Poems begining by F
/ page 70 of 107 /
For Those Who Are As Right As Any
© Stephen Vincent Benet
"Spirit, they charge you that the time is ill.
The great wall sinks in the slime!"
"I am a spirit, still.
I do not 'walk 'with the time"
From The Conspirator
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
SCENE.
[A garden; Arnold De Malpas and Catharine discovered walking slowly towards a summerhouse in the distance].
CATHARINE.
Final Curve
© Langston Hughes
When you turn the corner
And you run into yourself
Then you know that you have turned
All the corners that are left
Fragment: Milton's Spirit
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I dreamed that Milton's spirit rose, and took
From life's green tree his Uranian lute;
And from his touch sweet thunder flowed, and shook
All human things built in contempt of man,--
And sanguine thrones and impious altars quaked,
Prisons and citadels...
Fragment: To Byron
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
O mighty mind, in whose deep stream this age
Shakes like a reed in the unheeding storm,
Why dost thou curb not thine own sacred rage?
Faith
© George Santayana
O WORLD, thou choosest not the better part!
It is not wisdom to be only wise,
From Boethius: De Consolatione Philosophiae; Book II. Metre 2.
© Samuel Johnson
Though countless as the grains of sand
That roll at Eurus' loud command;
From: A Few Figs From Thistles
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Oh, think not I am faithful to a vow!
Faithless am I am save to love's self alone.
From early dawn the thirtieth of April...
© Boris Pasternak
From early dawn the thirtieth of April
Is given up to children of the town,
And caught in trying on the festive necklace,
By dusk it only just is settling down.
Frank Leigh's Song: A.D. 1586
© Charles Kingsley
Ah tyrant Love, Megaera's serpents bearing,
Why thus requite my sighs with venom'd smart?
Ah ruthless dove, the vulture's talons wearing,
Why flesh them, traitress, in this faithful heart?
Is this my meed? Must dragons' teeth alone
In Venus' lawns by lovers' hands be sown?
Fairy Song
© Winthrop Mackworth Praed
HE has conn'd the lesson now;
He has read the book of pain:
There are furrows on his brow;
I must make it smooth again.
For A Favorite Granddaughter
© Dorothy Parker
Never love a simple lad,
Guard against a wise,
Shun a timid youth and sad,
Hide from haunted eyes.
Fishing, His Birthday by Michael Sowder : American Life in Poetry #273 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureat
© Ted Kooser
Equipment. I like to paint and draw, and I own enough art supplies to start my own store. And for every hobby there are lots of supplies that seem essential. In this poem we get a whole tackle box full of equipment from Michael Sowder, who lives and fishes in Utah.
Fishing, His Birthday
From Euripides
© Samuel Rogers
There is a streamlet issuing from a rock.
The village-girls singing wild madrigals,
Dip their white vestments in its waters clear,
And hang them to the sun. There first I saw her;
First Love
© George Frederick Cameron
Ah, love is deathless! we do cheat
Ourselves who say that we forget
Old fancies: last love may be sweet,
First love is sweeter yet.
For Philip Ridgate Esq.
© Thomas Parnell
To friend with fingers quick & limber,
I send this piece of tunefull timber:
