Poems begining by E
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East London
© Matthew Arnold
'Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead
Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green,
And the pale weaver, through his windows seen
In Spitalfields, looked thrice dispirited.
Entangled
© Mathilde Blind
I STOOD as one enchanted,
All in the forest deep:
As one that wond'ring wanders,
Dream-bound within his sleep.
Emigravit
© Helen Hunt Jackson
WITH sails full set, the ship her anchor weighs.
Strange names shine out beneath her figure head.
Epistle To Mr. Murray
© George Gordon Byron
My dear Mr. Murray,
You're in a damn 'd hurry,
To set up this ultimate Canto;
But (if they don't rob us)
You'll see Mr. Hobhouse
Will bring it safe in his portmanteau.
Envoy
© Eugene Field
Prince, show me the quickest way and best
To gain the subject of my moan;
We've neither spinsters nor relics out West--
These do I love, and these alone.
Ed
© Eugene Field
Ed was a man that played for keeps, 'nd when he tuk the notion,
You cudn't stop him any more'n a dam 'ud stop the ocean;
For when he tackled to a thing 'nd sot his mind plum to it,
You bet yer boots he done that thing though it broke the bank to do it!
So all us boys uz knowed him best allowed he wuzn't jokin'
When on a Sunday he remarked uz how he'd gin up smokin'.
Expenses
© Gamaliel Bradford
I'm sick to death of money, of the lack of it, that is,
And of practising perpetually small economies;
Of paring off a penny here, another penny there,
Of the planning and the worrying, the everlasting care.
Excursion
© David Herbert Lawrence
I wonder, can the night go by;
Can this shot arrow of travel fly
Shaft-golden with light, sheer into the sky
Of a dawned to-morrow,
Epilogue
© David Herbert Lawrence
Patience, little Heart.
One day a heavy, June-hot woman
Will enter and shut the door to stay.
Elegy
© David Herbert Lawrence
Since I lost you, my darling, the sky has come near,
And I am of it, the small sharp stars are quite near,
The white moon going among them like a white bird among snow-berries,
And the sound of her gently rustling in heaven like a bird I hear.
Elegy VI. To a Lady, On the Language of Birds
© William Shenstone
Come then, Dione, let us range the grove,
The science of the feather'd choirs explore
Hear linnets argue, larks descant of love,
And blame the gloom of solitude, no more.
Elegy
© Alan Dugan
I know but will not tell
you, Aunt Irene, why there
are soap suds in the whiskey:
Uncle Robert had to have
A drink while shaving.
El Minuto Cobarde
© Ramon Lopez Velarde
En estos hiperbólicos minutos
en que la vida sube por mi pecho
como una marea de tributos
onerosos, la plétora de vida
se resuelve en renuncia capital
y en miedo se liquida.
Epigrams
© Edwin Markham
For all your days prepare,
And meet them ever alike:
When you are the anvil, bear--
When you are the hammer, Strike.
Evening Primrose
© John Clare
When once the sun sinks in the west,
And dewdrops pearl the evening's breast;
Almost as pale as moonbeams are,
Or its companionable star,
Early Nightingale
© John Clare
When first we hear the shy-come nightingales,
They seem to mutter o'er their songs in fear,
And, climb we e'er so soft the spinney rails,
All stops as if no bird was anywhere.
Evening
© John Clare
'Tis evening; the black snail has got on his track,
And gone to its nest is the wren,
And the packman snail, too, with his home on his back,
Clings to the bowed bents like a wen.
Evolution
© Sharmagne Leland-St. John
the thin sharp reeds
knot and tangle
cut and pierce
my derma layer
