Poems begining by B
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Babys First Word
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WE watched our baby day by day,
With earnest expectation,
To hear his infant lips unclose
In vague articulation.
Blossom.
© Arthur Henry Adams
A LONE rose in a garden burned a quivering flame,
But yesterday blindly from out the bud it came;
And now an envious wind with itching fingers leant
And touched its lingering beauty, and the petals went
Books And Thoughts
© Aldous Huxley
Old ghosts that death forgot to ferry
Across the Lethe of the years -
Black Slippers: Bellotti
© Ezra Pound
At the table beyond us
With her little suede slippers off,
With her white-stocking'd feet
Carefully kept from the floor by a napkin,
She converses:
Baby Wrens’ Voices by Thomas R. Smith : American Life in Poetry #232 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Lau
© Ted Kooser
I’ve built many wren houses since my wife and I moved to the country 25 years ago. It’s a good thing to do in the winter. At one point I had so many extra that in the spring I set up at a local farmers’ market and sold them for five dollars apiece. I say all this to assert that I am an authority at listening to the so small voices that Thomas R. Smith captures in this poem. Smith lives in Wisconsin.
Baby Wrens’ Voices
I am a student of wrens.
Belgium
© John Le Gay Brereton
We, bred of one small island in the west,
A little shrine of Freedom, far away
We, who can bow at no strong tyrants hest,
Bend low our heads in pride to thee to-day,
For all unknown, a smiling babe at rest,
Within thy lowly manger Freedom lay.
Barbotte (Bull-pout)
© William Henry Drummond
Deres some lak dory, an' some lak bass,
An' plaintee dey mus' have trout--
Beaten Back
© Henry Lawson
BEATEN back in sad dejection,
After years of weary toil
On that burning hot selection
Where the drought has gorged his spoil.
Blind Bartimeus
© George MacDonald
As Jesus went into Jericho town,
Twas darkness all, from toe to crown,
About blind Bartimeus.
He said, "My eyes are more than dim,
They are no use for seeing him:
No matter-he can see us!"
Ballad Of Jesus Of Nazareth
© Edgar Lee Masters
It matters not what place he drew
At first life's mortal breath,
Some say it was in Bethlehem,
And some in Nazareth.
But shame and sorrow were his lot
And shameful was his death.
Breathes There the Man... From the Lay of the Last Minstrel
© Sir Walter Scott
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
Body And Soul: A Metaphysical Argument
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Man openeth the case
Body, from the arrogance
Of the Soul thou seekest shield,
Makest prayer the old mis--chance
By The Fire
© Aldous Huxley
We who are lovers sit by the fire,
Cradled warm 'twixt thought and will,
Bedtime
© George MacDonald
"Come, children, put away your toys;
Roll up that kite's long line;
The day is done for girls and boys-
Look, it is almost nine!
Come, weary foot, and sleepy head,
Get up, and come along to bed."
Bothwell Castle
© William Wordsworth
Immured in Bothwell's Towers, at times the Brave
(So beautiful is the Clyde) forgot to mourn
Behold the Deeds!
© Henry Cuyler Bunner
Boarders! the worst I have not told to ye:
She hath stolen my trousers, that I may not flee
Privily by the window. Hence these groans.
There is no fleeing in a robe de nuit.
Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones!
Behind
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
I saw an old man like a child,
His blue eyes bright, his white hair wild,
Who turned for ever, and might not stop,
Round and round like an urchin's top.
Bryant On His Birthday
© John Greenleaf Whittier
We praise not now the poet's art,
The rounded beauty of his song;
Who weighs him from his life apart
Must do his nobler nature wrong.
