Poems begining by A
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Astrophel and Stella: 1
© Sir Philip Sidney
Loving in truth, and faine in verse my loue to show,That she (deare she) might take some pleasure of my paine:Pleasure might cause her reade, reading might make her know,Knowledge might pittie winne, and pittie grace obtaine,I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe,Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertaine:Oft turning others leaues, to see if thence would flowSome fresh and fruitfull showers vpon my sunne-burn'd braine
A Year and a Day
© Siddall Elizabeth
Slow days have passed that make a year, Slow hours that make a day,Since I could take my first dear love And kiss him the old way;Yet the green leaves touch me on the cheek, Dear Christ, this month of May
A Pastoral Ballad, Absence
© William Shenstone
Ye shepherds so cheerful and gay, Whose flocks never carelessly roam;Should Corydon's happen to stray, Oh! call the poor wanderers home
A Midsummer Night's Dream (excerpts): Lovers and mad men have such seething brains
© William Shakespeare
Lovers and mad men have such seething brains,Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend moreThan cool reason ever comprehends
All's Well that Ends Well (excerpts): Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie
© William Shakespeare
Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,Which we ascribe to heaven
A Song of Renunciation
© Seaman Owen
In the days of my season of salad, When the down was as dew on my cheek,And for French I was bred on the ballad, For Greek on the writers of Greek,--Then I sang of the rose that is ruddy, Of "pleasure that winces and stings,"Of white women and wine that is bloody, And similar things
A New Profession
© Seaman Owen
My hopeless boy! when I compare (Claiming a father's right to do so)Your hollow brain, your vacuous air,With all the time, and wealth and care Lavished upon your mental trousseau;
All the Spikes But the Last
© Scott Francis Reginald
Where are the coolies in your poem, Ned?Where are the thousands from China who swung their picks with bare hands at forty below?
A Life on the Ocean Wave
© Sargent Epes
A life on the ocean wave, A home on the rolling deep;Where the scattered waters rave, And the winds their revels keep!Like an eagle caged, I pine On this dull, unchanging shore:O! give me the flashing brine
A Prayer for Yeats's Son
© Rowley Rosemarie
Once more the mob is howling and half hidUnder the cupola of the dustbin lidMy child screams on: there is no obstacleSave Paul's edict and the seven bare hillsWhereby the television, and unrestBred in the church for centuries, can be stayedAnd for an hour I have walked and prayedBecause there is no room for my kind
A Poem
© Majeed Amjad
On a heap of squalid unscrubbed pans
immersed in simmering scalding water
the toiling sweating hands do seek
the blessed home
for ages they have thought and dreamed.
After Communion
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Why should I call Thee Lord, Who art my God? Why should I call Thee Friend, Who are my Love? Or King, Who art my very Spouse above?Or call Thy sceptre on my heart Thy rod? Lo now Thy banner over me is love,All heaven flies open to me at Thy nod:For Thou hast lit Thy flame in me a clod, Made me a nest for dwelling of Thy Dove
Art
© Robertson William John
Art's noblest work from thingsRebellious to the trammel She wrings:Rhyme, marble, gem, enamel.
An Epitaph for a Husbandman
© Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
He who would start and rise Before the crowing cocks, --No more he lifts his eyes, Whoever knocks.
Ave! (An Ode for the Shelley Centenary, 1892)
© Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
I Wide marshes ever washed in clearest air,Whether beneath the sole and spectral star The dear severity of dawn you wear,Or whether in the joy of ample day And speechless ecstasy of growing JuneYou lie and dream the long blue hours away Till nightfall comes too soon,Or whether, naked to the unstarred night,You strike with wondering awe my inward sight, --
II Go forth to you with longing, though the yearsThat turn not back like your returning streams And fain would mist the memory with tears,Though the inexorable years deny My feet the fellowship of your deep grass,O'er which, as o'er another, tenderer sky, Cloud phantoms drift and pass, --You know my confident love, since first, a child,Amid your wastes of green I wandered wild
A World of Light
© Reibetanz John
If I close my eyes now, I can still see themcanopied by the visor of my sunhat:three children islanded on a narrow rimof earth between the huge crack-willow thatthey squat before, hushed, poised to net a frog,and the pond the frog will jump to (it got away)a glass its dive will shatter
An Offering
© Reibetanz John
When a creature dies ... the fleshand soft parts of the body rot quickly.All that is left are the bones and teeth. (textbook entry on 'fossils')
A Chest of Angels
© Reibetanz John
'I have always felt that desolation,that hell itself, is most powerfully expressedin an uninhabited natural landscapeat its bleakest.' - Anthony Hecht
