Poems begining by H
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Hero And Leander. The Fourth Sestiad
© George Chapman
Now from Leander's place she rose, and found
Her hair and rent robe scatter'd on the ground;
Hymn 117
© Isaac Watts
Behold the potter and the clay,
He forms his vessels as he please:
Such is our God, and such are we,
The subjects of his high decrees.
Horace, Book II. Ode XVI.
© William Cowper
Ease is the weary merchant's prayer,
Who ploughs by night the Ægean flood,
When neither moon nor stars appear,
Or faintly glimmer through the cloud.
Her Grave.
© Robert Crawford
The flowers on her grave scarce breathe,
So sweet a flower lies hid beneath;
As if they feared their growth might stir
The sleepy earth that covers her.
Hellvellyn
© Sir Walter Scott
I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn,
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide;
Heartsease And Rue: Friendship
© James Russell Lowell
Natures benignly mixed of air and earth,
Now with the stars and now with equal zest
Tracing the eccentric orbit of a jest.
How Is It That I Am Now So Softly Awakened
© Conrad Aiken
How is it that I am now so softly awakened,
My leaves shaken down with music?
Homage To Sextus Propertius - V
© Ezra Pound
2
Yet you ask on what account I write so many love-lyrics
And whence this soft book comes into my mouth.
Neither Calliope nor Apollo sung these things into my ear,
My genius is no more than a girl.
Her First Season
© William Michael Rossetti
He gazed her over, from her eyebrows down
Even to her feet: he gazed so with the good
How Shall He Sing Who Hath No Song?
© George MacDonald
How shall he sing who hath no song?
He laugh who hath no mirth?
Henny
© George Ade
REFRAIN
Henny, oh, Henny, come to me,
Across the wet and salty sea.
I'm longing for the happy day
When I can hear my Henny play:
He Who Serves
© Edgar Albert Guest
He has not served who gathers gold,
Nor has he served, whose life is told
In selfish battles he has won,
Or deeds of skill that he has done;
But he has served who now and then
Has helped along his fellow men.
How Shall I Build
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The Temple I would build should be all white,
Each stone the record of a blameless day;
The souls that entered there should walk in light,
Clothed in high chastity and wisely gay.
Lord, here is darkness. Yet this heart unwise,
Bruised in Thy service, take in sacrifice.
His Footstep
© Katharine Tynan
The boy will come no more
Although I listen and long;
The sound of his foot on the floor
Was like an old song.
Hospital Window
© Allen Ginsberg
At gauzy dusk, thin haze like cigarette smoke
ribbons past Chrysler Building's silver fins
Hope
© Joseph Rodman Drake
SEE through yon cloud that rolls in wrath,
One little star benignant peep,
To light along their trackless path
The wanderers of the stormy deep.
