Poems begining by C

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Consummatum Est

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

I'VE done with all the world can give,
Whate'er its kind or measure.
(O Christ! what paltry lives we live
If toil be lord, or pleasure!).

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Certainties

© Margaret Widdemer

WHETHER you live by hut or throne
  Whether your feet tread stone or grass
Comes the one lad you shall never own
  Or the one lass;

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Come Unto Me

© Christina Georgina Rossetti

Oh, for the time gone by, when thought of Christ

 Made His Yoke easy and His Burden light;

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Cantares...

© Antonio Machado

Todo pasa y todo queda,
pero lo nuestro es pasar,
pasar haciendo caminos,
caminos sobre el mar.

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Comfort

© Katharine Tynan

Now she need dread no more to grow
Too old for him, she need not know
The bitterness when he who was
All hers turns to some younger face,
And she his mother stands aside,
Bidding her heart be satisfied.

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Can Such Things Be?

© Madison Julius Cawein

Meseemed that while she played, while lightly yet

  Her fingers fell, as roses bloom by bloom,

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Could Hope inspect her Basis

© Emily Dickinson

Could Hope inspect her Basis
Her Craft were done --
Has a fictitious Charter
Or it has none --

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Christmas-Eve, Another Ceremony

© Robert Herrick

Come guard this night the Christmas-Pie,
That the thief, though ne'er so sly,
With his flesh-hooks, don't come nigh
  To catch it

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Camping Out by Edwin Grant Burrows: American Life in Poetry #23 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-

© Ted Kooser

In this fine poem about camping by Washington poet E. G. Burrows, vivid memories of the speaker's father, set down one after another, move gracefully toward speculation about how experiences cling to us despite any efforts to put them aside. And then, quite suddenly, the father is gone, forever. But life goes on, the coffee is hot, and the bird that opens the poem is still there at its close, singing for life.
Camping Out

I watched the nesting redstart
when we camped by Lake Winnepesaukee.
The tent pegs pulled out in soft soil.
Rain made pawprints on the canvas.

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Chanteys

© Harry Kemp

These are the songs that we sing with crowding feet,
  Heaving up the anchor chain,
Or walking down the deck in the wind and sleet
  And in the drizzle and rain.

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Cupid And Ganymede

© Matthew Prior

In Heav'n, one Holy-day, You read
In wise Anacreon, Ganymede
Drew heedless Cupid in, to throw
A Main, to pass an Hour, or so.
The little Trojan, by the way,
By Hermes taught, play'd All the Play.

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Cherry White

© Dorothy Parker

I never see that prettiest thing-
A cherry bough gone white with Spring-
But what I think, "How gay 'twould be
To hang me from a flowering tree."

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Christmas In Heaven

© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

HOW hushed they were in Heaven that night,
  How lightly all the angels went,
How dumb the singing spheres beneath
  Their many-candled tent!

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Character Of Charles Brown

© John Keats

I.
  He is to weet a melancholy carle:
  Thin in the waist, with bushy head of hair
  As hath the seeded thistle when in parle

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Calicoe Pie

© Edward Lear

Calico Pie,

The little Birds fly

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Craft

© Boris Pasternak

When, having finished, I shall move my armchair,
The page will gasp, awakened from the strain.
Delirious, she is half asleep at present,
Obedient to suspense and to the rain.

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Chimes

© Dante Gabriel Rossetti

I.

HONEY-FLOWERS to the honey-comb,

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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto I.

© George Gordon Byron

Nay, smile not at my sullen brow,
Alas! I cannot smile again:
Yet Heaven avert that ever thou
Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain.