Poems begining by A
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A Portrait
© Edith Nesbit
LIKE the sway of the silver birch in the breeze of dawn
Is her dainty way;
Ancient Greek Song Of Exile
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
WHERE is the summer, with her golden sun?
-That festal glory hath not pass'd from earth:
For me alone the laughing day is done!
Where is the summer with her voice of mirth?
-Far in my own bright land!
An Ante-Bellum Sermon
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
We is gathahed hyeah, my brothahs,
In dis howlin' wildaness,
A Parable
© James Russell Lowell
Worn and footsore was the Prophet,
When he gained the holy hill;
'God has left the earth,' he murmured,
'Here his presence lingers still.
A Young Rebel
© Alice Guerin Crist
The sun is setting behind the range,
his golden rays pour down
On a little figure, childish, strange,
Bending over a volume worn,
Whose green-clad cover, dusty and torn,
Bears a 'harp without a crown'.
Alfred. Book III.
© Henry James Pye
Fix'd on the arid spot, whose scanty bounds
On every side the deep morass surrounds,
The monarch, and his martial friend, with care,
'Gainst close surprise and bold attack prepare;
Exert each art their safety to ensure,
And every pass, with wary eye, secure.
Abram Morrison
© John Greenleaf Whittier
'Midst the men and things which will
Haunt an old man's memory still,
Drollest, quaintest of them all,
With a boy's laugh I recall
Good old Abram Morrison.
A Wreath Of Sonnets (11/14)
© France Preseren
As over them malignant storm clouds flew,
Your poet's days were but disgust, despair;
By all the furies harried, he nowhere
Could find release nor any rest he knew.
A Wren's Nest
© William Wordsworth
AMONG the dwellings framed by birds
In field or forest with nice care,
Is none that with the little Wren's
In snugness may compare.
A Parlourmaid
© Lesbia Harford
"I want a parlourmaid."
"Well, let me see
If you were God, what kind of maid she'd be."
"She would be tall,
Atameros
© John Beevers
The palace with revolving doors was mine
And three of us went up its steps
To the tall room whose walls were made
Of the furred eyes of moths.
As I Watche'd The Ploughman Ploughing
© Walt Whitman
AS I watch'd the ploughman ploughing,
Or the sower sowing in the fields-or the harvester harvesting,
I saw there too, O life and death, your analogies:
(Life, life is the tillage, and Death is the harvest according.)
Americanisation
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Britannia needs no Boulevards,
No spaces wide and gay:
Her march was through the crooked streets
Along the narrow way.
Nor looks she where, New York's seduction,
The Broadway leadeth to destruction.
A Fable For Critics
© James Russell Lowell
'Why, nothing of consequence, save this attack
On my friend there, behind, by some pitiful hack,
Who thinks every national author a poor one,
That isn't a copy of something that's foreign,
And assaults the American Dick--'
A Better Thing
© George MacDonald
I took it for a bird of prey that soared
High over ocean, battled mount, and plain;
'Twas but a bird-moth, which with limp horns gored
The invisibly obstructing window-pane!
And Wilt Thou Weep When I Am Low?
© George Gordon Byron
And wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again:
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so--
I would not give that bosom pain.
A Florida Night
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
Win' a-blowin' gentle so de san' lay low,
San' a little heavy f'om de rain,
