Poems begining by A
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A Christmas Carol
© James Russell Lowell
'What means this glory round our feet,'
The Magi mused, 'more bright than morn?'
And voices chanted clear and sweet,
'To-day the Prince of Peace is born!'
After The French Liberation Of Italy
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
AS when the last of the paid joys of love
Has come and gone; and with a single kiss
After they die
© André van Hasselt
Why are people called Buddhas
After they die?
Because they don't grumble any more,
Because they don't make a nuisance
Of themselves any more.
A Lyric
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
My lady love lives far away,
And oh my heart is sad by day,
And ah my tears fall fast by night,
What may I do in such a plight.
A Poet's Home
© George Wither
When you unto the highest do attain
An intermixture both of wood and plain
You shall behold, which, though aloft it lie,
Hath downs for sheep and fields for husbandry,
So much, at least, as little needeth more,
If not enough to merchandise their store.
Anywhere Out of the World
© Charles Baudelaire
Life is a hospital where every patient is obsessed by the desire of changing beds. One would like to suffer opposite the stove, another is sure he would get well beside the window.
It always seems to me that I should be happy anywhere but where I am, and this question of moving is one that I am eternally discussing with my soul.
A Christmas Folk-Song
© Lizette Woodworth Reese
The little Jesus came to town;
The wind blew up, the wind blew down;
Out in the street the wind was bold;
Now who would house Him from the cold?
A Panegyric
© Edmund Waller
While with a strong and yet a gentle hand,
You bridle faction, and our hearts command,
Protect us from ourselves, and from the foe,
Make us unite, and make us conquer too;
A Plea
© Edgar Albert Guest
GOD grant me these: the strength to do
Some needed service here;
The wisdom to be brave and true;
The gift of vision clear,
That in each task that comes to me
Some purpose I may plainly see.
At The Grave Of Keats
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
To G. W. C.
LONG, long ago, in the sweet Roman spring
Through the bright morning air we slowly strolled,
And in the blue heaven heard the skylarks sing
Arethusa
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
Arethusa arose
From her couch of snows
In the Acroceraunian mountains,--
A Lost Flower
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Droop all the flowers in my garden,
All their fair heads hang low;
At Last
© Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal
O mother, open the window wide
And let the daylight in;
The hills grow darker to my sight
And thoughts begin to swim.
An Old Proverb
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
What is the value then
To all those sleeping men?
It will be all the same,
Passion and grief and blame.
This in the years to be,
My God, the tragedy!
A Guinevere
© Madison Julius Cawein
Sullen gold down all the sky,
In the roses sultry musk;
Nightingales hid in the dusk
Yonder sob and sigh.
At Love's Beginning.
© Robert Crawford
I might not have it then I might not, yet
She was so near to me, could I forget
She might be nearer? There was in her eyes
What shall I say? a hint of the sunrise
A Violinist
© Francis William Bourdillon
THE LARK above our heads doth know
A heaven we see not here below;
