June Bracken And Heather

There on the top of the down,
The wild heather round me and over me Junes high blue,
When I lookd at the bracken so bright and the heather so brown,
I thought to myself I would offer this book to you,
This, and my love together,
To you that are seventy-seven,
With a faith as clear as the heights of the June-blue heaven,
And a fancy as summer-new
As the green of the bracken amid the gloom of the heather.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Alfred Lord Tennyson was a renowned British poet of the Victorian era, born on August 6, 1809, in Somersby, Lincolnshire. He is best known for his works like 'In Memoriam A.H.H.', 'The Charge of the Light Brigade', and 'Ulysses'. As one of the most popular poets of his time, he was appointed Poet Laureate of Great Britain and Ireland in 1850. Tennyson's poetry is characterized by its rich imagery, deep emotion, and classical themes. He passed away on October 6, 1892.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

A Dedication

Alfred Lord Tennyson, Simple Poetry

Amphion

Alfred Lord Tennyson, Simple Poetry

The Fleet

Alfred Lord Tennyson, Simple Poetry

To Victor Hugo

Alfred Lord Tennyson, 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.

The Woods In June.

        In the sleep-haunted gloom
Born of the slumbrous twilight in these shades,
These vast and venerable collonades,
        I welcome thee, dear June!

        And while with head reclined,
And limbs aweary with my woodland walk,
I listen to the low melodious talk
        Of leaves and singing wind,

        The merry roundelay
Of the swart ploughman, sowing summer grain,
And tinkling sheep-bell on the distant plain,
        And pastures far away,

        Come with a soft refrain,
Like a faint echo from the outer world,
While Peace sits by me with her white wings furled,
        Within my green domain.

        This is my palace, where
Great trunks are amber pillars to support
The blue roof of the vast and silent court,
...

Kate Seymour Maclean

The Trosachs

Theres not a nook within this solemn Pass,
But were an apt confessional for one
Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone,
That Life is but a tale of morning grass
Witherd at eve. From scenes of art which chase
That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes
Feed it mid Natures old felicities,
Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass
Untouchd, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy quest,
If from a golden perch of aspen spray
(Octobers workmanship to rival May)
The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast
That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay,
Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest!

William Wordsworth

Two June Nights.

    A red rose in my lady's hair,
    A white rose in her fingers,
    A wild bird singing low, somewhere,
    A song that pulses, lingers.
    The sound of dancing and of mirth,
    The fiddle's merry chiming,
    A smell of earth, of fresh, warm earth,
    And honeysuckle climbing;
    My lady near, yet far away -
    Ah, lonely June of yesterday!

    A big white night of velvet sky,
    And Milky Way a-gleaming,
    The fragrant blue smoke drifting by
    From camp-fire brightly beaming;
    The stillness of the Northland far -
    God's solitudes of splendor -
    My road a trail, my chart a star.
    Wind, 'mong the balsams slender,
    Sing low: O glad June of to-day,
    My lady's near, though far away!

Jean Blewett

Heath from the Highlands

Here, where the great hills fall away
To bays of silver sea,
I hold within my hand to-day
A wild thing, strange to me.

Behind me is the deep green dell
Where lives familiar light;
The leaves and flowers I know so well
Are gleaming in my sight.

And yonder is the mountain glen,
Where sings in trees unstirred
By breath of breeze or axe of men
The shining satin-bird.

The old weird cry of plover comes
Across the marshy ways,
And here the hermit hornet hums,
And here the wild bee strays.

No novel life or light I see,
On hill, in dale beneath:
All things around are known to me
Except this bit of heath.

This touching growth hath made me dream
It sends my soul afar
To where the Scottish mountains gleam
Ag...

Henry Kendall

The Roses On The Terrace

Rose, on this terrace fifty years ago,
When I was in my June, you in your May,
Two words, My Rose, set all your face aglow,
And now that I am white and you are gray,
That blush of fifty years ago, my dear,
Blooms in the past, but close to me to-day,
As this red rose, which on our terrace here
Glows in the blue of fifty miles away.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

June.

She behind yon mountain lives,
Who my love's sweet guerdon gives.
Tell me, mount, how this can be!
Very glass thou seem'st to me,
And I seem to be close by,
For I see her drawing nigh;
Now, because I'm absent, sad,
Now, because she sees me, glad!

Soon between us rise to sight
Valleys cool, with bushes light,
Streams and meadows; next appear

Mills and wheels, the surest token
That a level spot is near,

Plains far-stretching and unbroken.
And so onwards, onwards roam,
To my garden and my home!

But how comes it then to pass?
All this gives no joy, alas!
I was ravish'd by her sight,
By her eyes so fair and bright,
By her footstep soft and light.
How her peerless charms I praised,
When from head to foot I gazed!...

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe