A Song.

I.

No riches from his scanty store
    My lover could impart;
He gave a boon I valued more -
    He gave me all his heart!


II.

His soul sincere, his gen'rous worth,
    Might well this bosom move;
And when I ask'd for bliss on earth,
    I only meant his love.


III.

But now for me, in search of gain
    From shore to shore he flies:
Why wander riches to obtain,
    When love is all I prize?


IV.

The frugal meal, the lowly cot
    If blest my love with thee!
That simple fare, that humble lot,
    Were more than wealth to me.


V.

While he the dang'rous ocean braves,
    My tears but vainly flow:
Is pity in the faithless waves
    To which I pour my woe?


VI.

The night is dark, the waters deep,
    Yet soft the billows roll;
Alas! at every breeze I weep -
    The storm is in my soul.

Helen Maria Williams

Helen Maria Williams was an English poet, novelist, translator, and abolitionist known for her support of the French Revolution. She made significant contributions to literature through her poems and novels, highlighting issues of her time such as gender equality and political justice. Her works were praised for their emotional depth and social commentary. She was also an influential figure in the abolitionist movement, championing the cause of ending slavery.

Helen Maria Williams

To Sensibility.

Helen Maria Williams, Simple Poetry

Euphelia, An Elegy.

Helen Maria Williams, Simple Poetry

Peru. Canto The First.

Helen Maria Williams, Simple Poetry

Part Of An Irregular Fragment, Found In A Dark Passage Of The Tower.

Helen Maria Williams, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

To Sensibility.

In Sensibility's lov'd praise
    I tune my trembling reed;
And seek to deck her shrine with bays,
    On which my heart must bleed!

No cold exemption from her pain
    I ever wish'd to know;
Cheer'd with her transport, I sustain
    Without complaint her woe.

Above whate'er content can give,
    Above the charm of ease,
The restless hopes, and fears that live
    With her, have power to please.

Where but for her, were Friendship's power
    To heal the wounded heart,
To shorten sorrow's ling'ring hour,
    And bid its gloom depart?

'Tis she that lights the melting eye
    With looks to anguish dear;
She knows the price of ev'ry sigh,
    The value of a tear.

She prompts the tender marks of love
   ...

Helen Maria Williams

An American Tale.

"Ah! pity all the pangs I feel,
    If pity e'er ye knew;--
An aged father's wounds to heal,
    Thro' scenes of death I flew.

Perhaps my hast'ning steps are vain,
    Perhaps the warrior dies!--
Yet let me sooth each parting pain--
    Yet lead me where he lies."

Thus to the list'ning band she calls,
    Nor fruitless her desire,
They lead her, panting, to the walls
    That hold her captive sire.

"And is a daughter come to bless
    These aged eyes once more?
Thy father's pains will now be less--
    His pains will now be o'er!"

"My father! by this waining lamp
    Thy form I faintly trace:--
Yet sure thy brow is cold, and damp,
    And pale thy honour'd face.

In vain thy wretched child is come,
    She ...

Helen Maria Williams

Young Love

I

I cannot heed the words they say,
The lights grow far away and dim,
Amid the laughing men and maids
My eyes unbidden seek for him.

I hope that when he smiles at me
He does not guess my joy and pain,
For if he did, he is too kind
To ever look my way again.

II

I have a secret in my heart
No ears have ever heard,
And still it sings there day by day
Most like a caged bird.

And when it beats against the bars,
I do not set it free,
For I am happier to know
It only sings for me.

III

I wrote his name along the beach,
I love the letters so.
Far up it seemed and out of reach,
For still the tide was low.

But oh, the sea came creeping up,
And washed the name away,
And on the san...

Sara Teasdale

Euphelia, An Elegy.

As roam'd a pilgrim o'er the mountain drear,
    On whose lone verge the foaming billows roar;
The wail of hopeless sorrow pierc'd his ear,
    And swell'd at distance on the sounding shore.

The mourner breath'd her deep complaint to night,
    Her moan she mingled with the rapid blast;
That bar'd her bosom in its wasting flight,
    And o'er the earth her scatter'd tresses cast!

"Ye winds, she cried, still heave the lab'ring deep,
    "The mountain shake, the howling forest rend;
"Still dash the shiv'ring fragment from the steep,
    "Nor for a wretch like me the storm suspend.

"Ah, wherefore wish the rising storm to spare?
    "Ah, why implore the raging winds to save?
"What refuge can the breast where lives despair
    "Desire but death? what s...

Helen Maria Williams

Love's Reward.

It was a knight of the southern land
Rode forth upon the way
When the birds sang sweet on either hand
About the middle of the May.

But when he came to the lily-close,
Thereby so fair a maiden stood,
That neither the lily nor the rose
Seemed any longer fair nor good.

"All hail, thou rose and lily-bough!
What dost thou weeping here,
For the days of May are sweet enow,
And the nights of May are dear?"

"Well may I weep and make my moan,
Who am bond and captive here;
Well may I weep who lie alone,
Though May be waxen dear."

"And is there none shall ransom thee;
Mayst thou no borrow find?"
"Nay, what man may my borrow be,
When all my wealth is left behind?

"Perchance some ring is left with thee,
Some belt that d...

William Morris

The Lock Of Hair.

It is in sooth a lovely tress,
    Still curled in many a ring,
As glossy as the plumes that dress
    The raven's jetty wing.
And the broad and soul-illumined brow,
    Above whose arch it grew,
Was like the stainless mountain snow,
    In its purity of hue.

I mind the time 'twas given to me,
    The night, the hour, the spot;
And the eye that pleaded silently,
    "Forget the giver not."
Oh! myriads of stars, on high,
    Were smiling sweetly fair,
But none was lovely as the eye
    That shone beside me there!

Above our heads an ancient oak
    Its strong, wide arms held out,
And from its roots a fountain broke,
    With a tiny laughing shout;
And the fairy people of the wild
    Were bending to their rest,
As trusti...

George W. Sands