Poems begining by H
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Here We Are!
© Edgar Albert Guest
Here we are, Britain! the finest and best of us
Taking our coats off and rolling our sleeves,
Her Beautiful Hands
© James Whitcomb Riley
Your hands--they are strangely fair!
O Fair--for the jewels that sparkle there,--
Haymakers, Rakers, Reapers, And Mowers
© Thomas Dekker
Haymakers, rakers, reapers, and mowers,
Wait upon your summer queen.
Holy Matrimony
© John Keble
Be present, awful Father,
To give away this bride,
As Eve thou gav'st to Adam
Out of his own pierced side:
Horace: Book II. Ode 9
© Samuel Johnson
Clouds do not always veil the skies,
Nor showers immerse the verdant plain;
Nor do the billows always rise,
Or storms afflict the ruffled main.
How Are You Doing? by Rick Snyder: American Life in Poetry #103 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-
© Ted Kooser
One of the ways a poet makes art from his or her experience is through the use of unique, specific and particular detail. This poem by Rick Snyder thrives on such details. It's not just baseball caps, it's Tasmanian Devil caps; it's not just music on the intercom, it's James Taylor. And Snyder's poem also caught my interest with the humor of its flat, sardonic tone.
How Are You Doing?
Hymn To The Naiads
© Mark Akenside
ARGUMENT. The Nymphs, who preside over springs and rivulets, are addressed at day-break, in honor of their several functions, and of the relations which they bear to the natural and to the moral world. Their origin is deduced from the first allegorical deities, or powers of nature; according to the doctrine of the old mythological poets, concerning the generation of the gods and the rise of things. They are then successively considered, as giving motion to the air and exciting summer-breezes; as nourishing and beautifying the vegetable creation; as contributing to the fullness of navigable rivers, and consequently to the maintenance of commerce; and by that means, to the maritime part of military power. Next is represented their favourable influence upon health, when assisted by rural exercise: which introduces their connection with the art of physic, and the happy effects of mineral medicinal springs. Lastly, they are celebrated for the friendship which the Muses bear them, and for the true inspiration which temperance only can receive: in opposition to the enthusiasm of the more licentious poets.
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Hamlet As Told On The Street
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Well, that was the end of our sweet prince,
He died in confusion and nobodys seen him since.
And the moral of the story is bells do get out of tune
And you can find shit in a silver spoon
And an old mans revenge can be a young mans ruin
Oh and never look too close
at what your mamma is doin.
Husbands Overseas
© Lloyd Roberts
Each morning they sit down to their little bites of bread,
To six warm bowls of porridge and a broken mug or two.
And each simple soul is happy and each hungry mouth is fed
Then why should she be smiling as the weary-hearted do?
Hymn XXIX: Come, Ye Weary Sinners, Come
© Charles Wesley
Come, ye weary sinners, come,
All who groan beneath your load,
Hearts Chill Between
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
I did not chide him, though I knew
That he was false to me.
Chide the exhaling of the dew,
The ebbing of the sea,
The fading of a rosy hue,
But not inconstancy.
He Gives His Beloved Certain Rhymes
© William Butler Yeats
Fasten your hair with a golden pin,
And bind up every wandering tress;
I bade my heart build these poor rhymes:
It worked at them, day out, day in,
Building a sorrowful loveliness
Out of the battles of old times.
He's Taken Out His Papers
© Edgar Albert Guest
He's taken out his papers, an' he's just like you an' me.
He's sworn to love the Stars and Stripes an' die for it, says he.
An' he's done with dukes an' princes, an' he's done with kings an' queens,
An' he's pledged himself to freedom, for he knows what freedom means.
Horatian Lyrics Odes I, 11.
© Eugene Field
What end the gods may have ordained for me,
And what for thee,
Seek not to learn, Leuconoe; we may not know;
Chaldean tables cannot bring us rest--
'Tis for the best
To bear in patience what may come, or weal or woe.
Holy Sonnet I: Thou Hast Made Me
© John Donne
Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay?
Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste;
