Poem Lake | The Greatest Poems of All Time

The Quakeress Bride No, not in the halls of the noble and proud, Where Fashion assembles her glittering crowd, Where all is in beauty and splendor arrayed, Were the nuptials performed of the meek Quaker maid. Nor yet in the temple those rites which she took,— By the altar,... Poet: Elizabeth Clementine Kinney	The Bride “you know, my friends, with what a brave carouse I made a second marriage in my house,— Divorced old barren Reason from my bed And took the Daughter of the Vine to spouse.” So sang the Lord of Poets. In a gleam Of light that made her like an angel seem... Poet: Ambrose Bierce	The Bride's Toilette “dame, how the moments go— And the bride is not ready! Call all her tiring maids, Paul, Jean, and Thedie. Is this your robe, my dear? Faith, but she ’s steady! The bridegroom is blest who gets Such a brave lady.” “Pardi!... Poet: Ellen Mackay Hutchinson Cortissoz	The Bride From “a Ballad upon a Wedding” * * * * *THE MAID, and thereby hangs a tale, For such a maid no Whitsun-ale Could ever yet produce: No grape that ’s kindly ripe could be So round, so plump, so soft as she, Nor half... Poet: Sir John Suckling
Song: “The bride she is winsome and bonny” From an Old Song, “Woo’d and Married and a’” THE BRIDE she is winsome and bonny, Her hair it is snooded sae sleek, And faithfu’ and kind is her Johnny, Yet fast fa’ the tears on her cheek. New pearlins 1 are cause of her sorrow, New pearlins... Poet: Joanna Baillie	The Collegian to His Bride From Punch Being a Mathematical Madrigal in the Simplest Form CHARMER, on a given straight line, And which we will call B C, Meeting at a common point A, Draw the lines A C, A B. But, my sweetest, so arrange it That they ’re equal, all the... Poet: Anonymous	Circumference thou Bride of Awe Circumference thou Bride of Awe Possessing thou shalt be Possessed by every hallowed Knight That dares to covet thee Poet:	The Bride (Sigourney) I came, but she was gone. In her fair home, There lay her lute, just as she touched it last, At summer twilight, when the woodbine cups Fill'd with pure fragrance. On her favourite seat ... Poet: