Poems begining by D
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Dirce
© Walter Savage Landor
Stand close around, ye Stygian set,
With Dirce in one boat conveyed,
Or Charon, seeing, may forget
That he is old and she a shade.
Dreams of the Beloved
© Charles Harpur
HER IMAGE haunts me. Lo! I muse at even,
And straight it gathers from the gloom to make
Dead
© Lionel Pigot Johnson
IN Merioneth, over the sad moor
Drives the rain, the cold wind blows:
Past the ruinous church door,
The poor procession without music goes.
Death of the Stag
© James Thomson
The stag, too, singled from the herd, where long
He ranged, the branching monarch of the shade,
Before the tempest drives. At first, in speed
He, sprightly, puts his faith, and, roused by fear,
Dead In Sight Of Fame
© James Whitcomb Riley
DIED--Early morning of September 5, 1876, and
in the gleaming dawn of "name and fame,"
Hamilton J. Dunbar.
Den XXIII. Salme kan kaldes den gode Hyrde
© Anders Arrebo
Her kontrafejer David dig
din Hyrde Jesum god og rig;
Dolphin
© Robert Lowell
My Dolphin, you only guide me by surprise,
a captive as Racine, the man of craft,
drawn through his maze of iron composition
by the incomparable wandering voice of Ph?dre.
December, 1919
© Claude McKay
Last night I heard your voice, mother,
The words you sang to me
When I, a little barefoot boy,
Knelt down against your knee.
Dawn in New York
© Claude McKay
The Dawn! The Dawn! The crimson-tinted, comes
Out of the low still skies, over the hills,
Manhattan's roofs and spires and cheerless domes!
The Dawn! My spirit to its spirit thrills.
Dead Horse In Field
© Robert Penn Warren
At evening I watch the buzzards, the crows,
Arise. They swing black in natures flow and perfection,
High in sad carmine of sunset. Forgiveness
Is not indicated. It is superfluous. They are
What they are.
Dionysos
© Madison Julius Cawein
Within my sleep a Maenad came to me:
A harp of crimson agate strung with gold
Wailed 'neath her waxen fingers, and her heart
'Neath the white gauze, thro' which a moonlight shone,
Kept time with its wild throbbings to her song.
Depose Your Finger of That Ring
© Richard Lovelace
Depose your finger of that ring,
And crowne mine with't awhile;
Now I restor't. Pray, dos it bring
Back with it more of soile?
Or shines it not as innocent,
As honest, as before 'twas lent?
Duty Surviving Self-Love
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Unchanged within, to see all changed without,
Is a blank lot and hard to bear, no doubt.
Yet why at others' Wanings should'st thou fret ?
Then only might'st thou feel a just regret,
Dream Song 120: Foes I sniff, when I have less to shout
© John Berryman
Foes I sniff, when I have less to shout
or murmur. Pals alone enormous sounds
downward & up bring real.
Loss, deaths, terror. Over & out,
beloved: thanks for cabbage on my wounds:
I'll feed you how I feel:â
Dream Song 82: Op. posth. no. 5
© John Berryman
Maskt as honours, insult like behaving
missiles homes. I bow, & grunt 'Thank you.
I'm glad you could come
so late.' All loves are gratified. I'm having
to screw a little thing I have to screw.
Good nature is over.
Dream Song 83: Op. posth. no. 6
© John Berryman
I recall a boil, whereupon as I had to sit,
just where, and when I had to, for deadlines.
O I could learn to type standing,
but isn't it slim to be slumped off from that,
problems undignified, fiery dig salt mines?â
Content on one's black flat:
Dream Song 96: Under the table, no. That last was stunning
© John Berryman
Under the table, no. That last was stunning,
that flagon had breasts. Some men grow down cursed.
Why drink so, two days running?
two months, O seasons, years, two decades running?
I answer (smiles) my question on the cuff:
Man, I been thirsty.
Dream Song 102: The sunburnt terraces which swans make home
© John Berryman
The sunburnt terraces which swans make home
with water purling, Macchu Pichu died
like Delphi long agoâ
a message to Justinian closing it out,
the thousand years' authority, although
tho' never found exactly wrong
Dream Song 86: Op. posth. no. 9
© John Berryman
The conclusion is growing . . . I feel sure, my lord,
this august court will entertain the plea
Not Guilty by reason of death.
I can say no more except that for the record
I add that all the crimes since all the times he
died will be due to the breath
