Skip directly to:Main content Main navigation

University of Virginia Library

Poems

By W. C. Bennett: New ed

Bennett, W. C. (1820-1895)

collapse section

[Forms beyond my vision fleeting]

BABY MAY AND OTHER POEMS.

THE WORN WEDDING-RING AND OTHER HOME POEMS.

NARRATIVE POEMS AND BALLADS.

SONGS AND LYRICAL POEMS.

POEMS OF THOUGHT.

POEMS OF FANCY AND FEELING.

collapse section

WRITTEN IN WINDSOR CASTLE.

[Friends, could I live a life of art alone]

[You shall be thought of with the scents of Spring]

[You cross my dusty path with dreams divine]

[Nor, Alchemists, turning to gold the lead]

[With you, too, comes the Shakespeare of all sound]

[Of poet-homes was our delightful talk]

[Nor were those, breathing not your Boston air]

[And as the glory of the still May moon]

[So you have been with Severn, and have heard]

[What pleasant talk you bear across the sea]

[And you have paced the streets that Cæsar trod]

On being told that Charles Dickens had said that “the bust of Clytie must have been modelled from a real Greek girl, or it could not have been so beautiful.”

“Should not the truest Art interpret rather than daguerreotype?”

IN THE DULWICH GALLERY—BEFORE GUIDO'S “ST. SEBASTIAN.”

IN LONDON—AT THE NATIONAL GALLERY—BEFORE MURILLO'S “HOLY FAMILY.”

ON A VIOLET-STAND.

AT ROME—FROM THE HILL OF THE CAPITOL.

ON A PHOTOGRAPH OF THE COLISEUM.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

ROBERT BROWNING.

BEFORE WILKIE'S “COLUMBUS.”

AT SOUTH KENSINGTON—IN THE TURNER GALLERY.

IN THE SISTINE CHAPEL—BEFORE MICHAEL ANGELO'S “LAST JUDGMENT.”

AT ANTWERP—BEFORE RUBENS' “DESCENT FROM THE CROSS.”

[Venice! Dear friends, how comes she to your eyes?]

[On the Rialto, too, your steps have been]

[Ah, those Italian lakes! My town-dull'd eyes]

[When the laburnum droops its golden rain]

BEFORE THE DULWICH GALLERY.

IN THE CAPITOL—BEFORE THE FAUN OF “PRAXITELES,”

IN THE VATICAN—BEFORE THE APOLLO BELVEDERE.

AT THE SOUTH KENSINGTON MUSEUM—BEFORE “THE TURNERS.”

AT FLORENCE—BEFORE THE “VENUS DE MEDICI.”

IN THE VATICAN—BEFORE THE FRESCOES OF THE “STANZE DI RAFFAELLO.”

IN ITALY—1860.

[So this is yours, our Wordsworth's pictured face]

[What! Gad's Hill's haunted greenness you have seen.]

IN THE DULWICH GALLERY—BEFORE MURILLO'S “FLOWER-GIRL.”

AT MILAN—IN THE CONVENT OF THE MADONNA DELLE GRAZIE.

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

AT ALFRED TENNYSON'S.

AT ROME—IN THE FORUM.

IN THE TOWER OF LONDON.

WRITTEN IN NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE'S “TRANSFORMATION.”

IN PARIS—AT THE LOUVRE—BEFORE MURILLO'S “IMMACULATE CONCEPTION.”

IN LONDON—BEFORE HOLMAN HUNT'S “FINDING OF CHRIST IN THE TEMPLE.”

[And of our great ones, him you should have known]

AT ROME—BEFORE ST. PETER'S.

AT ROME—IN ST. PETER'S.

IN LONDON—BEFORE ST. PAUL'S.

IN LONDON—IN TRAFALGAR-SQUARE—BEFORE THE STATUE OF GENERAL SIR CHARLES JAMES NAPIER.

AT FLORENCE—IN FRA ANGELICO'S CELL IN THE CONVENT OF ST. MARK.

AT ROME—IN THE FORUM.

ON A PHOTOGRAPH OF TASSO.

ON A PHOTOGRAPH OF DANTE.

AT FLORENCE—IN SANTA CROCE—BY THE TOMB OF MACHIAVELLI.

AT PISA—IN THE CAMPO SANTO—BEFORE THE FRESCOES AND TOMB OF BENOZZO GOZZOLI.

IN LONDON—BEFORE MR. CROPSEY'S “AUTUMN ON THE HUDSON.”

TO MARY HOWITT.

TO MARY RUSSELL MITFORD.

A RECOLLECTION OF THE PERFORMANCE OF “ION.”

WRITTEN IN MACAULAY'S “LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME.”

MOTHERWELL'S GRAVE.

AT ROME—ON THE PINCIAN HILL.

[Would God had homed me near your fireside, friends]

[Yours be a life of pleasure, lapp'd in ease]

BEFORE MR. JOHN RUSKIN'S “TURNERS,” AT DENMARK HILL.

WRITTEN IN DR. HOLMES'S “ELSIE VENNER.”

WRITTEN IN “EMERSON'S ESSAYS.”

collapse section

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

[What! Gad's Hill's haunted greenness you have seen.]

What! Gad's Hill's haunted greenness you have seen.
There is a subtle spirit in its air;
The very soul of humour homes it there;
So is it now: of old so has it been;
Shakespeare from off it caught the rarest scene
That ever shook with laughs the sides of care;
Falstaff's fine instinct for a Prince grew where
That hill—what years since!—showed its Kentish green.
Fit home for England's world-loved Dickens, here
How fitly first the breath of earth he drew.
Here did the spirit of Shakespeare linger near
His dreaming cradle, as the boy he grew,
Whispering what fancies into his young ear,
Rare wit, deep humour, O how dear and true!