Poems begining by A
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A Circular
© Thomas Hardy
As 'legal representative'
I read a missive not my own,
On new designs the senders give
For clothes, in tints as shown.
Ausonius
© Richard Lovelace
Vane, quid affectas faciem mihi ponere, pictor,
Ignotamque oculis solicitare manu?
Aeris et venti sum filia, mater inanis
Indicii, vocemque sine mente gero.
Auribus in vestris habito penetrabilis echo;
Si mihi vis similem pingere, pinge sonos.
Another Fall of Rain
© Anonymous
THE weather had been sultry for a fortnight's time or more,
And the shearers had been driving might and main,
For some had got the century who'd ne'er got it before,
And now all hands were wishing for the rain.
A Little Child Shall Lead Them
© Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Eagerly he grasped the writing;
"I am free!" at last he said.
Backward fell upon the pillow,
He was free among the dead.
Arcadia Rediviva
© James Russell Lowell
I, walking the familiar street,
While a crammed horse-car jingled through it,
Was lifted from my prosy feet
And in Arcadia ere I knew it.
An Invocation
© Walter Savage Landor
WE are what suns and winds and waters make us;
The mountains are our sponsors, and the rills
Fashion and win their nursling with their smiles.
But where the land is dim from tyranny,
A Message Of Jeff Davis In Secret Session
© James Russell Lowell
I sent you a messige, my friens, t'other day,
To tell you I'd nothin' pertickler to say:
A Tombless Epitaph
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
'Tis true, Idoloclastes Satyrane!
(So call him, for so mingling blame with praise,
And smiles with anxious looks, his earliest friends,
Masking his birth-name, wont to character
Armenian Folk-Song--The Partridge
© Eugene Field
As beats the sun from mountain crest,
With "pretty, pretty",
A Long-Felt Want
© Carolyn Wells
One day wee Willie and his dog
Sprawled on the nursery floor.
He had a florist's catalogue,
And turned the pages o'er,
An Answer to Frances Cornford
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Why do you rush through the fields in trains,
Guessing so much and so much.
Why do you flash through the flowery meads,
Fat-head poet that nobody reads;
And why do you know such a frightful lot
About people in gloves and such?
At The Back Of The Brain.
© Robert Crawford
At the back of the brain a picture lies
Of all we have been and done,
And ever and then a color flames
In the shadow of thought's sun.
Aquae Sulis
© Thomas Hardy
The chimes called midnight, just at interlune,
And the daytime talk on the Roman investigations
Was checked by silence, save for the husky tune
The bubbling waters played near the excavations.
An Altar-Flame
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
EVEN as when utter summer makes the grain
Bow heavily along through the whole land
A True Account of the Birth and Conception of a Late Famous Poem call'd The Female Nine
© Charles Sackville
When Monmouth the chaste read those impudent lines
Which ty'd her dear monkey so fast by the loins,
At The Sheep-Dog Trials
© David Campbell
What ancestors unite
Here in this red and white
Kelpie to define
His symmetry of line,
Apostate Will
© Thomas Chatterton
In days of old, when Wesley's power
Gathered new strength by every hour;
A Star In The East
© Edith Nesbit
FOR THE ART EXHIBITION AT ST. JUDE'S, WHITECHAPEL
LIKE a fair flower springing fresh, sweet, and bright,
