Best Beauty Poems

And a poet said, 'Speak to us of Beauty.'

Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide?
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One heavy day I ran away from the grim face of society and the dizzying clamor of the city and directed my weary step to the spacious alley. I pursued the beckoning course of the rivulet and the musical sounds of the birds until I reached a lonely spot where the flowing branches of the trees prevented the sun from the touching the earth.

I stood there, and it was entertaining to my soul - my thirsty soul who had seen naught but the mirage of life instead of its sweetness.
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Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly;
Their beauty shakes me who was once serene;
Straight through my heart the wound is quick and keen.
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The beautiful, the fair, the elegant,
Is that which pleases us, says Kant,
Without a thought of interest or advantage.
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When Beauty and Beauty meet
All naked, fair to fair,
The earth is crying-sweet,
And scattering-bright the air,
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I saw a nice little flower…
Enjoying herself in the nice warm fields…
The place felt fine, what a beautiful sight! !
Why didn't it come yesterday? !
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Bluebells carpet the woodland floor
Packed so tightly that insects tip-toe
Softly and quietly between them.
Their beauty unlocks a woodland door
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I want to have the extremes of your Love,
See, how silly am I, wishing for unachievable.

I don't care if you maltreat me or promise to unveil your beauty,
I just want something unbearable to test my fortitude
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Wonderful is not so much
The mausoleum's chisel cut beauty
As the beauty of the love
Arrested in its architecture-
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All through eternity
Beauty unveils His exquisite form
in the solitude of nothingness;
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Beauty are the roses
Mixed with beauty within
Not just a pretty face
Or pleasures it brings
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'Am I, at bottom, that fervent little Spanish Catholic child who chastised herself for loving toys, who forbade herself the enjoyment of sweet foods, who practiced silence, who humiliated her pride, who adored symbols, statues, burning candles, incense, the caress of nuns, organ music, for whom Communion was a great event? I was so exalted by the idea of eating Jesus's flesh and drinking His blood that I couldn't swallow the host well, and I dreaded harming the it.
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Here lies a most beautiful lady,
Light of step and heart was she;
I think she was the most beautiful lady
That ever was in the West Country.
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A daughter is beauty at its finest.
Heart of an angel, soul so pure, and sweet.
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Down, wanton, down! Have you no shame
That at the whisper of Love's name,
Or Beauty's, presto! up you raise
Your angry head and stand at gaze?
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When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights,
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When Beauty
Comes to meet with I
Naked she
Wonderful! no shy.
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The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,
The humble sheep a threat'ning horn:
While the Lily white shall in love delight,
Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.
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O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?
Both truth and beauty on my love depends;
So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
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I

I had forgotten how the frogs must sound
After a year of silence, else I think
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The tempest calmed after bending the branches of the trees and leaning heavily upon the grain in the field. The stars appeared as broken remnants of lightning, but now silence prevailed over all, as if Nature's war had never been fought.

At that hour a young woman entered her chamber and knelt by her bed sobbing bitterly. Her heart flamed with agony but she could finally open her lips and say, 'Oh Lord, bring him home safely to me. I have exhausted my tears and can offer no more, oh Lord, full of love and mercy. My patience is drained and calamity is seeking possession of my heart. Save him, oh Lord, from the iron paws of War; deliver him from such unmerciful Death, for he is weak, governed by the strong. Oh Lord, save my beloved, who is Thine own son, from the foe, who is Thy foe. Keep him from the forced pathway to Death's door; let him see me, or come and take me to him.'
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The gold-hoarder walked in his palace park and with him walked his troubles. And over his head hovered worries as a vulture hovers over a carcass, until he reached a beautiful lake surrounded by magnificent marble statuary.

He sat there pondering the water which poured from the mouths of the statues like thoughts flowing freely from a lover's imagination, and contemplating heavily his palace which stood upon a knoll like a birth-mark upon the cheek of a maiden. His fancy revealed to him the pages of his life's drama which he read with falling tears that veiled his eyes and prevented him from viewing man's feeble additions to Nature.
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To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey'd,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold,
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Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare.
Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace,
And lay them prone upon the earth and cease
To ponder on themselves, the while they stare
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Beauty is the sensation of your heart skipping a beat,
when eyes full of mischief glance at you...
Beauty is the smile which appears on your lips, when you think of the way he smiles at you...
Beauty is in the heart which touches another
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I saw the face of beauty fixed
Upon the rising sun
Beyond all mortal compliment
Her loveliness there shone
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There in the middle of the field, by the side of a crystalline stream, I saw a bird-cage whose rods and hinges were fashioned by an expert's hands. In one corner lay a dead bird, and in another were two basins - one empty of water and the other of seeds. I stood there reverently, as if the lifeless bird and the murmur of the water were worthy of deep silence and respect - something worth of examination and meditation by the heard and conscience.

As I engrossed myself in view and thought, I found that the poor creature had died of thirst beside a stream of water, and of hunger in the midst of a rich field, cradle of life; like a rich man locked inside his iron safe, perishing from hunger amid heaps of gold.
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Someone mentioned your name yesterday
and I was silent

You loved goodness, you were goodness,
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Whatever the poet's eyes see,
And his mind imagines,
And his pen elaborates,
Or whatever is written,
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WHAT thing shall be held up to woman's beauty?
Where are the bounds of it? Yea, what is all
The world, but an awning scaffolded amid
The waste perilous Eternity, to lodge
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The glory of the beauty of the morning, -
The cuckoo crying over the untouched dew;
The blackbird that has found it, and the dove
That tempts me on to something sweeter than love;
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You flaunt your beauty in the rose, your glory in the dawn,
Your sweetness in the nightingale, your white- ness in the swan.

You haunt my waking like a dream, my slumber like a moon,
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When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,
And feathered pampas-grass rides into the wind
Like aged warriors westward, tragic, thinned
Of half their tribe, and over the flattened rushes,
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The beautiful, the fair, the elegant,
Is that which pleases us, says Kant,
Without a thought of interest or advantage.
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All physical beauty
Is temporary,
But the beauty of compassion,
Love and tender passion
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I. You shall love beauty, which is the shadow of God
over the Universe.
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When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a tattered weed of small worth held.
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The evening was lonely for me, and I was reading a book till my
heart became dry, and it seemed to me that beauty was a thing
fashioned by the traders in words. Tired I shut the book and
snuffed the candle. In a moment the room was flooded with
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She sees things of beauty in all that she see
And what's beautiful to her seems ugly to me
What to her is a flower to me is a weed
We do seem so different so different indeed.
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My wearied heart bade me farewell and left for the House of Fortune. As he reached that holy city which the soul had blessed and worshipped, he commenced wondering, for he could not find what he had always imagined would be there. The city was empty of power, money, and authority.

And my heart spoke to the daughter of Love saying, "Oh Love, where can I find Contentment? I heard that she had come here to join you."
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The beauty of a poem
The beauty of music
The beauty of light
The beauty of life
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Twist your lips.. twitch your eye-brows,
still you are a beauty!

change your mind.. and be as adamant, .
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I will not think of sun and moon,
but would want as season boom,
all fruits on tree appear in loom
Sit with thought in single room,
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Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits
When I am sometime absent from thy heart,
Thy beauty and thy years full well befits,
For still temptation follows where thou art.
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The park is filled with night and fog,
The veils are drawn about the world,
The drowsy lights along the paths
Are dim and pearled.
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At times and in some cases
Truth can be mixed with
Guile and guilt
Truth can be manipulated
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Weary not of us, for we are very beautiful; it is out of very jealousy and proper pride that we entered the veil.
On the day when we cast of the body’s veil from the soul, you will see that we are the envy of despair of man and the Polestars.
Wash your face and become clean for beholding us, else remain afar, for we are beloveds of ourselves.
We are not that beauty who tomorrow will become a crone; till eternity we are young and heart-comforting and fair of stature.
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Think not, not for a moment let your mind,
Wearied with thinking, doze upon the thought
That the work's done and the long day behind,
And beauty, since 'tis paid for, can be bought.
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'A thing of beauty is a joy for ever'
Words of Keats one can forget never
What is beauty - beauty is where
One can enjoy here and there, every where!
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(Maidens’ song from St. Winefred’s Well)


THE LEADEN ECHO
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Beauty is truth's smile
when she beholds her own face in a perfect mirror.
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To what serves mortal beauty ' —dangerous; does set danc-
ing blood—the O-seal-that-so ' feature, flung prouder form
Than Purcell tune lets tread to? ' See: it does this: keeps warm
Men’s wits to the things that are; ' what good means—where a glance
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I have remembered beauty in the night,
Against black silences I waked to see
A shower of sunlight over Italy
And green Ravello dreaming on her height;
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Oh beautiful one, adorned with spell
To ravage my world as might a sweet angel.
Oh beautiful thing, so much at ease:
Allure of caressing breeze in touch gentle.
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My hand, a little raised, might press a star-
Where I may look, the frosted peaks are spun,
So shaped before Olympus was begun,
Spanned each to each, now, by a silver bar.
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Daffodils, clear rills with musk-rose fills!
Tweet-tweet, It's a feast in eyes of the green universe;
With Her photographic smile, her youth blooms!
With genuine style, her bosom blossoms,
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O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?
Both truth and beauty on my love depends;
So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
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Moonlit waterfall
In an orange orchard-
Though a slim stream now,
Your beauty is still flowing freely!
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the sky's beauty
is seen when the world is sleeping
the mind's beauty
is seen when the man is sleeping
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Beauty! ! !
I am surrounded by beauty!
I do not have to yearn to see it!
I don't have to dream or fantasize to see it!
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Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very same
And that unfair which fairly doth excel;
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I THOUGHT of your beauty, and this arrow,
Made out of a wild thought, is in my marrow.
There's no man may look upon her, no man,
As when newly grown to be a woman,
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Spring has come to embrace your cheeks
Lovely breeze caresses your peaks
Love itself comes and seeks
Through out the days through out the weeks
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The beauty, more covetable than the charm of breasts
Of a pretty woman, hidden somewhere in this world
Or in the dreams of a poet, yet to come;
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His face was charged with beauty as a cloud
With glimmering lightning. When it shadowed me
I shook, and was uneasy as a tree
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The beauty of the heart
is the lasting beauty:
its lips give to drink
of the water of life.
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OUT of the noise of tired people working,
Harried with thoughts of war and lists of dead,
His beauty met me like a fresh wind blowing,
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The storm-dances of gulls, the barking game of seals,
Over and under the ocean…
Divinely superfluous beauty
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Still must the poet as of old,
In barren attic bleak and cold,
Starve, freeze, and fashion verses to
Such things as flowers and song and you;
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A beauty with a duty
this beauty is not lost in its duty
the flower
with a charm and beauty of a young lady
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Attracted as I am like John Keats
To “A thing of beauty is a joy for ever”
Sometimes I am uncomfortable
To beauties of certain flavour
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A beauty that comes from within
is a beauty age cannot wrinkle
Never distracted by a simple pimple
But by a radiant face of joy and pleasure
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A boy's mind works differently
And a girl's mind also works differently
The boys mostly love to play and fight
The girls follow beauty tips and know what is wrong and right
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Thy beauty hangs around thee like
Splendour around the moon--
Thy voice, as silver bells that strike
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There is no such person who doesn't like beauty,
We can't find people leading life without duty.
Each and every person does indulge the beauty,
There is no age bar to have this, it may be ninety.
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Beauty imposes reverence in the Spring,
Grave as the urge within the honeybuds,
It wounds us as we sing.
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Cold winds can never freeze, nor thunder sour
The cup of cheer that Beauty draws for me
Out of those Azure heavens and this green earth --
I drink and drink, and thirst the more I see.
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Krishna passed that mountain many times;
and yet his followers observed that day
that all his mind was filled with fresh delight
as if he'd never walked, nor seen, that way;
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Photo 1
Baby sits
with diapered bottom
against gritty linoleum
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When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
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Spiritual beauty

About beauty often heard
about spiritual beauty...?
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XIV
I found a few old letters of mine carefully hidden in thy box—a few small toys for thy memory to play with. With a timorous
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Touching them, you sense
that beauty within you shall
also someday bloom.
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Please look for the beauty in my eyes
In my heart, there are no lies.
You cannot only see beauty by the hair
Or by that pure skin. It's just not there.
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When beauty grows too great to bear
How shall I ease me of its ache,
For beauty more than bitterness
Makes the heart break.
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To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
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Beauty is not a superficial form
Each has their own in essential nature
And in the actions they perform
Until the dissolution of their life
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Look in my eyes, what do you see,
Beauty of the inner me.
Deep down in your heart, what do you feel,
The beauty of a love that is real.
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In the silence of the night
I will come to you
In the silence of the night
I will lie with you
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Countless are beauties
to suit every taste:
one Venus, one goddess
and many an angel;
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I BADE, because the wick and oil are spent
And frozen are the channels of the blood,
My discontented heart to draw content
From beauty that is cast out of a mould
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Sighting her in opposite mirror
Like a boundless poetic mirage
Finding no words I surrender
To the beauty unfolding its image
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