Poems begining by A
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A Storm In Summer
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Nature that day a woman was in weakness,
A woman in her impotent high wrath.
At the dawn we watched it, a low cloud half seen
Under the sun; an innocent child's face
A Glass Of Wine
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
"What's in a glass of wine?"
There, set the glass where I can look within.
A Colloquial Reply: To Any Newsboy
© Vachel Lindsay
If you lay for Iago at the stage door with a brick
You have missed the moral of the play.
A Song From 'The Player Queen'
© William Butler Yeats
My mother dandled me and sang,
'How young it is, how young!'
And made a golden cradle
That on a willow swung.
A Woman's Question
© Adelaide Anne Procter
Before I trust my fate to thee,
Or place my hand in thine,
A Parable.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
I PICKED a rustic nosegay lately,
And bore it homewards, musing greatly;
When, heated by my hand, I found
The heads all drooping tow'rd the ground.
Addressed To A Young Man Of Fortune Who Abandoned Himself To An Indolent And Causeless Melancholy
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Hence that fantastic wantonness of woe,
O Youth to partial Fortune vainly dear!
To plunder'd Want's half-shelter'd hovel go,
Go, and some hunger-bitten infant hear
A Child
© William Ernest Henley
A child,
Curious and innocent,
Slips from his Nurse, and rejoicing
Loses himself in the Fair.
Anacreon's Grave.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
HERE where the roses blossom, where vines round the laurels are
twining,Where the turtle-dove calls, where the blithe cricket is heard,
Say, whose grave can this be, with life by all the ImmortalsBeauteously planted and deck'd?--Here doth Anacreon sleep
Spring and summer and autumn rejoiced the thrice-happy minstrel,And from the winter this mound kindly hath screen'd him at last. 1789.*
A Plan The Muses Entertained.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
To Psyche the poetic art;
Prosaic-pure her soul remain'd.
No wondrous sounds escaped her lyre
A Retrospective Review
© Thomas Hood
Oh, when I was a tiny boy,
My days and nights were full of joy,
My mates were blithe and kind!
No wonder that I sometimes sigh,
And dash the tear-drop from my eye,
To cast a look behind!
April.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
TELL me, eyes, what 'tis ye're seeking;For ye're saying something sweet,Fit the ravish'd ear to greet,
Eloquently, softly speaking.Yet I see now why ye're roving;For behind those eyes so bright,To itself abandon'd quite,
Lies a bosom, truthful, loving,--One that it must fill with pleasure'Mongst so many, dull and blind,One true look at length to find,
That its worth can rightly treasure.Whilst I'm lost in studying everTo explain these cyphers duly,--To unravel my looks truly
After-sensations.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
WHEN the vine again is blowing,Then the wine moves in the cask;
When the rose again is glowing,Wherefore should I feel oppress'd?Down my cheeks run tears all-burning,If I do, or leave my task;
I but feel a speechless yearning,That pervades my inmost breast.But at length I see the reason,When the question I would ask:
'Twas in such a beauteous season,Doris glowed to make me blest!1797.
A Halt
© Zbigniew Herbert
We halted in a town the host
ordered the table to be moved to the garden the first star
A Southern Girl
© Madison Julius Cawein
Serious but smiling, stately and serene,
And dreamier than a flower;
A girl in whom all sympathies convene
As perfumes in a bower;
Through whom one feels what soul and heart may mean,
And their resistless power.
A Translation
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
To rightly learn the pugilistic art,
Such as Jem Earywig can well impart,
Refines the manners and takes off the rough,
Nor suffers one to be a blooming
