Discrimination.

I used to love a radiant girl -
    Her lips were like a rose leaf torn;
Her heart was as free as a floating curl,
    Or a breeze at morn;
Her step as light as a Peri's daughter,
And her eye as soft as gliding water.

Witching thoughts like things half hid
    Lurk'd beneath her silken lashes,
And a modest droop of the veined lid
    Oft hid their flashes -
But to me the charm was more complete
As the blush stole up its fringe to meet.

Paint me love as a honey bee!
    Rosy mouths are things to sip;
Nothing was ever so sweet to me
    As Marion's lip -
Till I learned that a deeper magic lies
In kissing the lids of her closed eyes.

Her sweet brow I seldom touch,
    Save to part her raven hair;
Her bright cheek I gaze on much,
    Her white hand is fair;
But none of these - I've tried them all -
Is like kissing her eyes as the lashes fall.

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Nathaniel Parker Willis was an American author, poet, and editor who was among the most popular literary figures of his time. He founded and edited several periodicals and wrote many poems, essays, and travelogues. Willis was known for his urbane style, which influenced the development of 19th-century American literature. Despite his widespread popularity during his lifetime, his work fell out of favor in the years following his death.

Nathaniel Parker Willis

January 1, 1829.

Nathaniel Parker Willis, Simple Poetry

Andre's Request.

Nathaniel Parker Willis, Simple Poetry

April.

Nathaniel Parker Willis, Simple Poetry

On The Death Of Edward Payson, D.D.

Nathaniel Parker Willis, 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.

Sonnet.

There was a beautiful spirit in her air,
    As of a fay at revel. Hidden springs,
Too delicate for knowledge, should be there,
    Moving her gently like invisible wings;
And then her lip out-blushing the red fruit
    That bursts with ripeness in the Autumn time,
And the arch eye you would not swear was mute,
    And the clear cheek, as of a purer clime,
And the low tone, soft as a pleasant flute
    Sent over water with the vesper chime;
And then her forehead with its loose, dark curl,
    And the bewildering smile that made her mouth
    Like a torn rose-leaf moistened of the South -
She has an angel's gifts - the radiant girl!

Nathaniel Parker Willis

A Portrait.

She's beautiful! Her raven curls
Have broken hearts in envious girls -
And then they sleep in contrast so,
Like raven feathers upon snow,
And bathe her neck - and shade the bright
Dark eye from which they catch the light,
As if their graceful loops were made
To keep that glorious eye in shade,
And holier make its tranquil spell,
Like waters in a shaded well.

I cannot rhyme about that eye -
I've match'd it with a midnight sky -
I've said 'twas deep, and dark, and wild,
Expressive, liquid, witching, mild -
But the jewell'd star, and the living air
Have nothing in them half so fair.

She's noble - noble - one to keep
Embalm'd for dreams of fever'd sleep -
An eye for nature - taste refin'd,
Perception swift, and ballanc'd mind, -
And...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

A Portrait.

She was not very beautiful, if it be beauty's test
To match a classic model when perfectly at rest;
And she did not look bewitchingly, if witchery it be,
To have a forehead and a lip transparent as the sea.

The fashion of her gracefulness was not a follow'd rule,
And her effervescent sprightliness was never learnt at school;
And her words were all peculiar, like the fairy's who 'spoke pearls;'
And her tone was ever sweetest midst the cadences of girls.

Said I she was not beautiful? Her eyes upon your sight
Broke with the lambent purity of planetary light,
And an intellectual beauty, like a light within a vase,
Touched every line with glory of her animated face.

Her mind with sweets was laden, like a morning breath in June,
And her thoughts awoke in harmony,...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Judith.

    O her eyes are amber-fine -
    Dark and deep as wells of wine,
    While her smile is like the noon
    Splendor of a day of June.
    If she sorrow - lo! her face
    It is like a flowery space
    In bright meadows, overlaid
    With light clouds and lulled with shade
    If she laugh - it is the trill
    Of the wayward whippoorwill
    Over upland pastures, heard
    Echoed by the mocking-bird
    In dim thickets dense with bloom
    And blurred cloyings of perfume.
    If she sigh - a zephyr swells
    Over odorous asphodels
    And wan lilies in lush plots
    Of moon-drown'd forget-me-nots.
    Then, the soft touch of her hand -
    Takes all breath to understand
    What to liken it thereto! -
    Never roseleaf rinsed wit...

James Whitcomb Riley

At the Opera

The curtain rose, the play began,
The limelight on the gay garbs shone;
Yet carelessly I gazed upon
The painted players, maid and man,
As one with idle eyes who sees
The marble figures on a frieze.

Long lark-notes clear the first act close,
So the soprano: then a hush,
The tenor, tender as a thrush;
Then loud and high the chorus rose,
Till, with a sudden rush and strong,
It ended in a storm of song.

The curtain fell, the music died,
The lights grew bright, revealing there
The flash of jewelled fingers fair,
And wreaths of pearls on brows of pride;
Then, with a quick-flushed cheek, I turned,
And into mine her dark eyes burned.

Such eyes but once a man may see,
And, seeing once, his fancy dies
To thought of any other eyes:

Victor James Daley

Sonnet.

Exquisite Laura! with thy pouting lip,
    And the arch smile that makes me constant so -
Tempting me still like a dull bee to sip
    The flower I should have left so long ago -
Beautiful Laura! who art just so fair
    That I can think thee lovely when alone,
And still art not so wonderfully rare
    That I could never find a prettier one -
Spirited Laura! laughing, weeping, crying
    In the same breath, and gravest with the gay -
So wild, that Cupid ever shoots thee flying,
    And knows his archery is thrown away -
Inconstant as I am, I cannot yet
Break thy sweet fetter, exquisite coquette!

Nathaniel Parker Willis