Poems begining by A

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Amours De Voyage, Canto III

© Arthur Hugh Clough

- domus Albuneae resonantis,
Et praeceps Anio, et Tibuni lucus, et uda
Mobilibus pomaria rivis

As spring the winter doth succeed

© Anne Bradstreet

May 13, 1657.

As spring the winter doth succeed,

A Song For Freedom

© Anonymous

Come all ye bondmen far and near,
Let's put a song in massa's ear,
It is a song for our poor race,
Who're whipped and trampled with disgrace.

A Wife Bemoans Her Husband's Absence

© Confucius

So full am I of anxious thought,
Though all the morn king-grass I've sought,
To fill my arms I fail.
Like wisp all-tangled is my hair!
To wash it let me home repair.
My lord soon may I hail!

A Birth-Day Wish

© George MacDonald

Who know thee, love: thy life be such
That, ere the year be o'er,
Each one who loves thee now so much,
Even God, may love thee more!

A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XL

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Here therefore ends my sad soul's pilgrimage,
In tears for sin and half--redeemed desire.
She was unworthy her high martyr's rage,
Or to be wholly purified by fire.

April

© Ezra Pound

Three spirits came to me
And drew me apart
To where the olive boughs
Lay stripped upon the ground:
Pale carnage beneath bright mist.

Alcohol's Requiem Upon Prof. P. F. K., A Gifted Man, Who Died A Victim Of Strong Drink

Ho! ho! Father Death! I have won you another!
Another grand soul I have ruined and taken;
I, who am licensed by good Christian people,
Eat and eat at their souls till by angels forsaken:
I spoil them, I soil them, and past all reclaiming
They fall, sick with sins that are too black for naming.

A Merry Madrigal

© William Schwenck Gilbert

Brightly dawns our wedding day;

Joyous hour, we give thee greeting!

Alone

© Yvor Winters

I, one who never speaks,
Listened days in summer trees,
Each day a rustling leaf.

Artesian Well

© Mikhail Alekseevich Kuzmin

In the feathergrass steppe
Sources lie buried,
The thirsty sun knows
Life isn't raspberries.

A Hunting Rhyme

THERE'S lots of refusing and falls and mishaps.
Who 's down on the Chestnut ? He 's hurt himself p'raps.
Oh, it 's Lindsay the Lanky,' says Hard-riding Bob,
He 's luckily saved Mr, Calcraft a job.'

Ad Ministram

Dear Lucy, you know what my wish is, -

I hate all your Frenchified fuss:

An Invective Written By Mr. George Chapman Against Mr. Ben Jonson

Great, learned, witty Ben, be pleased to light

The world with that three-forked fire; nor fright

Azrael's Count

Men I dismiss to the Mercy greet me not willingly;
Crying, "When seekest Thou me first? Are not my kin unslain?
Shrinking aside from the Sword-edge, blinking the glare of it,
Sinking the chin in the neck-bone. How shall that profit them?
Yet, among men a ten thousand, few meet me otherwise.