Poems begining by D
/ page 74 of 94 /
Dr. sam
© Eugene Field
TO MISS GRACE KINGDown in the old French quarter,
Just out of Rampart street,
I wend my way
At close of day
Der mann im keller
© Eugene Field
How cool and fair this cellar where
My throne a dusky cask is;
To do no thing but just to sing
And drown the time my task is.
De Amicitiis
© Eugene Field
Though care and strife
Elsewhere be rife,
Upon my word I do not heed 'em;
In bed I lie
With books hard by,
And with increasing zest I read 'em.
Deola's Return
© Cesare Pavese
I'll turn round in the street and look at the passers-by,
I'll be a passer-by myself. I'll learn
Drinking Song, On the Excellence of Burgundy Wine
© Hilaire Belloc
My jolly fat host with your face all a-grin,
Come, open the door to us, let us come in.
A score of stout fellows who think it no sin
If they toast till they're hoarse, and drink till they spin,
Dicky
© Robert Graves
To-night across the down,
Whistling and jolly,
I sauntered out from town
With my stick of holly.
During An Absence
© Hugo Williams
Now that she has left the room for a moment
to powder her nose,
we watch and wait, watch and wait,
for her to bring back the purpose into our lives.
Domestic Happiness
© Fitz-Greene Halleck
I.
"BESIDE the nuptial curtain bright"
The Bard of Eden sings,
"Young Love his constant lamp will light,
Dreams Nascent
© David Herbert Lawrence
My world is a painted fresco, where coloured shapes
Of old, ineffectual lives linger blurred and warm;
An endless tapestry the past has women drapes
The halls of my life, compelling my soul to conform.
Dolor of Autumn
© David Herbert Lawrence
The acrid scents of autumn,
Reminiscent of slinking beasts, make me fear
Everything, tear-trembling stars of autumn
And the snore of the night in my ear.
Discord in Childhood
© David Herbert Lawrence
Outside the house an ash-tree hung its terrible whips,
And at night when the wind arose, the lash of the tree
Shrieked and slashed the wind, as a ships
Weird rigging in a storm shrieks hideously.
Dreams Old
© David Herbert Lawrence
I have opened the window to warm my hands on the sill
Where the sunlight soaks in the stone: the afternoon
Is full of dreams, my love, the boys are all still
In a wistful dream of Lorna Doone.
Dissolute
© David Herbert Lawrence
Many years have I still to burn, detained
Like a candle flame on this body; but I enshine
A darkness within me, a presence which sleeps contained
In my flame of living, her soul enfolded in mine.
Drunk
© David Herbert Lawrence
Too far away, oh love, I know,
To save me from this haunted road,
Whose lofty roses break and blow
On a night-sky bent with a load
Discipline
© David Herbert Lawrence
It is stormy, and raindrops cling like silver bees to the pane,
The thin sycamores in the playground are swinging with flattened leaves;
The heads of the boys move dimly through a yellow gloom that stains
The class; over them all the dark net of my discipline weaves.
Dream Song 133: As he grew famousah, but what is fame?
© John Berryman
As he grew famousah, but what is fame?
he lost his old obsession with his name,
things seemed to matter less,
including the famea television team came
from another country to make a film of him
which did not him distress:
Don Quixote
© Craven Langstroth Betts
GAUNT, rueful knight, on raw-boned, shambling hack,
Thy battered morion, shield and rusty spear,
Dreams
© David Herbert Lawrence
All people dream, but not equally.
Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their mind,
Wake in the morning to find that it was vanity.
Divorce
© Jack Gilbert
Woke up suddenly thinking I heard crying.
Rushed through the dark house.
Stopped, remembering. Stood looking
out at bright moonlight on concrete.
