Poems begining by A
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A Son Was Born To A Poor Peasant
© Fyodor Sologub
A son was born to a poor peasant.
A foul old woman stepped inside
The hut, with trembling bony fingers
Clawing her tangled locks aside.
Alma; or, The Progress of the Mind. In Three Cantos. - Canto II.
© Matthew Prior
Richard, quoth Matt, these words of thine
Speak something sly and something fine;
But I shall e'en resume my theme,
However thou may'st praise or blame.
An Apology To Dr. Clayton, Bishop Of Killala, And His Lady
© Mary Barber
No longer let Rome her old Argument boast,
That by Marriage the End of the Priesthood is lost;
That, toil'd and entangled in Family Cares,
The Clergy forget their celestial Affairs:
For, had she known Delia, she must have confess'd,
That the Church, in the Marriage of Prelates, was bless'd.
A Plea For Our Northern Winters
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Oh, Earth, where is the mantle of pleasant emerald dye
That robed thee in sweet summer-time, and gladdened heart and eye,
Adorned with blooming roses, graceful ferns and blossoms sweet,
And bright green moss like velvet that lay soft beneath our feet?
An April Birthday--At Sea
© James Russell Lowell
On this wild waste, where never blossom came,
Save the white wind-flower to the billow's cap,
Or those pale disks of momentary flame,
Loose petals dropped from Dian's careless lap,
What far fetched influence all my fancy fills,
With singing birds and dancing daffodils?
Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine
© Emily Dickinson
1
Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,
A Womans Sonnets: I
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
If the past year were offered me again,
With choice of good and ill before me set.
Should I be wiser for the bliss and pain
And dare to choose that we had never met?
Ajanta
© Muriel Rukeyser
CAME in my full youth to the midnight cave
nerves ringing; and this thing I did alone.
A mysterious epigraph
© James Merrill
These days which, like yourself,
Seem empty and effaced
Have avid roots that delve
To work deep in the waste.
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet III
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
I will break through my bondage. Let me be
Homeless once more, a wanderer on the Earth,
Marked with my soul's sole care for company,
Like Cain, lest I do murder on my hearth.
An Aboriginal Mother's Lament: Early Version
© Charles Harpur
O moan not! I would give this braid
Thy fathers gift to me
For but a single palmful
Of water now for thee.
A La Sante
© André Marie de Chénier
Allons, muse rustique, enfant de la nature,
Détache ces cheveux, ceins ton front de verdure,
A Womans Sonnets: XI
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Wild words I write, and lettered in deep pain,
To lay in your loved hand as love's farewell.
It is the thought we shall not meet again
Nerves me to write and my whole secret tell.
A Damascene Moon
© Nizar Qabbani
Green Tunisia, I have come to you as a lover
On my brow, a rose and a book
For I am the Damascene whose profession is passion
Whose singing turns the herbs green
A Story Of Doom: Book I.
© Jean Ingelow
Niloiya said to Noah, "What aileth thee,
My master, unto whom is my desire,
The father of my sons?" He answered her,
"Mother of many children, I have heard
The Voice again." "Ah, me!" she saith, "ah, me!
What spake it?" and with that Niloiya sighed.
At Twilight
© Guy Wetmore Carryl
Was it so long? It seems so brief a while
Since this still hour between the day and dark
Was lightened by a little fellows smile;
Since we were wont to mark
A Confession
© Madison Julius Cawein
These are the facts:--I was to blame:
I brought her here and wrought her shame:
She came with me all trustingly.
Lovely and innocent her face:
And in her perfect form, the grace
Of purity and modesty.
At the Church-Gate
© William Makepeace Thackeray
Although I enter not,
Yet round about the spot,
Ofttimes I hover,
And near the sacred gate,
With longing eyes I wait,
Expectant of her.
