Poems begining by G
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Ghost House
© Robert Frost
I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls,
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.
Golfre, Gothic Swiss Tale
© Mary Darby Robinson
Where freezing wastes of dazzl'ing Snow
O'er LEMAN'S Lake rose, tow'ring;
The BARON GOLFRE'S Castle strong
Was seen, the silv'ry peaks among,
With ramparts, darkly low'ring!--
Good Friday in my Heart
© Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
GOOD FRIDAY in my heart! Fear and affright!
My thoughts are the Disciples when they fled,
My words the words that priest and soldier said,
My deed the spear to desecrate the dead.
And day, Thy death therein, is changed to night.
Gorgeous Surfaces
© Thomas Lux
They are, the surfaces, gorgeous: a master
pastry chef at work here, the dips and whorls,
the wrist-twist
squeezes of cream from the tube
Growing Old
© Matthew Arnold
What is it to grow old?
Is it to lose the glory of the form,
The lustre of the eye?
Is it for beauty to forego her wreath?
Yes, but not for this alone.
Goblins And Rainbows
© James Baker
The colours will rein supreme,
Shining above all who can gaze.
There she is, the last sound,
Never peace, only slaves.
Good-Children Street
© Eugene Field
There's a dear little home in Good-Children street -
My heart turneth fondly to-day
Where tinkle of tongues and patter of feet
Make sweetest of music at play;
Where the sunshine of love illumines each face
And warms every heart in that old-fashioned place.
Garden and cradle
© Eugene Field
When our babe he goeth walking in his garden,
Around his tinkling feet the sunbeams play;
The posies they are good to him,
And bow them as they should to him,
Godolphin Horne
© Hilaire Belloc
Who was cursed with the Sin of Pride, and Became a Boot-Black. Godolphin Horne was Nobly Born;
He held the Human Race in Scorn,
And lived with all his Sisters where
His father lived, in Berkeley Square.
ghazal 7
© Daagh Dehlvi
jo zamane k sitam hain vo zamana jane
tune dil itne dukhaye hain k ji janta hai
Grey Hairs
© Marina Tsvetaeva
These are ashes of treasures:
Of hurt and loss.
These are ashes in face of which
Granite is dross.
Girlfriend
© Marina Tsvetaeva
"I will not part! -- There is no end!" She clings and clings...
And in the breast -- the rise
Of threatening waters,
Of notes...Steadfast: like an immutable
Mystery: we will part!
Grey Evening
© David Herbert Lawrence
When you went, how was it you carried with you
My missal book of fine, flamboyant hours?
My book of turrets and of red-thorn bowers,
And skies of gold, and ladies in bright tissue?
Giorno dei Morti
© David Herbert Lawrence
Along the avenue of cypresses,
All in their scarlet cloaks and surplices
Of linen, go the chanting choristers,
The priests in gold and black, the villagers. . .
Genius And Love
© Frances Anne Kemble
Genius and Love together stood
At break of day beside clear fountains,
Gloire de Dijon
© David Herbert Lawrence
When she rises in the morning
I linger to watch her;
She spreads the bath-cloth underneath the window
And the sunbeams catch her
Green
© David Herbert Lawrence
The dawn was apple-green,
The sky was green wine held up in the sun,
The moon was a golden petal between.
Gathering Leaves
© Robert Frost
Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.
