Riouperoux

High and solemn mountains guard Riouperoux,
Small untidy village where the river drives a mill:
Frail as wood anemones, white and frail were you,
And drooping a little, like the slender daffodil.

Oh I will go to France again, and tramp the valley through,
And I will change these gentle clothes for clog and corduroy,
And work with the mill-hands of black Riouperoux,
And walk with you, and talk with you, like any other boy.

James Elroy Flecker

James Elroy Flecker was an English poet and playwright born in London. He is best remembered for his poem "The Golden Journey to Samarkand" and his plays. Flecker was associated with the neo-romantic movement, and his works often explored themes of travel and classical antiquity. He died of tuberculosis at a young age, cutting short a promising literary career.

James Elroy Flecker

The Queen's Song

James Elroy Flecker, Simple Poetry

We That Were Friends

James Elroy Flecker, Simple Poetry

The Second Sonnet Of Bathrolaire

James Elroy Flecker, Simple Poetry

A Miracle Of Bethlehem

James Elroy Flecker, 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 The River Yvette

O lovely river of Yvette!
    O darling river! like a bride,
Some dimpled, bashful, fair Lisette,
    Thou goest to wed the Orge's tide.

Maincourt, and lordly Dampierre,
    See and salute thee on thy way,
And, with a blessing and a prayer,
    Ring the sweet bells of St. Forget.

The valley of Chevreuse in vain
    Would hold thee in its fond embrace;
Thou glidest from its arms again
    And hurriest on with swifter pace.

Thou wilt not stay; with restless feet
    Pursuing still thine onward flight,
Thou goest as one in haste to meet
    Her sole desire, her head's delight.

O lovely river of Yvette!
    O darling stream! on balanced wings
The wood-birds sang the chansonnette
    That here a wandering poet sings.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

A Fleeting Glimpse Of A Village.

("Tout vit! et se pose avec grâce.")


How graceful the picture! the life, the repose!
The sunbeam that plays on the porchstone wide;
And the shadow that fleets o'er the stream that flows,
And the soft blue sky with the hill's green side.

Fraser's Magazine.

Victor-Marie Hugo

Mignon

Knowest thou the land where bloom the lemon trees,
And darkly gleam the golden oranges?
A gentle wind blows down from that blue sky;
Calm stands the myrtle and the laurel high.
Knowest thou the land? So far and fair!
Thou, whom I love, and I will wander there.

Knowest thou the house with all its rooms aglow,
And shining hall and columned portico?
The marble statues stand and look at me.
Alas, poor child, what have they done to thee?
Knowest thou the land? So far and fair.
My Guardian, thou and I will wander there.

Knowest thou the mountain with its bridge of cloud?
The mule plods warily: the white mists crowd.
Coiled in their caves the brood of dragons sleep;
The torrent hurls the rock from steep to steep.
Knowest thou the land? So far and fair.

James Elroy Flecker

I Rose And Went To Rou'tor Town

(She, alone)



I rose and went to Rou'tor Town
With gaiety and good heart,
And ardour for the start,
That morning ere the moon was down
That lit me off to Rou'tor Town
With gaiety and good heart.

When sojourn soon at Rou'tor Town
Wrote sorrows on my face,
I strove that none should trace
The pale and gray, once pink and brown,
When sojourn soon at Rou'tor Town
Wrote sorrows on my face.

The evil wrought at Rou'tor Town
On him I'd loved so true
I cannot tell anew:
But nought can quench, but nought can drown
The evil wrought at Rou'tor Town
On him I'd loved so true!

Thomas Hardy

Oliver Basselin

In the Valley of the Vire
    Still is seen an ancient mill,
With its gables quaint and queer,
    And beneath the window-sill,
            On the stone,
            These words alone:
"Oliver Basselin lived here."

Far above it, on the steep,
    Ruined stands the old Chateau;
Nothing but the donjon-keep
    Left for shelter or for show.
            Its vacant eyes
            Stare at the skies,
Stare at the valley green and deep.

Once a convent, old and brown,
    Looked, but ah! it looks no more,
From the neighboring hillside down
    On the rushing and the roar
            Of the stream
            Whose sunny gleam
Cheers the little Norman town.

In that darksome mill of stone,
    To the water's dash and din...

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Turgidus Alpinus.

    My miserable countrymen, whose wont is once a-year
    To lounge in watering-places, disagreeable and dear;
    Who on pigmy Cambrian mountains, and in Scotch or Irish bogs
    Imbibe incessant whisky, and inhale incessant fogs:
    Ye know not with what transports the mad Alpine Clubman gushes,
    When with rope and axe and knapsack to the realms of snow he rushes.
    O can I e'er the hour forget - a voice within cries "Never!" -
    From British beef and sherry dear which my young heart did sever?
    My limbs were cased in flannel light, my frame in Norfolk jacket,
    As jauntily I stepped upon the impatient Calais packet.
    "Dark lowered the tempest overhead," the waters wildly rolled,
    Wildly the moon sailed thro' the clouds, "and it grew wondrous cold;"
 ...

Edward Woodley Bowling