The Angel Of Thought

(Suggested by a Fra Angelico Angel)


    Angel of Thought, meseems God winged thee so,
    And crowned thine head with passion fine as flame,
    And made thy lifted face too pure for shame,
    With eyes and brow a mirror to His glow;--
    And gave thy lips a golden trump, that, though
    Long years have passed since other angels came
    To work the mighty wonders of His name,--
    In God's own name and man's, thyself shalt go
    Forever on strong pinions to and fro,
    And round the earth reverberating blow
    The mute, world-shaking music of the mind;
    That thou might'st make as naught all space and time,
    And thrill in mystic oneness through mankind,
    Yet dwell in each, inviolate, sublime.

Ethel Allen Murphy

Ethel Allen Murphy was an American poet who wrote extensively on themes of nature, imagination, and human experience. Her works often encapsulate the beauty and depth of the natural world, drawing connections between the environment and personal reflection. While much of her life and career details remain obscure, her poetry continues to be celebrated for its lyrical quality and emotional resonance.

Ethel Allen Murphy

A Botticelli Madonna II The Mournful Mother

Ethel Allen Murphy, Simple Poetry

The Visitation

Ethel Allen Murphy, Simple Poetry

Annunciation - From A Picture By Botticelli

Ethel Allen Murphy, Simple Poetry

Annunciation - From The Picture By Botticelli

Ethel Allen Murphy, 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 Angel Of The Jasmine Wreath

(From a picture by Botticelli, of the Madonna and Child with Angels,--in the Borghese Gallery)


    Ineffable angel, with the jasmine wreathed,
    Wherefrom the sweetness over brow and lips,
    And luminous white eyelids tremulously slips,
    A visible essence from thy beauty breathed,--
    The pure and pensive marvel of thy face is sheathed
    In tresses softer than the bloom of night,
    Wherefrom the dampness on thy forehead drips
    With dews from out God's meadows infinite,--
    Thy face, itself, a lily filled with light:--
    Thyself the youngest of God's angels and most fair,
    Bearing His latest breath and blessing on thine hair,
    Thou comest fresh from looking on thy Lord;
    And all is well, and all is filled for thee
    With ...

Ethel Allen Murphy

The Guardian-Angel

A PICTURE AT FANO.

I.
Dear and great Angel, wouldst thou only leave
That child, when thou hast done with him, for me!
Let me sit all the day here, that when eve
Shall find performed thy special ministry,
And time come for departure, thou, suspending
Thy flight, mayst see another child for tending,
Another still, to quiet and retrieve.

II.
Then I shall feel thee step one step, no more,
From where thou standest now, to where I gaze,
And suddenly my head is covered oer
With those wings, white above the child who prays
Now on that tomb, and I shall feel thee guarding
Me, out of all the world; for me, discarding
Yon heaven thy home, that waits and opes its door.

III.
I would not look up thither past thy head
Because the door...

Robert Browning

Contemplation.

'They are all up - the innumerable stars -
And hold their place in heaven. My eyes have been
Searching the pearly depths through which they spring
Like beautiful creations, till I feel
As if it were a new and perfect world,
Waiting in silence for the word of God
To breathe it into motion. There they stand,
Shining in order, like a living hymn
Written in light, awaking at the breath
Of the celestial dawn, and praising Him
Who made them, with the harmony of spheres.
I would I had an angel's ear to list
That melody! I would that I might float
Up in that boundless element, and feel
Its ravishing vibrations, like a pulse
Beating in heaven! My spirit is athirst
For music - rarer music! I would bathe
My soul in a serener atmosphere
Than this! I long to ming...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

The Peace Angel

Angel of Peace, the hounds of war,
Unleashed, are all abroad,
And war's foul trade again is made
    Man's leading aim in life.
Blood dyes the billow and the sod;
    The very winds are rife
With tales of slaughter.    Angel, pray,
What can we do or think or say
In times like these?
    'Child, think of God!'

'Before this little speck in space
Called Earth with light was shod,
Great chains and tiers of splendid spheres
    Were fashioned by His hand.
Be thine the part to love and laud,
    Nor seek to understand.
Go lift thine eyes from death-charged guns
To one who made a billion suns;
And trust and wait.
    Child, dwell on God!'

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Their Faces

O Beautiful white Angels! who control
The inner workings of each poet soul,
Thou who hast touched my mind with tender graces
Come near to me that I may see thy faces.

Me, didst thou bless before I came to earth;
Me, hast thou kissed, and dowered at my birth,
With such a wealth of sweet imaginings,
That, even in sleep, my dreaming fancy sings.

Sometimes when seeing snow-white clouds at noon,
Or watching silver shadows from the moon,
Within my soul has stirred a joy like fear,
As if some kindred spirit lingered near.

Come closer, Angels! thou whose haloed wings
Do gild for me the meanest ways and things,
With beauty borrowed from the Infinite -
Stand forth, let me behold thee in the light.

O thought supreme!    O death!    O life! unknown...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Angel Of Charity. (Air.--Handel)

Angel of Charity, who, from above,
    Comest to dwell a pilgrim here,
Thy voice is music, thy smile is love,
    And Pity's soul is in thy tear.
When on the shrine of God were laid
    First-fruits of all most good and fair,
That ever bloomed in Eden's shade,
    Thine was the holiest offering there.

Hope and her sister, Faith, were given
    But as our guides to yonder sky;
Soon as they reach the verge of heaven,
    There, lost in perfect bliss, they die.
But, long as Love, Almighty Love,
    Shall on his throne of thrones abide,
Thou, Charity, shalt dwell above,
    Smiling for ever by His side!

Thomas Moore