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Best Famous Alfred Austin Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Alfred Austin poems. This is a select list of the best famous Alfred Austin poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Alfred Austin poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Alfred Austin poems.

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Written by Alfred Austin | |

Loves Blindness

 Now do I know that Love is blind, for I 
Can see no beauty on this beauteous earth, 
No life, no light, no hopefulness, no mirth, 
Pleasure nor purpose, when thou art not nigh.
Thy absence exiles sunshine from the sky, Seres Spring's maturity, checks Summer's birth, Leaves linnet's pipe as sad as plover's cry, And makes me in abundance find but dearth.
But when thy feet flutter the dark, and thou With orient eyes dawnest on my distress, Suddenly sings a bird on every bough, The heavens expand, the earth grows less and less, The ground is buoyant as the ether now, And all looks lovely in thy loveliness.


Written by Alfred Austin | |

The Haymakers’ Song

 HERE’S to him that grows it, 
Drink, lads, drink! 
That lays it in and mows it, 
Clink, jugs, clink! 
To him that mows and makes it, 
That scatters it and shakes it, 
That turns, and teds, and rakes it, 
Clink, jugs, clink! 

Now here ’s to him that stacks it, 
Drink, lads, drink!
That thrashes and that tacks it, 
Clink, jugs, clink! 
That cuts it out for eating, 
When March-dropp’d lambs are bleating, 
And the slate-blue clouds are sleeting,
Drink, lads, drink! 

And here ’s to thane and yeoman, 
Drink, lads, drink! 
To horseman and to bowman, 
Clink, jugs, clink!
To lofty and to low man, 
Who bears a grudge to no man, 
But flinches from no foeman, 
Drink, lads, drink!


Written by Alfred Austin | |

Agatha

 SHE wanders in the April woods, 
That glisten with the fallen shower; 
She leans her face against the buds, 
She stops, she stoops, she plucks a flower.
She feels the ferment of the hour: She broodeth when the ringdove broods; The sun and flying clouds have power Upon her cheek and changing moods.
She cannot think she is alone, As o’er her senses warmly steal Floods of unrest she fears to own, And almost dreads to feel.
Among the summer woodlands wide Anew she roams, no more alone; The joy she fear’d is at her side, Spring’s blushing secret now is known.
The primrose and its mates have flown, The thrush’s ringing note hath died; But glancing eye and glowing tone Fall on her from her god, her guide.
She knows not, asks not, what the goal, She only feels she moves towards bliss, And yields her pure unquestioning soul To touch and fondling kiss.
And still she haunts those woodland ways, Though all fond fancy finds there now To mind of spring or summer days, Are sodden trunk and songless bough.
The past sits widow’d on her brow, Homeward she wends with wintry gaze, To walls that house a hollow vow, To hearth where love hath ceas’d to blaze: Watches the clammy twilight wane, With grief too fix’d for woe or tear; And, with her forehead ’gainst the pane, Envies the dying year.


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