Poems begining by A
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Apollo And The Graces
© John Keats
WHICH of the fairest three
To-day will ride with me?
My steeds are all pawing at the threshold of the morn:
Which of the fairest three
To-day will ride with me
Across the gold Autumn's whole Kingdom of corn?
A Daffodil
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Pure--throated Flower,
Smelling of Spring,
Shaped beyond art's
Imagining;
At The Base Hospital
© George Essex Evans
The willows sweep the water, and the rushes lean a-down,
And I see the river shining far away,
A Hundred Collars
© Robert Frost
Lancaster bore him--such a little town,
Such a great man. It doesn't see him often
Of late years, though he keeps the old homestead
And sends the children down there with their mother
A Brook in the City
© Robert Frost
The firm house lingers, though averse to square
With the new city street it has to wear A number in.
But what about the brook That held the house as in an elbow-crook?
I ask as one who knew the brook, its strength
A Boundless Moment
© Robert Frost
He halted in the wind, and--what was that
Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost?
He stood there bringing March against his thought,
And yet too ready to believe the most.
At Dawn
© Roderic Quinn
THE night-long clamour of winds grew still;
The forest rested, its foes withdrawn;
On sounding ocean and silent hill
There crept a sense of the coming dawn.
Alvisi Contarini
© Arthur Symons
Alvisi Contarini slaying Christ
Swore in his beard: "I am a melon sliced."
Almon Keefer
© James Whitcomb Riley
Ah, Almon Keefer! what a boy you were,
With your back-tilted hat and careless hair,
And open, honest, fresh, fair face and eyes
With their all-varying looks of pleased surprise
And joyous interest in flower and tree,
And poising humming-bird, and maundering bee.
An Apple Tree In France
© Edgar Albert Guest
An apple tree beside the way,
Drinking the sunshine day by day
A Drought Idyll
© George Essex Evans
It was the middle of the drought; the ground was hot and bare,
You might search for grass with a microscope, but nary grass was there;
The hay was done, the cornstalks gone, the trees were dying fast,
The sun o'erhead was a curse in read and the wind was a furnace blast;
The waterholes were sun-baked mud, the drays stood thick as bees
Around the well, a mile away, amid the ringbarked trees.
Artillerie
© George Herbert
As I one ev'ning sat before my cell,
Me thought a starre did shoot into my lap.
An Encounter
© Robert Frost
ONCE on the kind of day called weather breeder,
When the heat slowly hazes and the sun
By its own power seems to be undone,
I was half boring through, half climbing through
An Empty Threat
© Robert Frost
I stay;
But it isn't as if
There wasn't always Hudson's Bay
And the fur trade,
A Star in a Stoneboat
© Robert Frost
Never tell me that not one star of all
That slip from heaven at night and softly fall
Has been picked up with stones to build a wall.
A Hillside Thaw
© Robert Frost
To think to know the country and now know
The hillside on the day the sun lets go
Ten million silver lizards out of snow!
As often as I've seen it done before
An Epistle Of The Right Honourable Sir Robert Walpole
© Richard Savage
As the rich cloud by due degrees expands,
And show'rs down plenty thick on sundry lands,
Thy spreading worth in various bounty fell,
Made genius flourish, and made art excel.
A Fountain, a Bottle, a Donkey's Ears, and Some Books
© Robert Frost
Old Davis owned a solid mica mountain
In Dalton that would someday make his fortune.
There'd been some Boston people out to see it:
And experts said that deep down in the mountain
The mica sheets were big as plate-glass windows.
He'd like to take me there and show it to me.
A Cliff Dwelling
© Robert Frost
There sandy seems the golden sky
And golden seems the sandy plain.
No habitation meets the eye
Unless in the horizon rim,
