Poems begining by A
/ page 309 of 345 /
At Nightfall
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
The dark is coming o'er the world, my playmate,
And the fields where poplars stand are very still,
All our groves of green delight have been invaded,
There are voices quite unknown upon the hill;
As the Heart Hopes
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
It is a year dear one, since you afar
Went out beyond my yearning mortal sight
A wondrous year! perchance in many a star
You have sojourned, or basked within the light
An Autumn Evening
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
Dark hills against a hollow crocus sky
Scarfed with its crimson pennons, and below
The dome of sunset long, hushed valleys lie
Cradling the twilight, where the lone winds blow
And wake among the harps of leafless trees
Fantastic runes and mournful melodies.
An April Night
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
The moon comes up o'er the deeps of the woods,
And the long, low dingles that hide in the hills,
Where the ancient beeches are moist with buds
Over the pools and the whimpering rills;
Among the Pines
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
Here let us linger at will and delightsomely hearken
Music aeolian of wind in the boughs of pine,
Timbrel of falling waters, sounds all soft and sonorous,
Worshipful litanies sung at a bannered shrine.
A Winter Day
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
I The air is silent save where stirs
A bugling breeze among the firs;
The virgin world in white array
Waits for the bridegroom kiss of day;
A Winter Dawn
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
Above the marge of night a star still shines,
And on the frosty hills the sombre pines
Harbor an eerie wind that crooneth low
Over the glimmering wastes of virgin snow.
A Summer Day
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
I The dawn laughs out on orient hills
And dances with the diamond rills;
The ambrosial wind but faintly stirs
The silken, beaded gossamers;
A Request
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
When I am dead
I would that ye make my bed
On that low-lying, windy waste by the sea,
Where the silvery grasses rustle and lisp;
A Day Off
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
Let us put awhile away
All the cares of work-a-day,
For a golden time forget,
Task and worry, toil and fret,
Let us take a day to dream
In the meadow by the stream.
A Day in the Open
© Lucy Maud Montgomery
Ho, a day
Whereon we may up and away,
With a fetterless wind that is out on the downs,
And there piping a call to the fallow and shore,
A New Broom
© Witt Wittmann
I rolled that rug and cast it off
and pitched the whole mess out.
I bought a new broom today
and mucked about the house.
A Catalpa Tree On West Twelfth Street
© Amy Clampitt
While the sun stops, or
seems to, to define a term
for the indeterminable,
the human aspect, here
in the West Village, spindles
to a mutilated dazzle
A Silence
© Amy Clampitt
behind the mask
the milkfat shivering
sinew isinglass
uncrumpling transient
greed to reinvest
A Hermit Thrush
© Amy Clampitt
Nothing's certain. Crossing, on this longest day,
the low-tide-uncovered isthmus, scrambling up
the scree-slope of what at high tide
will be again an island,
A Hedge Of Rubber Trees
© Amy Clampitt
The West Village by then was changing; before long
the rundown brownstones at its farthest edge
would have slipped into trendier hands. She lived,
impervious to trends, behind a potted hedge of
Anacreontic
© Robert Herrick
Born I was to be old,
And for to die here;
After that, in the mould
Long for to lie here.
A Pastoral Sung To The King
© Robert Herrick
MONTANO, SILVIO, AND MIRTILLO, SHEPHERDSMON. Bad are the times. SIL. And worse than they are we.
MON. Troth, bad are both; worse fruit, and ill the tree:
The feast of shepherds fail. SIL. None crowns the cup
Of wassail now, or sets the quintel up:
A Paranaeticall, Or Advisive Verseto His Friend, Mr John Wicks
© Robert Herrick
Is this a life, to break thy sleep,
To rise as soon as day doth peep?
To tire thy patient ox or ass
By noon, and let thy good days pass,
