Jean Ingelow
Jean Ingelow
Jean Ingelow, was an English poet and novelist...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth17 March 1820
flower moon night
The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but one moon.
flower good-day light
Her face betokened all things dear and good, The light of somewhat yet to come was there Asleep, and waiting for the opening day, When childish thoughts, like flowers would drift away.
flower daffodil
O fateful flower beside the rill- The Daffodil, the daffodil!
flower wine moon
Such a slender moon, going up and up, Waxing so fast from night to night, And swelling like an orange flower-bud, bright, Fated, methought, to round as to a golden cup, And hold to my two lips life's best of wine.
english-poet
Against her ankles as she trod The lucky buttercups did nod.
god hidden wrong
You Moon! Have you done something wrong in heaven, / That God has hidden your face?
sweet feet crowds
Crowds of bees are giddy with clover Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet, Crowds of larks at their matins hang over, Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet.
happiness song heart
I opened the doors of my heart. And behold, There was music within and a song, And echoes did feed on the sweetness, repeating it long. I opened the doors of my heart. And behold, There was music that played itself out in aeolian notes: Then was heard, as a far-away bell at long intervals tolled.
feet rose wealth
And the guelder rose In a great stillness dropped, and ever dropped, Her wealth about her feet.
tired sleep healing
O sleep! O sleep! Do not forget me. Sometimes come and sweep, Now I have nothing left, thy healing hand Over the lids that crave thy visits bland, Thou kind, thou comforting one. For I have seen his face, as I desired, And all my story is done. O, I am tired.
children sleep angel
O sleep, we are beholden to thee, sleep; Thou bearest angels to us in the night, Saints out of heaven with palms. Seen by thy light Sorrow is some old tale that goeth not deep; Love is a pouting child.
sweet spring past
What change has made the pastures sweet And reached the daisies at my feet, And cloud that wears a golden hem? This lovely world, the hills, the sward-- They all look fresh, as if our Lord But yesterday had finished them.
mother humble mind
When our thoughts are born, Though they be good and humble, one should mind How they are reared, or some will go astray And shame their mother.
stars twilight moon
The moon is bleached as white as wool, And just dropping under; Every star is gone but three, And they hang far asunder,-- There's a sea-ghost all in gray, A tall shape of wonder!