Jean Ingelow
Jean Ingelow
Jean Ingelow, was an English poet and novelist...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth17 March 1820
fog long desert
The red Sahara in an angry glow, / With amber fogs, across its hollows trailed / Long strings of camels, gloomy-eyed and slow ...
life long desire
From henceforth thou shalt learn that there is love To long for, pureness to desire, a mount Of consecration it were good to scale.
time long happy-day
How short our happy days appear! How long the sorrowful!
summer spring long
I wish, and I wish that the spring would go faster, Nor long summer bide so late; And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster, For some things are ill to wait.
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?
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.
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!
work heart doe
For hearts where wakened love doth lurk, How fine, how blest a thing is work! For work does good when reasons fail.
moon heaven faces
You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven / That God has hidden your face?
work sea afar
Work is its own best earthly meed, Else have we none more than the sea-born throng Who wrought those marvellous isles that bloom afar.
women sage poet
O woman! thou wert fashioned to beguile: So have all sages said, all poets sung.