Poems begining by A
/ page 69 of 345 /
A Landscape
© John Cunningham
Now that summer's ripen'd bloom
Frolics where the winter frown'd,
Stretch'd upon these banks of broom,
We command the landscape round.
A Small Room In Aspen
© William Matthews
Stains on the casements,
dustmotes, spiderless webs.
No chairs, and a man waking up,
or he's falling asleep
Ariettes Oubliees
© Paul Verlaine
It weeps in my heart
As it rains on the town.
What is this dull smart
Possessing my heart?
A Voice From The Farm
© James Whitcomb Riley
It is my dream to have you here with me,
Out of the heated city's dust and din--
Autumn I
© Thomas Hood
I saw old Autumn in the misty morn
Stand shadowless like Silence, listening
To silence, for no lonely bird would sing
Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn,
Amour secret
© Victor Marie Hugo
Ô toi d'où me vient ma pensée,
Sois fière devant le Seigneur !
Relève ta tête abaissée,
Ô toi d'où me vient mon bonheur !
A Song For The Time
© John Greenleaf Whittier
UP, laggards of Freedom! our free flag is cast
To the blaze of the sun and the wings of the blast;
Will ye turn from a struggle so bravely begun,
From a foe that is breaking, a field that's half won?
An Onset
© James Clerk Maxwell
Hallo ye, my fellows! arise and advance,
See the white-crested waves how they stamp and they dance!
An Anniversary
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
O LOVE, it is our wedding day!
This morn,--how swift the seasons flee!--
A virgin morn of cloudless May,
You gave your loyal hand to me,
Your dainty hand, clasped sweet and sure
As Love's sweet self, for evermore!
A Chicot
© Muriel Stuart
IN days of ancient history
Who were you? Tell me if you know.
Between your kisses answer me
To-night, Chicot.
A Bunch Of Trout-Flies
© Henry Van Dyke
Here's a half-a-dozen flies,
Just about the proper size
For the trout of Dickey's Run,
Luck go with them every one!
A Childhood
© Stephen Spender
In what purity of pleasure
You danced alone like a peasant
For the stamping joy's own sake!
A Doset Sale
© William Barnes
_T._ Well here, then, Mister auctioneer,
Be theäse the virs, I bought, out here?
A Womans Sonnets: XII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
'Tis ended truly, truly as was best.
Love is a little thing, for one short day;
You could not make it your life's only quest,
Nor watch the poor corpse long in its decay.
At Night
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
How many million stars there be,
That only God hath numbered;
But this one only chosen for me
In time before her face was fled.
Shall not one mortal man alive
Hold up his head?
A Seamark
© Bliss William Carman
COLD, the dull cold! What ails the sun,
And takes the heart out of the day?
What makes the morning look so mean,
The Common so forlorn and gray?
