, over sea and land,
  • 119.  
    Tall as a guardsman, pale as the east at dawn,
    Who strides in strange apparel on the lawn? Rails for his breakfast? routs his vassals out
  • 120.  
    COME, my little children, here are songs for you;
    Some are short and some are long, and all, all are new. You must learn to sing them very small and clear,
  • 121.  
    When at home alone I sit
    And am very tired of it, I have just to shut my eyes
  • 122.  
    WOULDST thou be free? I think it not, indeed;
    But if thou wouldst, attend this simple rede: When quite contented }thou canst dine at home
  • 123.  
    MOTLEY I count the only wear
    That suits, in this mixed world, the truly wise, Who boldly smile upon despair
  • 124.  
    I DO not fear to own me kin
    To the glad clods in which spring flowers begin; Or to my brothers, the great trees,
  • 125.  
    I will make you brooches and toys for your delight
    Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night. I will make a palace fit for you and me
  • 126.  
    MY heart, when first the blackbird sings,
    My heart drinks in the song: Cool pleasure fills my bosom through
  • 127.  
    SMALL is the trust when love is green
    In sap of early years; A little thing steps in between
  • 128.  
    WHEN Thomas set this tablet here,
    Time laughed at the vain chanticleer; And ere the moss had dimmed the stone,
  • 129.  
    For the long nights you lay awake
    And watched for my unworthy sake: For your most comfortable hand
  • 130.  
    To the heart of youth the world is a highwayside.
    Passing for ever, he fares; and on either hand, Deep in the gardens golden pavilions hide,
  • 131.  
  • 132.  
  • 133.  
    Birds all the summer day
    Flutter and quarrel Here in the arbour-like
  • 134.  
    Come up here, O dusty feet!
    Here is fairy ready to eat.Here in my retiring room,
  • 135.  
    YOU remember, I suppose,
    How the August sun arose,And how his face
  • 136.  
    Down by a shining water well
    I found a very little dell, No higher than my head.
  • 137.  
    IN Schnee der Alpen - so it runs
    To those divine accords - and hereWe dwell in Alpine snows and suns,
  • 138.  
    HAD I the power that have the will,
    The enfeebled will - a modern curse -This book of mine should blossom still
  • 139.  
    When the grass was closely mown,
    Walking on the lawn alone,In the turf a hole I found
  • 140.  
    Every night my prayers I say,
    And get my dinner every day; And every day that I've been good,
  • 141.  
    UP with the sun, the breeze arose,
    Across the talking corn she goes,And smooth she rustles far and wide
  • 142.  
    WHEN my young lady has grown great and staid,
    And in long raiment wondrously arrayed,She may take pleasure with a smile to know
  • 143.  
    EARLY in the morning I hear on your piano
    You (at least, I guess it's you) proceed to learn to play.Mostly little minds should take and tackle their piano
  • 144.  
    We see you as we see a face
    That trembles in a forest placeUpon the mirror of a pool
  • 145.  
    The gardener does not love to talk,
    He makes me keep the gravel walk;And when he puts his tools away,
  • 146.  

  • 147.  
    O DULL cold northern sky,
    O brawling sabbath bells,O feebly twittering Autumn bird that tells
  • 148.  
    I woke before the morning, I was happy all the day,
    I never said an ugly word, but smiled and stuck to play.
  • 149.  
    The moon has a face like the clock in the hall;
    She shines on thieves on the garden wall, On streets and fields and harbour quays,
  • 150.  
    "Chief of our aunts"--not only I,
    But all your dozen of nurselings cry-- "What did the other children do?
Total 231 poems written by Robert Louis Stevenson

Poem of the day

Eight O’Clock
 by Sara Teasdale

Supper comes at five o'clock,
At six, the evening star,
My lover comes at eight o'clock -
But eight o'clock is far.

How could I bear my pain all day
Unless I watched to see
The clock-hands laboring to bring

Read complete poem

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