Poems begining by C
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Cowboy on Horse in Desert
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
Little cowboy, painted ona paint-by-numbers picturefound in a junk shop
Cooper's Hill (1655)
© Sir John Denham
Sure there are poets which did never dreamUpon Parnassus, nor did taste the streamOf Helicon, we therefore may supposeThose made not poets, but the poets those
Cooper's Hill (1642)
© Sir John Denham
Sure we have poets that did never dreamUpon Parnassus, nor did taste the streamOf Helicon, and therefore I supposeThose made not poets, but the poets those
Comme on voit sur la branche
© Pierre de Ronsard
Comme on voit sur la branche au mois de May la roseEn sa belle jeunesse, en sa premiere fleurRendre le ciel jaloux de sa vive couleur,Quand l'Aube de ses pleurs au poinct du jour l'arrose:
City and Country
© William Henry Davies
The City has dull eyes, The City's cheeks are pale;The City has black spit, The City's breath is stale.
Charing Cross
© Crosland Thomas William Hodgson
At five o'clock they ring a tinkly bell;The April dawn glimmers along the beds,There is a lifting up of weary headsFrom weary pillows
Carrie Leigh's Hugh Hefner Haikus
© Crosbie Lynn
Hef brings me flowerstiger lilies, ochre veineddowncast, sleek black cups
Correspondences
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
All things in nature are beautiful types to the soul that can read them;Nothing exists upon earth, but for unspeakable ends,Every object that speaks to the senses was meant for the spirit;Nature is but a scroll; God's handwriting thereon
Cornucopia
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
There's a lodger lives on the first floor; (My lodgings are up in the garret;)At night and at morn he taketh a horn, And calleth his neighbors to share it, --A horn so long and a horn so strong, I wonder how they can bear it
Confession
© Colombo John Robert
I am always a little ahead for my appointmentsand a little behind in any assignments.
Cui Bono
© Carlyle Thomas
What is Hope? A smiling rainbow Children follow through the wet;'Tis not here, still yonder, yonder: Never urchin found it yet.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: Canto the Third
© George Gordon Byron
I Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart? When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smil'd, And then we parted--not as now we part, But with a hope
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: Canto the Fourth
© George Gordon Byron
I A palace and a prison on each hand: I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand: A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles,Where Venice sate in state, thron'd on her hundred isles!
II Rising with her tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic motion, A ruler of the waters and their powers: And such she was; her daughters had their dowers From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers
CLXXXVIII
© Boker George Henry
My darling's features, painted by the light;As in the convex of a mirror, seeHer face diminished so fantasticallyIt scarcely hints her lovely self aright
Coyotes
© Blodgett E. D.
Coyotes wake when we lie down upon the verge of sleep enclosed,intent upon pursuits that take them through the night, always nearby,the clamour of their sudden laughter rising up beside us
Carry Me Back to Old Virginny
© Bland James A.
Carry me back to old Virginny,There's where the cotton and the corn and tatoes grow,There's where the birds warble sweet in the spring-time,There's where the old darkey's heart am long'd to go,There's where I labored so hard for old massa,Day after day in the field of yellow corn,No place on earth do I love more sincerelyThan old Virginny, the state where I was born
