Throughout history, queens always play a huge role along with kings. From praising their beauty to grieving their loss, these queen poems capture the essence of what it means to be a queen in stunning detail. Whether you’re a fan of English poetry or not, you’ll definitely love these reads.
1. The Bells and Queen Victoria by Rudyard Kipling
“Gay go up and gay go down
To ring the Bells of London Town.”
When London Town’s asleep in bed
You’ll hear the Bells ring overhead.
In excelsis gloria!
Ringing for Victoria,
Ringing for their mighty mistress–ten years dead!
THE BELLS:
Here is more gain than Gloriana guessed–
Then Gloriana guessed or Indies bring–
Then golden Indies bring. A Queen confessed–
A Queen confessed that crowned her people King.
Her people King, and crowned a11 Kings above,
Above a11 Kings have crowned their Queen their love–
Have crowned their love their Queen, their Queen their love!
Denying her, we do ourselves deny,
Disowning her are we ourselves disowned.
Mirror was she of our fidelity,
And handmaid of our destiny enthroned;
The very marrow of Youth’s dream, and still
Yoke-mate of wisest Age that worked her will!
Our fathers had declared to us her praise–
Her praise the years had proven past all speech.
And past all speech our loyal hearts always,
Always our hearts lay open, each to each–
Therefore men gave the treasure of their blood
To this one woman–for she understood!
Four o’ the clock! Now all the world is still.
Oh, London Bells, to all the world declare
The Secret of the Empire–read who will!
The Glory of the People–touch who dare!
THE BELLS:
Power that has reached itself all kingly powers,
St. Margaret’s: By love o’erpowered–
St. Martin’s: By love o’erpowered–
St. Clement Danes: By love o’erpowered,
The greater power confers!
THE BELLS:
For we were hers, as she, as she was ours,
Bow Bells: And she was ours–
St. Paul’s: And she was ours–
Westminister: And she was ours,
As we, even we, were hers!
THE BELLS
As we were hers!
2. Queen Of Queens by Bette Dalia
I sit on my throne with my king at hand
The slaves bowing at the point of my shoes
know that I’m Queen tall I will stand
I will only eat the finest of the royal fruits
I shall shower in silver and gold
Only the finest of the finest shall enter my castle
Now young, but I shall rule until I’m old
I dare thee to disobey and cause a hassle
Off with your head shall you commit such injustice
Foreigners will hear and fear my reign
For me to be queen is my purpose
I have made it clear that this is my terrain
3. A Farewell To Arms (To Queen Elizabeth) by George Peele
HIS golden locks Time hath to silver turn’d;
O Time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing!
His youth ‘gainst time and age hath ever spurn’d,
But spurn’d in vain; youth waneth by increasing:
Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen;
Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green.
His helmet now shall make a hive for bees;
And, lovers’ sonnets turn’d to holy psalms,
A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers, which are Age his alms:
But though from court to cottage he depart,
His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart.
And when he saddest sits in homely cell,
He’ll teach his swains this carol for a song,–
‘Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well,
Curst be the souls that think her any wrong.’
Goddess, allow this aged man his right
To be your beadsman now that was your knight.
4. Dirge Of The Three Queens by William Shakespeare
URNS and odours bring away!
Vapours, sighs, darken the day!
Our dole more deadly looks than dying;
Balms and gums and heavy cheers,
Sacred vials fill’d with tears,
And clamours through the wild air flying!
Come, all sad and solemn shows,
That are quick-eyed Pleasure’s foes!
We convent naught else but woes.
5. To The Queen by Alfred Lord Tennyson
O loyal to the royal in thyself,
And loyal to thy land, as this to thee–
Bear witness, that rememberable day,
When, pale as yet, and fever-worn, the Prince
Who scarce had plucked his flickering life again
From halfway down the shadow of the grave,
Past with thee through thy people and their love,
And London rolled one tide of joy through all
Her trebled millions, and loud leagues of man
And welcome! witness, too, the silent cry,
The prayer of many a race and creed, and clime–
Thunderless lightnings striking under sea
From sunset and sunrise of all thy realm,
And that true North, whereof we lately heard
A strain to shame us ‘keep you to yourselves;
So loyal is too costly! friends–your love
Is but a burthen: loose the bond, and go.’
Is this the tone of empire? here the faith
That made us rulers? this, indeed, her voice
And meaning, whom the roar of Hougoumont
Left mightiest of all peoples under heaven?
What shock has fooled her since, that she should speak
So feebly? wealthier–wealthier–hour by hour!
The voice of Britain, or a sinking land,
Some third-rate isle half-lost among her seas?
THERE rang her voice, when the full city pealed
Thee and thy Prince! The loyal to their crown
Are loyal to their own far sons, who love
Our ocean-empire with her boundless homes
For ever-broadening England, and her throne
In our vast Orient, and one isle, one isle,
That knows not her own greatness: if she knows
And dreads it we are fallen. –But thou, my Queen,
Not for itself, but through thy living love
For one to whom I made it o’er his grave
Sacred, accept this old imperfect tale,
New-old, and shadowing Sense at war with Soul,
Ideal manhood closed in real man,
Rather than that gray king, whose name, a ghost,
Streams like a cloud, man-shaped, from mountain peak,
And cleaves to cairn and cromlech still; or him
Of Geoffrey’s book, or him of Malleor’s, one
Touched by the adulterous finger of a time
That hovered between war and wantonness,
And crownings and dethronements: take withal
Thy poet’s blessing, and his trust that Heaven
Will blow the tempest in the distance back
From thine and ours: for some are sacred, who mark,
Or wisely or unwisely, signs of storm,
Waverings of every vane with every wind,
And wordy trucklings to the transient hour,
And fierce or careless looseners of the faith,
And Softness breeding scorn of simple life,
Or Cowardice, the child of lust for gold,
Or Labour, with a groan and not a voice,
Or Art with poisonous honey stolen from France,
And that which knows, but careful for itself,
And that which knows not, ruling that which knows
To its own harm: the goal of this great world
Lies beyond sight: yet–if our slowly-grown
And crowned Republic’s crowning common-sense,
That saved her many times, not fail–their fears
Are morning shadows huger than the shapes
That cast them, not those gloomier which forego
The darkness of that battle in the West,
Where all of high and holy dies away.
Final thoughts
Queens have been adored for centuries for their wisdom and deep understanding of love. Some of us have had the fortune to be in their presence, and we still remember how engaging and inspiring they were. Below are some other suggestions you might like:
- 16+ Best Poems Dedicated To All The Single Moms Out There
- Enjambment in Poetry: Incomplete Lines That Complete Poems
Thomas Dao is the guy who created Poem Home, a website where people can read about all things poetry related. When he’s not busy working on his next project, you can find him reading a good book or spending time with family and friends.
