Poems begining by A
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A Thrush Before Dawn
© Alice Meynell
A voice peals in this end of night
A phrase of notes resembling stars,
Single and spiritual notes of light.
What call they at my window-bars?
The South, the past, the day to be,
An ancient infelicity.
A Portrait Of 1783
© Andrew Lang
Your hair and chin are like the hair
And chin Burne-Jones's ladies wear;
And So To-Day
© Carl Sandburg
And so to-day--they lay him away--
the boy nobody knows the name of--
the buck private--the unknown soldier--
the doughboy who dug under and died
when they told him to--that's him.
A Sonnet (Two Voices Are There)
© James Kenneth Stephen
Two voices are there: one is of the deep;
It learns the storm-cloud's thunderous melody,
A Thousand Years From Now
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
I SAT within my tranquil room;
The twilight shadows sank and rose
With slowly flickering motions, waved
Grotesquely through the dusk repose;
A Psalm Of Councel
© Joseph Furphy
Though some good folks may take it ill,
As trifling with parsonic frill,
An Impression
© Archibald Lampman
I heard the city time-bells call
Far off in hollow towers,
And one by one with measured fall
Count out the old dead hours;
At The Ferry
© Madison Julius Cawein
Oh, dim and wan came in the dawn,
And gloomy closed the day;
The killdee whistled among the weeds,
The heron flapped in the river reeds,
And the snipe piped far away.
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXXV
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
At last I kneel in Rome, the bourne, the goal
Of what a multitude of laden hearts!
No pilgrim of them all a wearier soul
Brought ever here, no master of dark arts
Asoka
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I
Gentle as fine rain falling from the night,
The first beams from the Indian moon at full
Steal through the boughs, and brighter and more bright
Alaric In Italy
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Heard ye the Gothic trumpet's blast?
The march of hosts as Alaric passed?
A Pastoral Entertainment
© James Thomson
While in heroic numbers some relate
The amazing turns of wise eternal fate;
Exploits of heroes in the dusty field,
That to their name immortal honour yield;
Alfs Fifth Bit
© Ezra Pound
The pomps of butchery, financial power,
Told 'em to die in war, and then to save,
Then cut their saving to the half or lower;
When will this system lie down in its grave?
After Death
© Sara Teasdale
Now while my lips are living
Their words must stay unsaid,
And will my soul remember
To speak when I am dead?
After Long Years.
© Arthur Henry Adams
"AND have I changed?" she asked, and as she spoke
The old smile o'er her pale face bravely broke,
And in her eyes dead worlds of pathos woke.
Changed? When I knew again the ghost of each
A Complaint
© Confucius
He lodged us in a spacious house,
And plenteous was our fare.
But now at every frugal meal
There's not a scrap to spare.
Alas! alas that this good man
Could not go on as he began!
A Tusculan Question
© Alfred Austin
One day as on an ass I rode,
By many a twisting gully,
To where once stood the famed abode
Of philosophic Tully,
