Poems begining by H

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105

Honey At The Table

© Mary Oliver

It fills you with the soft
essence of vanished flowers, it becomes
a trickle sharp as a hair that you follow
from the honey pot over the table

Harmonie du Soir

© Charles Baudelaire

Voici venir les temps o? vibrant sur sa tige
Chaque fleur s'?vapore ainsi qu'un encensoir;
Les sons et les parfums tournent dans l'air du soir;
Valse m?lancolique et langoureux vertige!

Hymn of Joy

© Henry Van Dyke

To the music of Beethoven's ninth symphony Joyful, joyful, we adore Thee,
God of glory, Lord of love;
Hearts unfold like flowers before Thee,
Praising Thee their sun above.

June 22, 1611 THE SHALLOP ON HUDSON BAY One sail in sight upon the lonely sea
And only one, God knows! For never ship
But mine broke through the icy gates that guard
These waters, greater grown than any since

Hesper

© Henry Van Dyke

Her eyes are like the evening air,
Her voice is like a rose,
Her lips are like a lovely song,
That ripples as it flows,
And she herself is sweeter than
The sweetest thing she knows.

He Sendeth Sun, He Sendeth Shower

© Sarah Flower Adams

He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower,
Alike they're needful for the flower:
And joys and tears alike are sent
To give the soul fit nourishment.

Holy Week At Genoa

© Oscar Wilde

I wandered through Scoglietto's far retreat,
The oranges on each o'erhanging spray
Burned as bright lamps of gold to shame the day;
Some startled bird with fluttering wings and fleet

Humanitad

© Oscar Wilde

It is full winter now: the trees are bare,
Save where the cattle huddle from the cold
Beneath the pine, for it doth never wear
The autumn's gaudy livery whose gold
Her jealous brother pilfers, but is true
To the green doublet; bitter is the wind, as though it blew

Helas!

© Oscar Wilde

To drift with every passion till my soul
Is a stringed lute on which can winds can play,
Is it for this that I have given away
Mine ancient wisdom and austere control?

Her Voice

© Oscar Wilde

The wild bee reels from bough to bough
With his furry coat and his gauzy wing,
Now in a lily-cup, and now
Setting a jacinth bell a-swing,

Having it Out with Melancholy

© Jane Kenyon

When I was born, you waited
behind a pile of linen in the nursery,
and when we were alone, you lay down
on top of me, pressing
the bile of desolation into every pore.

Hiawathas' photographing ( Part II )

© Lewis Carroll

Grand, heroic was the notion:
Yet the picture failed entirely:
Failed, because he moved a little,
Moved, because he couldn't help it.

Hiawathas' photographing ( Part III )

© Lewis Carroll

Next the Son, the Stunning-Cantab:
He suggested curves of beauty,
Curves pervading all his figure,
Which the eye might follow onward,

Hiawathas' photographing ( Part VI )

© Lewis Carroll

But my Hiawatha's patience,
His politeness and his patience,
Unaccountably had vanished,
And he left that happy party.

Hiawathas' photographing ( Part IV)

Next to him the eldest daughter:
She suggested very little
Only asked if he would take her
With her look of 'passive beauty-'

Hiawathas' photographing ( Part I )

This he perched upon a tripod -
Crouched beneath its dusky cover -
Stretched his hand, enforcing silence -
Said "Be motionless, I beg you!"
Mystic, awful was the process.

Hiawathas' photographing ( Part V )

Last, the youngest son was taken:
Very rough and thick his hair was,
Very round and red his face was,
Very dusty was his jacket,

Hiawatha's Photographing (complete)

From his shoulder Hiawatha
Took the camera of rosewood,
Made of sliding, folding rosewood;
Neatly put it all together.
In its case it lay compactly,
Folded into nearly nothing;