Poems begining by E
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Evening
© Annie McCarer Darlington
'Tis Evening! soul enchanting hour,
And queenly silence reigns supreme;
A shade is cast o'er lake and bower,
All nature sinks beneath the power
Of sweet oblivion's dream.
Elegy XIV. Declining an Invitation To Visit Foreign Countries
© William Shenstone
While others, lost to friendship, lost to love,
Waste their best minutes on a foreign strand,
Be mine, with British nymph or swain to rove,
And court the Genius of my native land.
Evening: Ponte Al Mare, Pisa
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
The sun is set; the swallows are asleep;
The bats are flitting fast in the gray air;
The slow soft toads out of damp corners creep,
Expostulation
© John Greenleaf Whittier
OUR fellow-countrymen in chains!
Slaves, in a land of light and law!
Expostulation
© William Cowper
Why weeps the muse for England? What appears
In England's case to move the muse to tears?
Epitaph II
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
Nature, a jealous mistress, laid him low.
He woo'd and won her; and, by love made bold,
She showed him more than mortal man should know,
Then slew him lest her secret should be told.
Epigram II.
© John Byrom
Zeal without Meekness, like a ship at sea,
To rising storms may soon become a prey;
And Meekness without Zeal is still the same,
When a dead calm stops ev'ry sailor's aim.
Epitaph On Fop, A Dog Belonging To Lady Throckmorton
© William Cowper
Though once a puppy, and though Fop by name,
Here moulders one whose bones some honour claim;
No sycophant, although of spaniel race,
And though no hound, a martyr to the chase.
Express Emotions
© Corinna
Speak out. Shout
Say what you feel and think.
Decide. Write.
Express your thoughts in ink.
Expectation
© Edgar Albert Guest
Most folks, as I've noticed, in pleasure an' strife,
Are always expecting too much out of life.
En Sourdine
© Paul Verlaine
Tranquil in the twilight dense
By the spreading branches made,
Let us breathe the influence
Of the silence and the shade.
Epilogue
© John Berryman
He died in December. He must descend
Somewhere, vague and cold, the spirit and seal.
Somewhere, Imagination ones one friend
Cannot see there. Both of us at the end.
Nouns, verbs do not exist for what I feel.
Eclogue
© John Crowe Ransom
JANE SNEED BEGAN IT: My poor John, alas,
Ten years ago, pretty it was in a ring
To run as boys and girls do in the grass
At that time leap and hollo and skip and sing
Came easily to pass.
Elegiacs
© Charles Kingsley
Wearily stretches the sand to the surge, and the surge to the cloudland;
Wearily onward I ride, watching the water alone.
Einstein
© Archibald MacLeish
Standing between the sun and moon preserves
A certain secrecy. Or seems to keep
Euphelia
© Helen Maria Williams
As roam'd a pilgrim o'er the mountain drear,
On whose lone verge the foaming billows roar,
The wail of hopeless sorrow pierc'd his ear,
And swell'd at distance on the sounding shore.
