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Best Famous Jane Austen Poems

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

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by Jane Austen | |

Mock Panegyric on a Young Friend

 In measured verse I'll now rehearse 
The charms of lovely Anna: 
And, first, her mind is unconfined 
Like any vast savannah.
Ontario's lake may fitly speak Her fancy's ample bound: Its circuit may, on strict survey Five hundred miles be found.
Her wit descends on foes and friends Like famed Niagara's fall; And travellers gaze in wild amaze, And listen, one and all.
Her judgment sound, thick, black, profound, Like transatlantic groves, Dispenses aid, and friendly shade To all that in it roves.
If thus her mind to be defined America exhausts, And all that's grand in that great land In similes it costs -- Oh how can I her person try To image and portray? How paint the face, the form how trace, In which those virtues lay? Another world must be unfurled, Another language known, Ere tongue or sound can publish round Her charms of flesh and bone.


by Jane Austen | |

Ode to Pity

 1

Ever musing I delight to tread 
The Paths of honour and the Myrtle Grove 
Whilst the pale Moon her beams doth shed 
On disappointed Love.
While Philomel on airy hawthorn Bush Sings sweet and Melancholy, And the thrush Converses with the Dove.
2 Gently brawling down the turnpike road, Sweetly noisy falls the Silent Stream-- The Moon emerges from behind a Cloud And darts upon the Myrtle Grove her beam.
Ah! then what Lovely Scenes appear, The hut, the Cot, the Grot, and Chapel queer, And eke the Abbey too a mouldering heap, Cnceal'd by aged pines her head doth rear And quite invisible doth take a peep.


by Jane Austen | |

See they come post haste from Thanet

 See they come, post haste from Thanet,
Lovely couple, side by side;
They've left behind them Richard Kennet
With the Parents of the Bride! 
Canterbury they have passed through;
Next succeeded Stamford-bridge;
Chilham village they came fast through;
Now they've mounted yonder ridge.
Down the hill they're swift proceeding, Now they skirt the Park around; Lo! The Cattle sweetly feeding Scamper, startled at the sound! Run, my Brothers, to the Pier gate! Throw it open, very wide! Let it not be said that we're late In welcoming my Uncle's Bride! To the house the chaise advances; Now it stops--They're here, they're here! How d'ye do, my Uncle Francis? How does do your Lady dear?


by Jane Austen | |

This Little Bag

 This little bag I hope will prove
To be not vainly made--
For, if you should a needle want
It will afford you aid.
And as we are about to part T'will serve another end, For when you look upon the Bag You'll recollect your friend


by Jane Austen | |

When Stretchd on Ones Bed

 When stretch'd on one's bed 
With a fierce-throbbing head, 
Which preculdes alike thought or repose, 
How little one cares 
For the grandest affairs 
That may busy the world as it goes!

How little one feels 
For the waltzes and reels 
Of our Dance-loving friends at a Ball! 
How slight one's concern 
To conjecture or learn 
What their flounces or hearts may befall.
How little one minds If a company dines On the best that the Season affords! How short is one's muse O'er the Sauces and Stews, Or the Guests, be they Beggars or Lords.
How little the Bells, Ring they Peels, toll they Knells, Can attract our attention or Ears! The Bride may be married, The Corse may be carried And touch nor our hopes nor our fears.
Our own bodily pains Ev'ry faculty chains; We can feel on no subject besides.
Tis in health and in ease We the power must seize For our friends and our souls to provide.


by Jane Austen | |

Happy the Labrer

 Happy the lab'rer in his Sunday clothes!
In light-drab coat, smart waistcoat, well-darn'd hose,
Andhat upon his head, to church he goes;
As oft, with conscious pride, he downward throws
A glance upon the ample cabbage rose
That, stuck in button-hole, regales his nose,
He envies not the gayest London beaux.
In church he takes his seat among the rows, Pays to the place the reverence he owes, Likes best the prayers whose meaning least he knows, Lists to the sermon in a softening doze, And rouses joyous at the welcome close.


by Jane Austen | |

Miss Lloyd has now went to Miss Green

 Miss Lloyd has now sent to Miss Green,
As, on opening the box, may be seen,
Some years of a Black Ploughman's Gauze,
To be made up directly, because
Miss Lloyd must in mourning appear
For the death of a Relative dear--
Miss Lloyd must expect to receive
This license to mourn and to grieve,
Complete, ere the end of the week--
It is better to write than to speak


by Jane Austen | |

Ive a Pain in my Head

 'I've a pain in my head' 
Said the suffering Beckford; 
To her Doctor so dread.
'Oh! what shall I take for't?' Said this Doctor so dread Whose name it was Newnham.
'For this pain in your head Ah! What can you do Ma'am?' Said Miss Beckford, 'Suppose If you think there's no risk, I take a good Dose Of calomel brisk.
'-- 'What a praise worthy Notion.
' Replied Mr.
Newnham.
'You shall have such a potion And so will I too Ma'am.
'


by Jane Austen | |

Of A Ministry Pitiful Angry Mean

 Of a Ministry pitiful, angry, mean,
A gallant commander the victim is seen.
For promptitude, vigour, success, does he stand Condemn'd to receive a severe reprimand! To his foes I could wish a resemblance in fate: That they, too, may suffer themselves, soon or late, The injustice they warrent.
But vain is my spite They cannot so suffer who never do right.