Poems begining by A
/ page 297 of 345 /
A Death Song
© William Morris
What cometh here from west to east awending?
And who are these, the marchers stern and slow?
We bear the message that the rich are sending
Aback to those who bade them wake and know.
Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day.
August
© Elinor Wylie
Are there no water-lilies, smooth as cream,
With long stems dripping crystal? Are there none
Like those white lilies, luminous and cool,
Plucked from some hemlock-darkened northern stream
By fair-haired swimmers, diving where the sun
Scarce warms the surface of the deepest pool?
Atavism
© Elinor Wylie
You'll say I dreamed it, being the true daughter
Of those who in old times endured this dread.
Look! Where the lily-stems are showing red
A silent paddle moves below the water,
A sliding shape has stirred them like a breath;
Tall plumes surmount a painted mask of death.
A Proud Lady
© Elinor Wylie
Hate in the world's hand
Can carve and set its seal
Like the strong blast of sand
Which cuts into steel.
A Crowded Trolley-Car
© Elinor Wylie
The rain's cold grains are silver-gray
Sharp as golden sands,
A bell is clanging, people sway
Hanging by their hands.
Advice to the Grub Street Verse-writers
© Jonathan Swift
Lend these to paper-sparing Pope;
And when he sets to write,
No letter with an envelope
Could give him more delight.
A Maypole
© Jonathan Swift
Deprived of root, and branch and rind,
Yet flowers I bear of every kind:
And such is my prolific power,
They bloom in less than half an hour;
A Description of a City Shower
© Jonathan Swift
Careful Observers may fortel the Hour
(By sure Prognosticks) when to dread a Show'r:
While Rain depends, the pensive Cat gives o'er
Her Frolicks, and pursues her Tail no more.
A Satirical Elegy
© Jonathan Swift
On the Death of a Late FAMOUS GENERAL
His Grace! impossible! what dead!
Of old age, too, and in his bed!
And could that Mighty Warrior fall?
A Beautiful Young Nymph Going To Bed
© Jonathan Swift
Corinna, Pride of Drury-Lane,
For whom no Shepherd sighs in vain;
Never did Covent Garden boast
So bright a batter'd, strolling Toast;
A Lament
© William Henry Drummond
My thoughts hold mortal strife;
I do detest my life,
And with lamenting cries
Peace to my soul to bring
Acid
© Roddy Lumsden
My mother told it straight, London will finish you off,
and I'd heard what Doctor Johnson said, When a man is tired
of London, he is tired of life, but I'd been tired of life
A Grave
© Marianne Clarke Moore
Man looking into the sea,
taking the view from those who have as much right to it as
you have to it yourself,
it is human nature to stand in the middle of a thing,
Avis
© Duncan Campbell Scott
Night fell with the ferny dusk,
Planets paled and grew,
Up, with lily and clarid turns
Throbbing through,
Rose the robin's song,
Heart of home and love that burns beating in the dew.
At the Cedars
© Duncan Campbell Scott
You had two girls -- Baptiste --
One is Virginie --
Hold hard -- Baptiste!
Listen to me.
Angelus
© Duncan Campbell Scott
A deep bell that links the downs
To the drowsy air;
Every loop of sound that swoons,
Finds a circle fair,
Afterwards
© Duncan Campbell Scott
Her life was touched with early frost,
About the April of her day,
Her hold on earth was lightly lost,
And like a leaf she went away.
As One Listens To The Rain
© Octavio Paz
Listen to me as one listens to the rain,
not attentive, not distracted,
