Poems begining by B
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Bedlam Town
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Do you want to peep into Bedlam Town?
Then come with me, when the day swings down,
Into the cradle, whose rockers rim,
Some people call the horizon dim.
Blaney's Last Directions
© Benjamin Jonson
It is my earnest request that no person
on any pretence whatever
may be permitted to see my
corpse
but those who
unavoidably must.
By the Pacific
© Herbert Bashford
FROM this quaint cabin window I can see
The strange, vague line of ghostly drift-wood, though
Behold A Silly Tender Babe
© Robert Southwell
BEHOLD a silly tender Babe,
In freezing winter night,
In homely manger trembling lies
Alas! a piteous sight.
Ballade Of A Talked-Off Ear
© Dorothy Parker
Prince or commoner, tenor or bass,
Painter or plumber or never-do-well,
Do me a favor and shut your face
Poets alone should kiss and tell.
Bravery
© James Russell Lowell
We will speak on; we will be heard;
Though all earth's systems crack,
We will not bate a single word,
Nor take a letter back.
Breitmanns Going To Church
© Charles Godfrey Leland
D'VAS near de state of Nashfille,
In de town of Tennessee,
Der Breitmann vonce vas quarderd
Mit all his cavallrie.
Brought From Beyond
© Amy Clampitt
The magpie and the bowerbird, its odd
predilection unheard of by Marco Polo
when he came upon, high in Badakhshan,
that blue stones
Babul
© Amir Khusro
Kaahay ko biyaahi bides, ray, lakhi baabul moray,
Kaahay ko biyaahi bides........
Bhayiyon ko diye babul mehlay do-mehlay,
Hum ko diya pardes, ray, lakhi babul......
Brahm
© Joseph Furphy
Our swarming brethren of the North
Whatever you may judge them worth
Sling Muck and Soogoo Ram,
Are fantoids like yourself and me,
Though differing somewhat in degree
Nothing exists but BRAHM.
By The Grave Of Henry Timrod
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WHEN last we parted--thy frail hand in mine--
Above us smiled September's passionless sky,
And touched by fragrant airs, the hillside pine
Thrilled in the mellow sunshine tenderly;
Baby's Birthday
© Edith Nesbit
BEFORE your life that is to come,
Love stands with eager eyes, that vainly
Seek to discern what gift may fit
The slow unfolding years of it;
And still Time's lips are sealed and dumb,
And still Love sees no future plainly.
By Her White Bed
© James Whitcomb Riley
By her white bed I muse a little space:
She fell asleep--not very long ago,--
