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The Archangel Gabriel
Poets have existed since antiquity, in nearly all languages, and have produced works that vary greatly in different cultures and time periods.
The Middle Ages (1064 -1485) There were well known poets during this time period, namely French composer-poet Guillaume de Machaut and Geoffrey Chaucer, Archbishop of Canterbury.
The Renaissance is the period 1420-1630, predated by the middle ages and followed by the early modern era. The three great poetic geniuses were Christopher Marlowe, Edmund Spenser, and William Shakespeare.
The Elizabethan era is associated with Queen Elizabeth I's reign (1558–1603) and is often considered to be the golden age in English history.
The Jacobean era refers to the period in English and Scottish history that coincides with the reign of King James I (1603–1625) of England
The Victorian era of the United Kingdom was the period of Queen Victoria's reign from June 1837 to January 1901. This is the longest reign in British history. The British Poet Laureate was considered to be Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
Selected poems, some showing only a few verses, represent the numerous times the word "angel" usually appears, follow:
"O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art
As glorious to this night, beign o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him,
When he bestrides the lazy puffing clouds,
And sails upon the bosom of the air."
William Shalespeare (1564 - 1616)
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields...
And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle:
A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair-lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold...
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning;
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.
Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593)
Angels are with you every step of the way
And help you soar with amazing grace
After all, we are Angels in training
All we have to do is spread our wings .. and fly
Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886)
"It was wrong to do this," said the angel.
"You should live like a flower,
Holding malice like a puppy,
Waging war like a lambkin."
"Not so," quoth the man
Who had no fear of spirits;
"It is only wrong for angels
Who can live like the flowers,
Holding malice like the puppies,
Waging war like the lambkins."
Stephen Crane (1871-1900)
And ask ye why these sad tears stream?
Why these wan eyes are dim with weeping?
I had a dream–a lovely dream,
Of her that in the grave is sleeping.
I saw her as ’twas yesterday,
The bloom upon her cheek still glowing;
And round her play’d a golden ray,
And on her brows were gay flowers blowing.
With angel-hand she swept a lyre,
A garland red with roses bound it;
Its strings were wreath’d with lambent fire
And amaranth was woven round it.
I saw her mid the realms of light,
In everlasting radiance gleaming;
Co-equal with the seraphs bright,
Mid thousand thousand angels beaming.
I strove to reach her, when, behold,
Those fairy forms of bliss Elysian,
And all that rich scene wrapt in gold,
Faded in air–a lovely vision!
And I awoke, but oh! to me
That waking hour was doubly weary;
And yet I could not envy thee,
Although so blest, and I so dreary.
Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)
I Dreamt a Dream! what can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen:
Guarded by an Angel mild;
Witless woe, was neer beguil'd!
And I wept both night and day
And he wip'd my tears away
And I wept both day and night
And hid from him my hearts delight
So he took his wings and fled:
Then the morn blush'd rosy red:
I dried my tears & armd my fears,
With ten thousand shields and spears.
Soon my Angel came again;
I was arm'd, he came in vain:
For the time of youth was fled
And grey hairs were on my head
William Blake (1757-1827)
"Think, In mounting higher
The angels would press on us, and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence."
Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)
Footsteps of Angels
When the hours of Day are numbered,
And the voices of the Night
Wake the better soul, that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight;.....
Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful firelight
Dance upon the parlor wall;
Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door;
The beloved, the true-hearted,
Come to visit me once more;
With a slow and noiseless footstep
Comes that messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays her gentle hand in mine.
And she sits and gazes at me
With those deep and tender eyes,
Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downward from the skies.
Uttered not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.
Oh, though oft depressed and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside,
If I but remember only
Such as these have lived and died!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(1807-1882)
An Angel in the House
How sweet it were, if without feeble fright,
Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight,
An angel came to us, and we could bear
To see him issue from the silent air
At evening in our room, and bend on ours
His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowers
News of dear friends, and children who have never
Been dead indeed,--as we shall know forever.
Alas! we think not what we daily see
About our hearths,--angels that are to be,
Or may be if they will, and we prepare
Their souls and ours to meet in happy air;--
A child, a friend, a wife whose soft heart sings
In unison with ours, breeding its future wings.
James Henry Leigh Hunt (1784 - 1859)
The following poem is one of my favorites.
It is my pleasure to share it with you:
No man is an island
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
John Donne (1572-1631)
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