Kate

I know her by her angry air,
Her bright black eyes, her bright black hair,
Her rapid laughters wild and shrill,
As laughters of the woodpecker
From the bosom of a hill.
Tis Kateshe sayeth what she will;
For Kate hath an unbridled tongue,
Clear as the twanging of a harp.
Her heart is like a throbbing star.
Kate hath a spirit ever strung
Like a new bow, and bright and sharp
As edges of the scimitar.
Whence shall she take a fitting mate?
For Kate no common love will feel;
My woman-soldier, gallant Kate,
As pure and true as blades of steel.

Kate saith the world is void of might.
Kate saith the men are gilded flies.
Kate snaps her fingers at my vows;
Kate will not hear of lovers sighs.
I would I were an armed knight,
Far-famed for well-won enterprise,
And wearing on my swarthy brows
The garland of new-wreathed emprise;
For in a moment I would pierce
The blackest files of clanging fight,
And strongly strike to left and right,
In dreaming of my ladys eyes.
O, Kate loves well the bold and fierce;
But none are bold enough for Kate,
She cannot find a fitting mate.

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

The Poets Mind

Alfred Lord Tennyson, Simple Poetry

Columbus

Alfred Lord Tennyson, Simple Poetry

A Medley: Now Sleeps The Crimson Petal (The Princess)

Alfred Lord Tennyson, Simple Poetry

The Wreck

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.

Black Kate

Kate, they say, is seventeen
Do not count her sweet, you know.
Arms of her are rather lean
Ditto, calves and feet, you know.
Features of Hellenic type
Are not patent here, you see.
Katie loves a black clay pipe
Doesnt hate her beer, you see.

Spartan Helen used to wear
Tresses in a plait, perhaps:
Kate has ochre in her hair
Nose is rather flat, perhaps.
Rose Lorraines surpassing dress
Glitters at the ball, you see:
Daughter of the wilderness
Has no dress at all, you see.

Lauras lovers every day
In sweet verse embody her:
Katies have a different way,
Being frank, they waddy her.
Amy by her suitor kissed,
Every nightfall looks for him:
Kittys sweetheart isnt missed
Kitty humps and cooks for him.

...

Henry Kendall

Cousin Kate

I was a cottage maiden
    Hardened by sun and air,
Contented with my cottage mates,
    Not mindful I was fair.
Why did a great lord find me out,
    And praise my flaxen hair?
Why did a great lord find me out
    To fill my heart with care?

He lured me to his palace home--
    Woe's me for joy thereof--
To lead a shameless shameful life,
    His plaything and his love.
He wore me like a silken knot,
    He changed me like a glove;
So now I moan, an unclean thing,
    Who might have been a dove.

O Lady Kate, my cousin Kate,
    You grew more fair than I:
He saw you at your father's gate,
    Chose you, and cast me by.
He watched your steps along the lane,
    Your work among the rye;
He lifted you from mean estate

Christina Georgina Rossetti

You Wrong Me, Kate.

You wrong me, Kate, you wrong me
    In harbouring the thought
That he who loves so fondly
    Would injure thee in aught.
The pang that I must feel, Kate,
    When dark suspicion lurks
Within thy breast, is real, Kate,
    And mischievously works.

The tone with doubt inflected,
    The calm, reproachful look,
The name of one suspected
    In light arraignment spoke;
These, these enforce the heart-ache,
    And instigate the strife,
And these, in chiefest part, take
    The joy from out my life.

For bright within my soul, dear,
    On Love's unsullied throne,
With absolute control, dear,
    Thou reignest Queen alone.
With reverence I chose thee,
    With pride I placed thee there;
And none did e'er oppose thee,
 ...

Wilfred Skeats

Idylettes Of The Queen

I. - SHE

I fain would write on pleasant themes;
    So let me prate
    Awhile of Kate;
And if my rhyming effort seems
    Uncouth or rough,
        At any rate,
        She's Kate,
    And that's enough.


II. - HER EYES

Her eyes are bright -
    I cannot say "like stars at night,"
    Nor can I say
    "Like the Orb of Day,"
Because such phrases are archaic.
    And if I swear
    That they compare
    With diamonds rare,
That's too prosaic.

I've hunted my thesaurus through,
"The Century" and "Webster," too,
    But all in vain;
    'Tis therefore plain
That they who made these books so wise
Had never seen her eyes!


III. - HER GOWN

When Kate puts on her Sunday gow...

Arthur Macy

Last Night

(Macmillan's Magazine, May 1865.)


Where were you last night? I watched at the gate;
I went down early, I stayed down late.
    Were you snug at home, I should like to know,
Or were you in the coppice wheedling Kate?

She's a fine girl, with a fine clear skin;
Easy to woo, perhaps not hard to win.
    Speak up like a man and tell me the truth:
I'm not one to grow downhearted and thin.

If you love her best speak up like a man;
It's not I will stand in the light of your plan:
    Some girls might cry and scold you a bit,
And say they couldn't bear it; but I can.

Love was pleasant enough, and the days went fast;
Pleasant while it lasted, but it needn't last;
    Awhile on the wax and awhile on the wane,
Now dropped away into the...

Christina Georgina Rossetti

To ----

Hadst thou liv'd in days of old,
O what wonders had been told
Of thy lively countenance,
And thy humid eyes that dance
In the midst of their own brightness;
In the very fane of lightness.
Over which thine eyebrows, leaning,
Picture out each lovely meaning:
In a dainty bend they lie,
Like to streaks across the sky,
Or the feathers from a crow,
Fallen on a bed of snow.
Of thy dark hair that extends
Into many graceful bends:
As the leaves of Hellebore
Turn to whence they sprung before.
And behind each ample curl
Peeps the richness of a pearl.
Downward too flows many a tress
With a glossy waviness;
Full, and round like globes that rise
From the censer to the skies
Through sunny air. Add too, the sweetness
Of thy honied voice; the...

John Keats