Thou Art Queen

Thou art queen to every eye,
    When the fairest maids convene.
Envy's self can not deny
    Thou art queen.

In thy step thy right is seen,
    In thy beauty pure and high,
In thy grace of air and mien.

Thine unworthy vassal I,
    Lay my hands thy hands between;
Kneeling at thy feet I cry
    Thou art queen!

Robert Fuller Murray

Robert Fuller Murray was a Scottish poet known for his lyrical and expressive poetry. Born on December 26, 1863, in Roxbury, Massachusetts, he moved to Scotland at a young age. Despite a short life, ending on April 15, 1894, Murray left a significant mark with his works, which often reflected themes of nature and human emotion. His poetry is characterized by its elegance and depth of feeling. Murray's influence remained through posthumous publications and collections of his poetry.

Robert Fuller Murray

Tears

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

The Poet's Hat

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

Patriotism

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

The First Meeting

Robert Fuller Murray, 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.

Sweetheart

Sweetheart, that thou art fair I know,
    More fair to me
Than flowers that make the loveliest show
    To tempt the bee.

When other girls, whose faces are,
    Beside thy face,
As rushlights to the evening star,
    Deny thy grace,

I silent sit and let them speak,
    As men of strength
Allow the impotent and weak
    To rail at length.

If they should tell me Love is blind,
    And so doth miss
The faults which they are quick to find,
    I'd answer this:

Envy is blind; not Love, whose eyes
    Are purged and clear
Through gazing on the perfect skies
    Of thine, my dear.

Robert Fuller Murray

My Lady

My Lady of all ladies!    Queen by right
    Of tender beauty; full of gentle moods;
    With eyes that look divine beatitudes,
Large eyes illumined with her spirit's light;

Lips that are lovely both by sound and sight,
    Breathing such music as the dove, which broods
    Within the dark and silence of the woods,
Croons to the mate that is her heart's delight.

Where is a line, in cloud or wave or hill,
    To match the curve which rounds her soft-flushed cheek?
            A colour, in the sky of morn or of even,
To match that flush?    Ah, let me now be still!
    If of her spirit I should strive to speak,
            I should come short, as earth comes short of heaven.

Robert Fuller Murray

At A High Ceremony

Not the proudest damsel here
Looks so well as doth my dear.
All the borrowed light of dress
Outshining not her loveliness,

A loveliness not born of art,
But growing outwards from her heart,
Illuminating all her face,
And filling all her form with grace.

Said I, of dress the borrowed light
Could rival not her beauty bright?
Yet, looking round, 'tis truth to tell,
No damsel here is dressed so well.

Only in them the dress one sees,
Because more greatly it doth please
Than any other charm that's theirs,
Than all their manners, all their airs.

But dress in her, although indeed
It perfect be, we do not heed,
Because the face, the form, the air
Are all so gentle and so rare.

Robert Fuller Murray

To Mrs. ----

Oh lady! thou, who in the olden time
Hadst been the star of many a poet's dream!
Thou, who unto a mind of mould sublime,
Weddest the gentle graces that beseem
Fair woman's best! forgive the darling line
That falters forth thy praise! nor let thine eye
Glance o'er the vain attempt too scornfully;
But, as thou read'st, think what a love was mine,
That made me venture on a theme, that none
Can know thee, and not feel a hopeless one.
Thou art most fair, though sorrow's chastening wing
Hath past, and left its shadow on thy brow,
And solemn thoughts are gently mellowing
The splendour of thy beauty's summer now.
Thou art most fair! but thine is loveliness
That dwells not only on the lip, or eye;
Thy beauty, is thy pure heart's holiness;
Thy grace, thy lofty spir...

Frances Anne Kemble

To Caroline, Viscountess Valletort.

WRITTEN AT LACOCK ABBEY, JANUARY, 1832.


When I would sing thy beauty's light,
Such various forms, and all so bright,
I've seen thee, from thy childhood, wear,
I know not which to call most fair,
Nor 'mong the countless charms that spring
For ever round thee, which to sing.

    When I would paint thee as thou art,
Then all thou wert comes o'er my heart--
The graceful child in Beauty's dawn
Within the nursery's shade withdrawn,
Or peeping out--like a young moon
Upon a world 'twill brighten soon.
Then next in girlhood's blushing hour,
As from thy own loved Abbey-tower
I've seen thee look, all radiant, down,
With smiles that to the hoary frown
Of centuries round thee lent a ray,
Chasing even Age's gloom away;--

Thomas Moore

The Revolt Of Vashti (From The Drama Of Mizpah)

AHASUERAS

Is this the way to greet thy loving spouse,
But now returned from scenes of blood and strife?
I pray thee raise thy veil and let me gaze
Upon that beauty which hath greater power
To conquer me than all the arts of war!

VASHTI

My beauty!    Ay, my BEAUTY!    I do hold,
In thy regard, no more an honoured place
Than yonder marble pillar, or the gold
And jewelled wine-cup which thy lips caress.
Thou wouldst degrade me in the people's sight!

AHASUERAS

Degrade thee, Vashti?    Rather do I seek
To show my people who are gathered here
How, as the consort of so fair a queen,
I feel more pride than as the mighty king:
For there be many rulers on the earth,
But only ONE such queen.    Come, raise thy veil!

VASH...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox