Poems begining by E

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77

Elegy

© Allen Tate

No more the white refulgent streets.
Never the dry hollows of the mind
Shall he in fine courtesy walk
Again, for death is not unkind.

Epigram V.

© John Byrom

Prayer and thanksgiving is the vital breath
That keeps the spirit of a man from death;
For pray'r attracts into the living soul
The life, that fills the universal whole.

Einst Sah Ich Viele

© Heinrich Heine

I saw a crowd of flowers in bloom,

On my way: too lazy of course

"Every night I hurry home to see"

© Lesbia Harford

Every night I hurry home to see
If a letter's there from you to me.
Every night I bow my head and say,
"There's no word at all from him today."

Ellen McJones Aberdeen

© William Schwenck Gilbert

MACPHAIRSON CLONGLOCKETTY ANGUS McCLAN
Was the son of an elderly labouring man;
You've guessed him a Scotchman, shrewd reader, at sight,
And p'r'aps altogether, shrewd reader, you're right.

E.c.b.

© Gilbert Keith Chesterton

Before the grass grew over me,
I knew one good man through and through,
And knew a soul and body joined
Are stronger than the heavens are blue.

Every Time I laugh Aloud (An Ode to Short People)

Every time I laugh aloud, who springs to mind but Johnnie Howard?
Cathartic laughter eases stress which Johnnie causes in excess,
so when I hum acerbic lines of Randy Newmans quirky song
dont want no short people round here,

Ekka

© Ivan Donn Carswell

The Ekka institution bares us all, though call it Exhibition, Royal
Queensland Show, its that time of year when you will go in
liberal spirit where the spectacle of fantasies escrow.

Echoes in an empty room

© Ivan Donn Carswell

The strident sounds of silence echo
in a darkened room, a beggars tomb
of emptied space and barrenness, a
shameful waste, a bitter sadness.

Epitaph On The Late Mary Villiers

© Thomas Carew

The Lady Mary Villiers lies

Under this stone; with weeping eyes

Electra On Azalea Path

© Sylvia Plath

The day you died I went into the dirt,
Into the lightless hibernaculum
Where bees, striped black and gold, sleep out the blizzard
Like hieratic stones, and the ground is hard.

Everything That Acts Is Actual

© Denise Levertov

into December? a lowland
of space, perception of space
towering of shadows of clouds blown upon
clouds over new ground, new made
under heavy December footsteps? the only
way to live?

Emmonsail's Heath in Winter

© John Clare

I love to see the old heath's withered brake

Mingle its crimpled leaves with furze and ling,

Evangeline: Preface

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

Eclogue:--A Bit O Sly Coorten

Now, Fanny, 'tis too bad, you teazèn maïd!
How leäte you be a' come! Where have ye staÿ'd?
How long you have a-meäde me waït about!
I thought you werden gwaïn to come ageän:
I had a mind to goo back hwome ageän.
This idden when you promis'd to come out.

Evening Song Of Senlin

© Conrad Aiken

from Senlin: A Biography
It is moonlight. Alone in the silence
I ascend my stairs once more,
While waves, remote in a pale blue starlight,

Eve- Song

He said he was strong. He had no strength
But that which comes of breadth and length.
He said he was fond. But his fondness proved
The flame of an hour when he was moved.
He said he was true. His truth was but
A door that winds could open and shut.

Epistle to Mrs. Tyler

I shall not make a long oration
in order for my vindication,
For what the plague can I say more
Than lazy dogs have done before;
Such stuff is naught but mere tautology,
And so take that for my apology.