Poems begining by A
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A Wold Friend
© William Barnes
Oh! when the friends we us'd to know,
'V a-been a-lost vor years; an' when
A Song Of Swords
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
In the place called Swords on the Irish road
It is told for a new renown
How we held the horns of the cattle, and how
We will hold the horns of the devils now
Ere the lord of hell with the horn on his brow
Is crowned in Dublin town.
All Blest Are They
© Sant Tukaram
All blest are they whose heart with pity grows.
Who left Vaikuntha.their home,to serve mankind;
Who slight their person's needs ( it is not myth)
Whose hearts are broad ; Whose lips with honey flow .
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XVI
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Gods, what a moral! Yet in vain I jest.
The France which has been, and shall be again,
Is the most serious, and perhaps the best,
Of all the nations which have power with men.
Anhelli - Chapter 10
© Juliusz Slowacki
And lo, those exiles in the snowy tabernacle,
in the absence of the Shaman, had begun to quarrel among themselves,
and had divided into three groups ;
but each of these groups thought of the deliverance of the fatherland.
A Valentine [From an old Lover]
© Jessie Pope
Estelle, when you and I were rising nine
Perhaps you'd rather I suppressed the date
A Saint
© Padraic Colum
THE stir of children with fresh dresses on,
And men who meet and say unguarded words,
And women from the coops
Of drudgeries released;
A Motherless Soft Lambkin
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
A motherless soft lambkin
Along upon a hill;
An Old Answer
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Ask me not, Dear, what thing it is
That makes me love you so;
What graces, what sweet qualities,
That from your spirit flow:
For I have but this old reply,
That you are you, that I am I.
A Night At Dago Tom's
© John Masefield
Oh yesterday, I t'ink it was, while cruisin' down the street,
I met with Bill. - "Hullo," he says, "let's give the girls a treat."
We'd red bandanas round our necks 'n' our shrouds new rattled down,
So we filled a couple of Santy Cruz and cleared for Sailor Town.
Anne Hathaway's Cottage
© Mathilde Blind
IS this the Cottage, ivy-girt and crowned,
And this the path down which our Shakespeare ran,
A Hero's Grave
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
Why should I weep? The grass is grass, the weeds
Are weeds. The emmet hath done thus ere now.
I tear a leaf; the green blood that it bleeds
Is cold. What have I here? Where, where, art thou,
My son, my son?
Adultery
© James Dickey
We have all been in rooms
We cannot die in, and they are odd places, and sad.
Often Indians are standing eagle-armed on hills
A Lament
© Charles Harpur
Ah! what can be flowers in their gladness to me,
Or the voices that people the green forest tree,
Or the full joy of streamssince my soul sighs, ah me!
Oer the grave of my Mary.
