Poems begining by B
/ page 48 of 94 /Bantry Bay
© John Clare
On the eighteenth of October we lay in Bantry Bay,
All ready to set sail, with a fresh and steady gale:
Bohemia
© Dorothy Parker
Authors and actors and artists and such
Never know nothing, and never know much.
Banjo Dog Variations
© Donald Justice
Agriculture and Industry
Embraced in public on a wall
Heroes in shirt-sleeves! Next to them
The average man felt small.
Before Sextet
© Bernadette Mayer
Put conductor on as soon as
pen name is hard
be sure rolled-up ringworm is on
the outspokenness. And leave
space suit at tire to hold
semi-final when you come
Bosnia Tune
© Joseph Brodsky
As you pour yourself a scotch
Crush a roach or check your watch
As your hands adjust your tie people die
Beatrice
© Sara Teasdale
Send out the singers - let the room be still;
They have not eased my pain nor brought me sleep.
Bottom
© Arthur Rimbaud
Reality being too thorny for my great personality.
--I found myself nevertheless at my lady's,
Bleak Weather
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Dear love, where the red lillies blossomed and grew,
The white snows are falling;
Benevolent Assimilation
© George Ade
We haven't the appearance, goodness knows,
Of plain commercial men;
Bells for John Whiteside’s Daughter
© Pindar
There was such speed in her little body,
And such lightness in her footfall,
It is no wonder her brown study
Astonishes us all.
Benlomond
© Thomas Campbell
Hadst thou a genius on thy peak,
What tales, white-headed Ben,
Could'st thou of ancient ages speak,
That mock th' historian's pen!
Barbara Allen
© Pierre Reverdy
In Scarlet town, where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwellin’,
Made every youth cry Well-a-way!
Her name was Barbara Allen.
Business And Pleasure.
© Robert Crawford
He'll have his all; and though his heart is great,
Ay, prodigal of kindness, yet is he
A very Shylock in his bargaining.
Those soft, mild eyes of his grow hard as iron
To gauge the too, too little or too much,
When commerce puts his temper to the touch.
Before The Snow
© Bliss William Carman
NOW soon, ah, very soon, I know
The trumpets of the north will blow,
And the great winds will come to bring
The pale wild riders of the snow.
Between Hallowe'en and Bonfire Night
© Roddy Lumsden
Just then, encountering my ruddy face
in the grand piano's cold black craquelure,
Becoming Anne Bradstreet
© Eavan Boland
It happens again
As soon as I take down her book and open it.