Have you ever dreamed of escaping to a magical world filled with enchanting princesses?
Here are 10 whimsical poems that celebrate the charm and grace of princesses, each one offering a unique glimpse into their fantastical lives.
These verses will transport you to enchanted castles, lush gardens, and moments of pure wonder.
Let’s jump right in!
My favorite poem about princesses
#1 “A Song of the Princess” by Sara Teasdale
The princess has her lovers,
A score of knights has she,
And each can sing a madrigal,
And praise her gracefully.
But Love that is so bitter
Hath put within her heart
A longing for the scornful knight
Who silent stands apart.
And tho’ the others praise and plead,
She maketh no reply,
Yet for a single word from him,
I ween that she would die.
I love this poem because it captures the princess’s bittersweet longing for the one knight who remains distant, despite being surrounded by admirers.
It’s relatable and reminds me that even those in fairy tales can feel the ache of unrequited love.
9 more poems about princesses
#2 “Born to the Purple” by James Whitcomb Riley
Most-like it was this kingly lad
Spake out of the pure joy he had
In his child -heart of the wee maid
Whose eerie beauty sudden laid
A spell upon him, and his words
Burst as a song of any bird’s:
A peerless Princess thou shalt be,
Through wit of love’s rare sorcery:
To crown the crown of thy gold hair
Thou shalt have rubies, bleeding there
Their crimson splendor midst the marred
Pulp of great pearls, and afterward
Leaking in fainter ruddy stains
Adown thy neck -and – armlet- chains
Of turquoise, chrysoprase, and mad
Light- frenzied diamonds, dartling glad
Swift spirts of shine that interfuse
As though with lucent crystal dews
That glance and glitter like split rays
Of sunshine, born of burgeoning Mays
When the first bee tilts down the lip
Of the first blossom, and the drip
Of blended dew and honey heaves
Him blinded midst the underleaves.
For raiment, Fays shall weave for thee
Out of the phosphor of the sea
And the frayed floss of starlight, spun
With counterwarp of the firm sun
A vesture of such filmy sheen
As, through all ages, never queen
Therewith strove truly to make less
One fair line of her loveliness.
Thus gowned and crowned with gems and gold,
Thou shalt, through centuries untold,
Rule, ever young and ever fair,
As now thou rulest, smiling there.
#3 “A Great Princess” by John Donne
III.
Up then faire Phœnix Bride, frustrate the Sunne,
Thy selfe from thine affection
Takest warmth enough, and from thine eye
All lesser birds will take their Jollitie.
Up, up, faire Bride, and call,
Thy starres, from out their severall boxes, take
Thy Rubies, Pearles, and Diamonds forth, and make
Thy selfe a constellation, of them All,
And by their blazing, signifie,
That a Great Princess falls, but doth not die;
Bee thou a new starre, that to us portends
Ends of much wonder; And be Thou those ends.
Since thou dost this day in new glory shine,
May all men date Records, from this thy Valentine.
#4 “Lady Hamilton” by Muriel Stuart
Men wondered why I loved you, and none guessed
How sweet your slow, divine stupidity,
Your look of earth, your sense of drowsy rest,
So rich, so strange, so all unlike my sea.
After the temper of my sails, my lean
Tall masts, you were the lure of harbour hours,–
A sleepy landscape warm and very green,
Where browsing creatures stare above still flowers.
These salt hands holding sweetness, the leader led,
A slave, too happy and crazed to rule,
Sea land-locked, brine and honey in one bed,
And Englands’s man your servant and your fool!
My banqueting eyes foreswore my waiting ships;
I was a silly landsman at your lips.
#5 “Pomare” by Heinrich Heine (Edgar Alfred Bowring, Translator)
1.
All the gods of love are shouting
In my heart, and blowing airy
Flourishes, and crying: “Hail!
“Hail, thou mighty queen Pomare!”
Not the queen of Otaheite
Whom ’twas missionaries’ duty
To convert; no, she I mean
Is a wild untutor’d beauty.
Twice in every week appears she,
All her subjects quite entrancing
In that dear Jardin Mabille,
Waltzes and the polka dancing.
Majesty in all her footsteps,
Grace and beauty ne’er forsake her,
Quite a princess every inch,
Whichsoever way you take her.
Thus she dances—gods of love are
In my heart all blowing airy
Flourishes, and crying: “Hail!
“Hail, thou mighty queen Pomare!”
#6 “The Escaped Princess” by Wilfred Rowland Childe
II.
In the high town’s last inn the soul sits down,
Drinks ale with her fair lover in the inn :
Ah no, the proud one thinks it not a sin,
Laughter in that last tavern of the town.
a She has red lips, and he a cloak of red ;
She comes from pasturing in lonely lands
Desires, pale things, in melancholy herds :
But now for her’s a cage of snow -white birds,
She holds the amber draught between her hands,
And on his bright breast leans her floral head.
#7 “Song: The Princesses Were Singing” by Arthur Davison Ficke
“The Princesses were singing
Before the belted Lords,
Heads high, with sweet lips ringing,
And the Minstrel gave the words.
“But the Eldest Princess only
Lingered upon each note,
And a beauty strange and lonely
Was on her soft white throat,
“A beauty that half was sadness,
Or full-bloomed Summer’s pain,
More deep than the Spring’s swift gladness,
And touched with the Autumn rain.
“And I think that the Princess trembled
With the dream of a far desire;
And the passion in pride dissembled
Glowed up to her lips like fire,
“As she sang the song of the Minstrel
Who gave her the tender words,
As he stood in the hidden shadow
Behind the smiling Lords.
“For he was a boy, the Minstrel,
And his ways lay far apart.
But all men’s ways were his ways,
For he had the poet’s heart.
“And he saw the Eldest Princess
Like a flower on the heights above.
And he trembled below in silence
For her loneliness of love.
“But the Princesses still were singing
Before the smiling Lords,
Heads high, with sweet lips ringing,
And the Minstrel gave the words.
“‘Tis an old and well- worn story,
But I think that it once came true.
For I know the dream of the Princess,
And the Princess who dreamed was you.”
#8 “To the Princess Lucretia By Torquato Tasso” (Jeremiah Holmes Wiffen, Translator)
Thou, lady, in thine early days
Of life didst seem a purple rose,
That dreads the suitor sun’s warm rays,
Nor dares its virgin breast disclose;
But coy, and crimsoning to be seen,
Lies folded yet in leaves of green.
Or rather (for no earthly thing
Was like thee then), thou didst appear
Divine Aurora, when her wing
On every blossom shakes a tear,
And spangled o’er with dewdrops cold,
The mountain summits tints with gold.
Those days are past; yet from thy face
No charm the speeding years have snatched,
But left it ripening every grace,
In perfect loveliness, unmatched
By what thou wert, when, young and shy,
Thy timid graces shunned the eye.
More lovely looks the flower matured,
When full its fragrant leaves it spreads;
More rich the sun, when, unobscured,
At noon a brighter beam it sheds:
Thou, in thy beauty, blendest both
The sun’s ascent and rose’s growth.
#9 “The Princess in the Tower” by Sara Teasdale
The Princess sings:
I am the princess up in the tower
And I dream the whole day thro’
Of a knight who shall come with a silver spear
And a waving plume of blue.
I am the princess up in the tower,
And I dream my dreams by day,
But sometimes I wake, and my eyes are wet,
When the dusk is deep and gray.
For the peasant lovers go by beneath,
I hear them laugh and kiss,
And I forget my day-dream knight,
And long for a love like this.
II
The Minstrel sings:
I lie beside the princess’ tower,
So close she cannot see my face,
And watch her dreaming all day long,
And bending with a lily’s grace.
Her cheeks are paler than the moon
That sails along a sunny sky,
And yet her silent mouth is red
Where tender words and kisses lie.
I am a minstrel with a harp,
For love of her my songs are sweet,
And yet I dare not lift the voice
That lies so far beneath her feet.
III
The Knight sings:
O princess cease your dreams awhile
And look adown your tower’s gray side,
The princess gazes far away,
Nor hears nor heeds the words I cried.
Perchance my heart was overbold,
God made her dreams too pure to break,
She sees the angels in the air
Fly to and fro for Mary’s sake.
Farewell, I mount and go my way,
But oh her hair the sun sifts thro’,
The tilts and tourneys wait my spear,
I am the Knight of the Plume of Blue.
#10 “Envoi” by Brian Hooker
Princess, you gaze in a reverie
Where the drowsy firelight redly glows ;
Slowly you raise your eyes to me.
A petal falls from the Dreamland Rose.