Poems begining by H
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Hector
© David McKee Wright
We fought for Troy behind a mossy wall;
We burned the Grecian ships below a tree . . .
Ah, that great war was forty years ago !
Yet still I know that Hector did not fall;
For when the bell rang truce to friend and foe,
Achilles, lying Greek, was under me!
Hymn before Sun-rise, in the Vale of Chamouni
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears,
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake,
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn.
Hartley Field
© Connie Wanek
And you, whom I have heard breathe all night,
sigh through the water of sleep
with vestigial gills . . .
How Is It That the Snow by Robert Haight: American Life in Poetry #193 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laurea
© Ted Kooser
The first two lines of this poem pose a question many of us may have thought about: how does snow make silence even more silent? And notice Robert Haight's deft use of color, only those few flecks of red, and the rest of the poem pure white. And silent, so silent. Haight lives in Michigan, where people know about snow.
How Is It That the Snow
How is it that the snow
amplifies the silence,
slathers the black bark on limbs,
heaps along the brush rows?
Hark To The Shouting Wind
© Henry Timrod
Hark to the shouting Wind!
Hark to the flying Rain!
And I care not though I never see
A bright blue sky again.
here rests
© Paul Celan
my sister Josephine
born july in '29
and dead these 15 years
who carried a book
on every stroll.
Honour's Martyr
© Emily Jane Brontë
The moon is full this winter night;
The stars are clear, though few;
And every window glistens bright
With leaves of frozen dew.
Homo Will Not Inherit
© Mark Doty
Downtown anywhere and between the roil
of bathhouse steam—up there the linens of joy
and shame must be laundered again and again,
How wonderful
© Saigyo
How wonderful, that
Her heart
Should show me kindness;
And of all the numberless folk,
Grief should not touch me.
Hymn to Science
© Mark Akenside
But first with thy resistless light,
Disperse those phantoms from my sight,
Those mimic shades of thee;
The scholiast's learning, sophist's cant,
The visionary bigot's rant,
The monk's philosophy.
History Lesson
© Natasha Trethewey
I am four in this photograph, standing
on a wide strip of Mississippi beach,
my hands on the flowered hips
Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto III
© Samuel Butler
What made thee, when they all were gone,
And none but thou and I alone,
To act the Devil, and forbear
To rid me of my hellish fear?
Haschisch
© Arthur Symons
Behind the door, beyond the light,
Who is it waits there in the night?
When he has entered he will stand,
Imposing with his silent hand
Some silent thing upon the night.
Harmonic Du Soir
© Lord Alfred Douglas
Now is the hour when, swinging in the breeze,
Each flower, like a censer, sheds its sweet.
The air is full of scents and melodies,
O languorous waltz ! O swoon of dancing feet!
