Poems begining by D

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Dead Reckoning

© Blodgett E. D.

Now that death has entered you, sooner than I think it willarrive in me, I fear to look into your eyes and see the sungrowing dimmer there

Dirge: Written November 1808

© Anna Lætitia Barbauld

Pure spirit! O where art thou now! O whisper to my soul!O let some soothing thought of thee, The bitter grief control!

Daguerreotype Taken in Old Age

Distracted by an Ergonomic Bicycle

© Arthur James

On a rainy morning in the worst yearof my life, as icy eyelets shelled the street,I shared a tremor with a Dobermanleashed to a post. We two were all the worlduntil a bicyclist shot by, riding

Down in the Valley

© Anonymous

Down in the valley,The valley so low,Hang your head over,Hear the wind blow.

Dead Broke

© Anderson James

Dead broke! dead broke!--aft said in joke,Sae truth is sometimes spoken;But to the man "wha bears the gree,"'Tis onything but jokin'

IDavid and I that summer cut trails on the Survey,All week in the valley for wages, in air that was steepedIn the wail of mosquitoes, but over the sunalive weekendsWe climbed, to get from the ruck of the camp, the surly

Poker, the wrangling, the snoring under the fetidTents, and because we had joy in our lengthening coltishMuscles, and mountains for David were made to see over,Stairs from the valleys and steps to the sun's retreats

Dispossed

© Lola Ridge

Tender and tremulous green of leaves
Turned up by the wind,
Twanging among the vines -
Wind in the grass
Blowing a clear path
For the new-stripped soul to pass…

Die Tuerken

© Gotthold Ephraim Lessing

Die Tuerken haben schoene Toechter,
Und diese scharfe Keuschheitswaechter;
Wer will kann mehr als eine frein:
Ich moechte schon ein Tuerke sein.

Drinking Song

© James Kenneth Stephen

There are people, I know, to be found,
Who say, and apparently think,
That sorrow and care may be drowned
By a timely consumption of drink.

Dr. Doddridges Dog

© George MacDonald

My little dog, who blessed you
With such white toothy-pegs?
And who was it that dressed you
In such a lot of legs?

Dear Is The Lost Wife To A Lone Man's Heart

© Jean Ingelow

Dear is the lost wife to a lone man's heart,
When in a dream he meets her at his door,
And, waked for joy, doth know she dwells apart,
All unresponsive on a silent shore;
Dearer, yea, more desired art thou-for thee
My divine heart yearns by the jasper sea.

Dr. S. Rambusch

© Jeppe Aakjaer

Hvor Ormen klam sig lang i Sporet strækker

og Porsen vikler Ris om Hjulets Nav

Dans Un Omnibus De Londres

© Ezra Pound

Les yeux d'une morte

M'ont salué,

Dirge For A Soldier

In the east the morning comes,

Hear the rollin' of the drums

Dead Butterfly by Ellen Bass: American Life in Poetry #164 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006

© Ted Kooser

Was it the year her brother was born?
Was this her own too-fragile baby
that had livedâso brieflyâin its glassed world?
Or the year she refused to go to her father's house?
Was this the holding-her-breath girl she became there?

Dead And Gone

I wot well o' his going
To think in flowers fair;--
His a right kind heart, my dear,
To give the grass such hair.

Daybreak

At Dawn she lay with her profile at that angle
Which, when she sleeps, seems the carved face of an angel.
Her hair a harp, the hand of a breeze follows
And plays, against the white cloud of the pillows.