Poems begining by A
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A Phonecall from Frank O’Hara
© Anne Waldman
“That all these dyings may be life in death”
I was living in San Francisco
Abu Midjan
© Archibald Lampman
Underneath a tree at noontide
Abu Midjan sits distressed,
Fetters on his wrists and ancles,
And his chin upon his breast;
A Time Past
© Denise Levertov
The old wooden steps to the front door
where I was sitting that fall morning
After Making Love We Hear Footsteps
© Washington Allston
In the half darkness we look at each other
and smile
and touch arms across this little, startlingly muscled body—
this one whom habit of memory propels to the ground of his making,
sleeper only the mortal sounds can sing awake,
this blessing love gives again into our arms.
A ceux qui sont petits
© Victor Marie Hugo
Est-ce ma faute à moi si vous n'êtes pas grands ?
Vous aimez les hiboux, les fouines, les tyrans,
A Death in the Desert
© Robert Browning
Then Xanthus said a prayer, but still he slept:
It is the Xanthus that escaped to Rome,
Was burned, and could not write the chronicle.
A Shropshire Lad XXX: Others, I am not the first
© Alfred Edward Housman
Others, I am not the first,
Have willed more mischief than they durst:
If in the breathless night I too
Shiver now, 'tis nothing new.
An Epitaph 3 (From The Greek)
© William Cowper
Painter, this likeness is too strong,
And we shall mourn the dead too long.
Another Night in the Ruins
© Washington Allston
5
I listen.
I hear nothing. Only
the cow, the cow of such
hollowness, mooing
down the bones.
Archaic Fragment
© Louise Gluck
I was trying to love matter.
I taped a sign over the mirror:
You cannot hate matter and love form.
A Year and a Day
© Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal
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 Walk at Sunset
© William Cullen Bryant
When insect wings are glistening in the beam
Of the low sun, and mountain-tops are bright,
Oh, let me, by the crystal valley-stream,
Wander amid the mild and mellow light;
And while the wood-thrush pipes his evening lay,
Give me one lonely hour to hymn the setting day.
A Happy Childhood
© William Matthews
No one keeps a secret so well as a child
Victor Hugo
My mother stands at the screen door, laughing.
“Out out damn Spot,” she commands our silly dog.
I wonder what this means. I rise into adult air
An Epistle: (To N.A.)
© William Watson
So, into Cornwall you go down,
And leave me loitering here in town.
A Letter in October
© Ted Kooser
Dawn comes later and later now,
and I, who only a month ago
could sit with coffee every morning
watching the light walk down the hill
to the edge of the pond and place
a doe there, shyly drinking,
At Tynemouth Priory
© William Lisle Bowles
AFTER A TEMPESTUOUS VOYAGE.
As slow I climb the cliff's ascending side,
Aeneid, II, 692 - end
© Virgil
As he spoke we could hear, ever more loudly, the noise
Of the burning fires; the flood of flames was coming
A Ballad of Baseball Burdens
© Edwin Morgan
Ah, Fans, let not the Quarry but the Chase
Be that to which most fondly we aspire!
For us not Stake, but Game; not Goal, but Race—
THIS is the end of every fan’s desire.
