Poems begining by A
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Aunt Chloe
© Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
1.1I remember, well remember,1.2 That dark and dreadful day,1.3When they whispered to me, "Chloe,1.4 Your children's sold away!"
Act of Love
© Warr Bertram
Over this sticky mound of us--You flaccid and sagging into sleep,Exuding, after the diligence of your response,The sour smell of the unbathed;Me, lingering flatly on banality,The euphemistic
Albion's England
© William Warner
The Brutons thus departed hence, seven kingdoms here begun,--Where diversely in divers broils the Saxons lost and won,--King Edel and king Adelbright in Diria jointly reign;In loyal concord during life these kingly friends remain
Autumn Leaves
© Jones Very
The leaves though thick are falling; one by oneDecayed they drop from off their parent tree;Their work with autumn's latest day is done,Thou see'st them borne upon its breezes free;They lie strewn here and there, their many dyesThat yesterday so caught thy passing eye;Soiled by the rain each leaf neglected lies,Upon the path where now thou hurriest by;Yet think thou not their beauteous tints less fairThan when they hung so gayly o'er thy head;But rather find thou eyes, with looking thereWhere now thy feet so heedless o'er them tread;And thou shalt see, where wasting now they lie,The unseen hues of immortality
Art Poetique
© Paul Verlaine
De la musique avant toute chose,Et pour cela préfère l'ImpairPlus vague et plus soluble dans l'air,Sans rien en lui qui pèse ou qui pose.
A Night-Charge Against A Swan By A Lover
© Turner Charles (Tennyson)
The swan, wild-clanging, scoured the midnight lake,And broke my dream of Annie, and I lay,Through those brief hours before the dawn of day,Chiding the sound that startled me awake
A Living and Dying Prayer for the Holiest Believer in the World
© Augustus Montague Toplady
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,Let me hide myself in Thee!Let the Water and the Blood,From thy riven Side which flow'd,Be of Sin the double Cure,Cleanse me from its Guilt and Pow'r.
And Her Mother Came Too
© Titheradge Dion
I seem to be the victim of a cruel jest,It dogs my footsteps with the girl I love the best.She's just the sweetest thing that I have ever known,But still we never get the chance to be alone.
Apeirophobia
© Tierney Matthew
Uncaged. Run from it,go ahead, try. Wherever you areit's there. Cousin to zero
A Poem, Addressed to the Lord Privy Seal, on the Prospect of Peace
© Thomas Tickell
To The Lord Privy SealContending kings, and fields of death, too long,Have been the subject of the British song
A Thresher of Wheat to the Winds
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
To you light troupe that rydeOn movynge wings and glyde Above the world and slake it,And with your murmur softMove the green shade and oft With gentle tremors shake it --
As you maye see upon the stem in Maye
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
As you maye see upon the stem in Maye The younglynge rose's lovely bud new-burst Make heaven jealous of its hue when firstDawn sprinkles dew upon the new-born daye:Grace and sweet love within its leaves alwaye Make gardens redolent, till it doth thirst Too ardent for the rayne, and soon immerstDies, leaf by leaf, upon the witherynge spraye
Art
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
All finest art is seen In forms that foil the bladeUnkeen -- Verse, marble, gem inlaid.
April
© Thorley Wilfred Charles
April, pryde of all the yeareWhen appeare Leaves, and sap in fleecy budGently stirs with hope to yieldFruit fulfilled From the younglynges of the wood;
Antony and Cleopatra
© Taylor Edward Robeson
On Egypt sleeping under sky of brassThe twain gazed wistfully from terrace high,And watched the Flood, through Delta rolling nigh,Toward Sais or Bubastis slowly pass.
An Idolator
© Tabb John Banister
The Baby has no skiesBut Mother's eyes, Nor any God above But Mother's Love.His angel sees the Father's face,But he the Mother's, full of grace;And yet the heavenly kingdom is Of such as this.
Art Poetique
© Arthur Symons
Music first and foremost of all!Choose your measure of odd not even,Let it melt in the air of heaven,Pose not, poise not, but rise and fall.
A Ballad of François Villon, Prince of All Ballad-Makers
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
Bird of the bitter bright grey golden morn Scarce risen upon the dusk of dolorous years,First of us all and sweetest singer born Whose far shrill note the world of new men hears Cleave the cold shuddering shade as twilight clears;When song new-born put off the old world's attireAnd felt its tune on her changed lips expire, Writ foremost on the roll of them that cameFresh girt for service of the latter lyre, Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name!
Alas the joy, the sorrow, and the scorn, That clothed thy life with hopes and sins and fears,And gave thee stones for bread and tares for corn And plume-plucked gaol-birds for thy starveling peers Till death clipt close their flight with shameful shears;Till shifts came short and loves were hard to hire,When lilt of song nor twitch of twangling wire Could buy thee bread or kisses; when light fameSpurned like a ball and haled through brake and briar, Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name!
Poor splendid wings so frayed and soiled and torn! Poor kind wild eyes so dashed with light quick tears!Poor perfect voice, most blithe when most forlorn, That rings athwart the sea whence no man steers Like joy-bells crossed with death-bells in our ears!What far delight has cooled the fierce desireThat like some ravenous bird was strong to tire On that frail flesh and soul consumed with flame,But left more sweet than roses to respire, Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name?
Prince of sweet songs made out of tears and fire,A harlot was thy nurse, a God thy sire; Shame soiled thy song, and song assoiled thy shame
Atalanta in Calydon: A Tragedy (complete text)
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
Tous zontas eu dran. katthanon de pas anerGe kai skia. to meden eis ouden repei
