Poems begining by A
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Amongst the Roses
© Henry Kendall
I walked through a Forest, beneath the hot noon,
On Etheline calling and calling!
Auri Sacra Fames
© George Essex Evans
Gone are the mists of old in the light of the larger day!
Gone is the foolish hope, the trust in a Power above!
Science has swept the heavens and brushed religion away!
What need we hope or fear? Warfare is clothed like Love!
Priestcraft is but a tradesouls can be bought and sold!
Why should we seek for a godnow that our god is Gold?
A Great Lady
© Carolyn Wells
This is the Queen of Nonsense Land,
She wears her bonnet on her hand;
She carpets her ceilings and frescos her floors,
She eats on her windows and sleeps on her doors.
Oh, ho! Oh, ho! to think there could be
A lady so silly-down-dilly as she!
A Pastoral
© Nicholas Breton
On a hill there grows a flower,
Fair befall the dainty sweet!
By that flower there is a bower
Where the heavenly Muses meet.
At The River
© Robert Wadsworth Lowry
Shall we gather at the river,
Where bright angel feet have trod,
A Little Bit Of Garden
© William Henry Ogilvie
We need no crown or sceptre,
for now that it is spring,
just a little bit of garden-
and every man's a king!
Across The Door
© Padraic Colum
THE fiddles were playing and playing,
The couples were out on the floor;
From converse and dancing he drew me,
And across the door.
An Evening Prayer
© George MacDonald
I am a bubble
Upon thy ever-moving, resting sea:
Oh, rest me now from tossing, trespass, trouble!
Take me down into thee.
Absence
© James Russell Lowell
Sleep is Death's image,--poets tell us so;
But Absence is the bitter self of Death,
And, you away, Life's lips their red forego,
Parched in an air unfreshened by your breath.
An Ode, Written October, 1819, Before The Spaniards Had Recovered Their Liberty
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Arise, arise, arise!
There is blood on the earth that denies ye bread;
Be your wounds like eyes
To weep for the dead, the dead, the dead.
A Creed
© Edwin Markham
There is a destiny that makes us brothers:
None goes his way alone:
All that we send into the lives of others
Comes back into our own.
A Picture
© John Henry Newman
"The maiden is not dead, but sleepeth."
She is not gone;still in our sight
That dearest maid shall live,
In form as true, in tints as bright,
As youth and health could give.
After The Quarrel
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
SO we, who've supped the self-same cup,
To-night must lay our friendship by;
A Ballad Sent to King Richard
© Geoffrey Chaucer
Sometime this world was so steadfast and stable,
That man's word was held obligation;
Aspects Of The Pines
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
Tall, somber, grim, against the morning sky
They rise, scarce touched by melancholy airs,
Which stir the fadeless foliage dreamfully,
As if from realms of mystical despairs.
A Huguenot
© Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
Oh, a gallant set were they,
As they charged on us that day,
A thousand riding like one!
Their trumpets crying,
And their white plumes flying,
And their sabres flashing in the sun.
