Poems begining by A

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All White

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

All white, all light, all beautiful she stands,
Love in her eyes, a glory round her brows,
Blanched as the lilies chaste in her chaste hands.
Even so God's saints in their celestial house.

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

A Song Of Greek Prose

© Robert Fuller Murray

Thrice happy are those
Who ne'er heard of Greek Prose
Or Greek Poetry either, as far as that goes;
For Liddell and Scott
Shall cumber them not,
Nor Sargent nor Sidgwick shall break their repose.

A Room In The Villa Taverna

© Frances Anne Kemble

Three windows cheerfully poured in the light:

One from the east, where o'er the Sabine hills

A Rustic Seat Near The Sea

© William Lisle Bowles

To him, who, many a night upon the main,

At mid-watch, from the bounding vessel's side,

Annihilation

© Conrad Aiken

While the blue noon above us arches,
And the poplar sheds disconsolate leaves,
Tell me again why love bewitches,
And what love gives.

A Slight Misunderstanding at the Jasper Gate

© Henry Lawson

Oh, do you hear the argument, far up above the skies?

The voice of old Saint Peter, in expostulation rise?

An Old Doll

© Ada Cambridge

Low on her little stool she sits
To make a nursing lap,
And cares for nothing but the form
Her little arms enwrap.

A Question

© Francis Thompson

O bird with heart of wassail,
That toss the Bacchic branch,
And slip your shaken music,
An elfin avalanche;

All here

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

IT is not what we say or sing,

That keeps our charm so long unbroken,

Anchored To The Infinite

The builder who first bridged Niagaras gorge,

Before he swung his cable, shore to shore,

Afterwards by David Baker: American Life in Poetry #133 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006

© Ted Kooser

It may be that we are most alone when attending funerals, at least that's how it seems to me. By alone I mean that even among throngs of mourners we pull back within ourselves and peer out at life as if through a window. David Baker, an Ohio poet, offers us a picture of a funeral that could be anybody's.
Afterwards

A short ride in the van, then the eight of us
there in the heatâwhite shirtsleeves sticking,
the women's gloves offâfanning our faces.
The workers had set up a big blue tent

AN ELEGY Occasioned by the losse of the most incomparable Lady Stanhope, daughter to the Earl of Nor

© Henry King

Lightned by that dimme Torch our sorrow bears
We sadly trace thy Coffin with our tears;
And though the Ceremonious Rites are past
Since thy fair body into earth was cast;