Poems begining by F
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Four-Feet
© Rudyard Kipling
"THE WOMAN IN HIS LIFE"
I have done mostly what most men do,
And pushed it out of my mind;
But I can't forget, if I wanted to,
Four-Feet trotting behind.
For To Admire
© Rudyard Kipling
The Injian Ocean sets an' smiles
So sof', so bright, so bloomin' blue;
There aren't a wave for miles an' miles
Excep' the jiggle from the screw.
Ford o' Kabul River
© Rudyard Kipling
Kabul town's by Kabul river --
Blow the bugle, draw the sword --
There I lef' my mate for ever,
Wet an' drippin' by the ford.
For All We Have And Are
© Rudyard Kipling
For all we have and are,
For all our children's fate,
Stand up and take the war.
The Hun is at the gate!
Follow Me 'ome
© Rudyard Kipling
There was no one like 'im, 'Orse or Foot,
Nor any o' the Guns I knew;
An' because it was so, why, o' course 'e went an' died,
Which is just what the best men do.
Farewell and adieu...
© Rudyard Kipling
1914-18
Farewell and adieu to you, Harwich Ladies,
Farewell and adieu to you, ladies ashore!
For we've received orders to work to the eastward
Where we hope in a short time to strafe 'em some more.
Falerina
© Madison Julius Cawein
The night is hung above us, love,
With heavy stars that love us, love,
With clouds that curl in purple and pearl,
And winds that whisper of us, love:
On burly hills and valleys, that lie dimmer,
The amber foot-falls of the moon-sylphs glimmer.
Farewell
© Harry Kemp
Tell them, O Sky-born, when I die
With high romance to wife,
That I went out as I had lived,
Drunk with the joy of life.
February. Take ink and weep,
© Boris Pasternak
February. Take ink and weep,
write February as youre sobbing,
while black Spring burns deep
through the slush and throbbing.
Field Thistle
© Judith Skillman
A raucous noise,
the dawn of great beauty
and he with his tripod
matting the grasses as he walked.
Forgive Me
© Judith Skillman
Poem by Anne-Marie Derése, translated by Judith Skillman.Forgive me if I have laughed
in your chapels,
forgive me if I have slammed
the hospital door,
Face Stolen From a Bird
© Judith Skillman
I don't know who you're hiding
behind your mask,
your face stolen from a bird,
imprisoned by red ashes.
I will love you the way one dies.
Faith
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
I'S a-gittin' weary of de way dat people do,
De folks dat's got dey 'ligion in dey fiahplace an' flue;
Fallen Majesty
© William Butler Yeats
Although crowds gathered once if she but showed her face,
And even old men's eyes grew dim, this hand alone,
Like some last courtier at a gypsy camping-place
Babbling of fallen majesty, records what's gone.
Fergus Falling
© Galway Kinnell
He climbed to the top
of one of those million white pines
set out across the emptying pastures
of the fifties - some program to enrich the rich
Fragment At Tunbridge-Wells
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
FOR He, that made, must new create us,
Ere Seneca, or Epictetus,
For The Anniversary Of John Keats' Death
© Sara Teasdale
At midnight, when the moonlit cypress trees
Have woven round his grave a magic shade,
Still weeping the unfinished hymn he made,
There moves fresh Maia, like a morning breeze
Faun
© Robert Graves
Here down this very way,
Here only yesterday
King Faun went leaping.
He sang, with careless shout
