Impromptu,

On The Reception Of A Letter.

I would love to have thee near me,
    But when I think how drear
Is each hope that used to cheer me,
    I cease to wish thee here.

I know that thou, wouldst not shrink from
    The storms that burst on me,
But the bitter chalice I drink from,
    I will not pass to thee.

I would share the world with thee, were it
    With all its pleasures mine,
But the sorrows which I inherit,
    I never will make thine!

George W. Sands

George W. Sands was an African American poet who contributed to the anthology 'The Forest City by Night' (1853). His biography is not well-documented, and little is known about his life outside of his work. Despite the limited information, his contribution to African American literature during the 19th century remains significant as part of the cultural and artistic movement of the time.

George W. Sands

The Misanthrope Reclaimed - ACT II.

George W. Sands, Simple Poetry

Mazelli - Canto III.

George W. Sands, Simple Poetry

The Venetian Girl's Evening Song.

George W. Sands, Simple Poetry

Acle At The Grave Of Nero.

George W. Sands, Simple Poetry

English

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

To Isabel

A Beautiful Little Girl.

Fair as some sea-child, in her coral bower,
    Decked with the rare, rich treasures of the deep;
Mild as the spirit of the dream whose power
    Bears back the infant's soul to heaven, in sleep
Brightens the hues of summer's first-born flower
    Pure as the tears repentant mourners weep
O'er deeds to which the siren, Sin, beguiled, -
Art thou, sweet, smiling, bright-eyed cherub child.

Thy presence is a spell of holiness,
    From which unhallowed thoughts shrink blushing back, -
Thy smile is a warm light that shines to bless,
    As beams the beacon o'er the wanderer's track, -
Thy voice is music, at whose sounds Distress
    Unbinds her writhing victim from the rack
Of misery, and charmed by what she hears,
Forgets her w...

George W. Sands

To Isabel.

Come near me with thy lips, and, breathe o'er mine
    Their breath, for I consume with love's desire, -
Thine ivory arms about me clasp and twine,
    And beam upon mine eye thine eye's soft fire;
Clasp me yet closer, till my heart feels thine
    Thrill, as the chords of Memnon's mystic lyre
Thrilled at the sun's uprising! thou who art
The lone, the worshipped idol of my heart!

There! balmier than the south wind, when it brings
    The scent of aromatic shrub and tree,
And tropic flower on ifs glowing wings,
    Thine odorous breath is wafted over me;
How to thy dewy lips mine own lip clings,
    And my whole being is absorbed in thee;
And in my breast thine eyes have lit a fire
That never, never, never shall expire!

Eternal - is it not eternal -...

George W. Sands

The Deserted.

"Come, sit thee by my side once more,
    'Tis long since thus we' met;
And though our dream of love is o'er,
    Its sweetness lingers yet.
Its transient day has long been past,
    Its flame has ceased to burn, -
But Memory holds its spirit fast,
    Safe in her sacred urn.

"I will not chide thy wanderings,
    Nor ask why thou couldst flee
A heart whose deep affection's springs
    Poured forth such love for thee!
We may not curb the restless mind,
    Nor teach the wayward heart
To love against its will, nor bind
    It with the chains of art.

"I would but tell thee how, in tears
    And bitterness, my soul
Has yearned with dreams, through long, long, years,
    Which it could not control.
And how the thought that clingeth t...

George W. Sands

Longing.

Away from the city's herds!
    Away from the noisy street!
Away from the storm of words,
    Where hateful and hating meet!

Away from the vapour grey,
    That like a boding of ill
Is blotting the morning gay,
    And gathers and darkens still!

Away from the stupid book!
    For, like the fog's weary rest,
With anger dull it fills each nook
    Of my aching and misty breast.

Over some shining shore,
    There hangeth a space of blue;
A parting 'mid thin clouds hoar
    Where the sunlight is falling through.

The glad waves are kissing the shore
    Rejoice, and tell it for ever;
The boat glides on, while its oar
    Is flashing out of the river.

Oh to be there with thee!
    Thou and I only, my love!
...

George MacDonald

Lines Written In A Young Lady's Album

'Tis not in youth, when life is new, when but to live is sweet,
When Pleasure strews her starlike flow'rs beneath our careless feet,
When Hope, that has not been deferred, first waves its golden wings,
And crowds the distant future with a thousand lovely things; -

When if a transient grief o'ershades the spirit for a while,
The momentary tear that falls is followed by a smile;
Or if a pensive mood, at times, across the bosom steals,
It scarcely sighs, so gentle is the pensiveness it feels

It is not then the, restless soul will seek for one with whom
To share whatever lot it bears, its gladness or its gloom, -
Some trusting, tried, and gentle heart, some true and faithful breast,
Whereon its pinions it may fold, and claim a place of rest.

But oh! when comes the i...

George W. Sands

Impromptu.

You say you're glad I write - oh, say not so!
    My fount of song, dear friend, 's a bitter well;
And when the numbers freely from it flow,
    'Tis that my heart, and eyes, o'erflow as well.

Castalia, fam'd of yore, - the spring divine,
    Apollo's smile upon its current wears:
Moore and Anacreon, found its waves were wine,
    To me, it flows a sullen stream of tears.

Frances Anne Kemble