Thomas Babbington Macaulay Love Poems

  • 1.
    A Poem Which Obtained the Chancellor's Medal at the Cambridge Commencement, July 1819.


    Oh! land to Memory and to Freedom dear,
    ...
  • 2.
    As I sate down to breakfast in state,
    At my living of Tithing-cum-Boring,
    With Betty beside me to wait,
    Came a rap that almost beat the door in.
    ...
  • 3.
    Now glory to the Lord of hosts, from whom all glories are!
    And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre!
    Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance,
    Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, O pleasant land of France!
    ...
  • 4.
    O STAY, Madonna! stay;
    'Tis not the dawn of day
    That marks the skies with yonder opal streak:
    The stars in silence shine;
    ...
  • 5.
    IT is the dead of night:
    Yet more than noonday light
    Beams far and wide from many a gorgeous hall.
    Unnumbered harps are tinkling,
    ...
  • 6.
    Let pious Damon take his seat,
    With mincing step and languid smile,
    And scatter from his 'kerchief sweet,
    Sabaean odours o'er the aisle;
    ...
  • 7.
    The day of tumult, strife, defeat, was o'er;
    Worn out with toil, and noise, and scorn, and spleen,
    I slumbered, and in slumber saw once more
    A room in an old mansion, long unseen.
    ...
  • 8.
    NOW glory to the Lord of hosts, from whom all glories are!
    And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre!
    Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance,
    Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, O pleasant land of France!
    ...
Total 8 Love Poems by Thomas Babbington Macaulay

Top 10 most used topics by Thomas Babbington Macaulay

Night 11 White 10 High 10 War 9 God 9 Love 8 Long 8 Dear 8 City 8 Brave 8

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Ballade Of The Midnight Forest
 by Andrew Lang

Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
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