Poems begining by F
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Fleet Street
© Arthur Henry Adams
BENEATH this narrow jostling street,
Unruffled by the noise of feet,
Fare Thee Well
© George Gordon Byron
Fare thee well! and if for ever,
Still for ever, fare thee well:
Even though unforgiving, never
'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.
Fourth Sunday In Advent
© John Keble
Of the bright things in earth and air
How little can the heart embrace!
Soft shades and gleaming lights are there -
I know it well, but cannot trace.
For He Had Great Possessions
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
And I had died before the spring had come,
When winter's kiss upon the fields was cold,
Fragment: The Lake's Margin
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
The fierce beasts of the woods and wildernesses
Track not the steps of him who drinks of it;
For the light breezes, which for ever fleet
Around its margin, heap the sand thereon.
Francisca
© George Gordon Byron
Francisca walks in the shadow of night,
But it is not to gaze on the heavenly light -
First Robin
© Emily Dickinson
I dreaded that first robin so,
But he is mastered now,
And I'm accustomed to him grown, -
He hurts a little, though.
From Mount Gerizzim
© John Bunyan
Besides what I said of the Four Last Things,
And of the weal and woe that from them springs;
Fredericksburg
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
The increasing moonlight drifts across my bed,
And on the churchyard by the road, I know
"Fra banc to banc, fra wod to wod, I rin"
© Mark Alexander Boyd
Fra banc to banc, fra wod to wod, I rin
Owrhailit with my feble fantasie,
Frost Song
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
HERE where the bee slept and the orchis lifted
Her honeying pipes of pearl, her velvet lip,
Only the swart leaves of the oak lie drifted
In sombre fellowship.
Here where the flame-weed set the lands alight,
Lies the bleak upland, webbed and crowned with white.
Fourth Sunday In Lent
© John Keble
When Nature tries her finest touch,
Weaving her vernal wreath,
Mark ye, how close she veils her round,
Not to be traced by sight or sound,
Nor soiled by ruder breath?
Freedoms
© Gerald Gould
To every hill there is a lowly slope,
But some have heights beyond all height--so high
They make new worlds for the adventuring eye.
We for achievement have forgone our hope,
And shall not see another morning ope,
Nor the new moon come into the new sky.
From an Italian Sonnet
© Samuel Rogers
Love, under Friendship's vesture white,
Laughs, his little limbs concealing;
And oft in sport, and oft in spite,
Like pity meets the dazzled sight,
From Gotz Von Berlichingen
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Dan Cupid on flies;
With victory laden,
To vanquish each maiden
For The Holy Family By Michelangelo
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
TURN not the prophet's page, O Son! He knew
All that Thou hast to suffer, and hath writ.
Fortune
© Madison Julius Cawein
Within the hollowed hand of God,
Blood-red they lie, the dice of fate,
That have no time nor period,
And know no early and no late.
Full moon at Tierz: before the storming of Huesca.
© Rupert John Cornford
The past, a glacier, gripped the mountain wall,
And time was inches, dark was all.
But here it scales the end of the range,
The dialectic's point of change,
Crashes in light and minutes to its fall.
